When the Street Trips You by Patrick Carolan

Gridley Bryant Street has given me scars to today, mentally and physically. Every time I pass the seventy degree angled hill, I get shivers down my spines and no matter what I do I always seem to meet again with it.
During the hot and mucky summer of 2009, I was on my way home from the best ice cream shop in Scituate. It was about eight thirty pm, and boy was I late for dinner! I borrowed my buddies’ long board in hope I’d get home faster. Although, I had never even touched a board, I was still able to move fast than I could walk home. It was getting later by the second, and I decided to make a quick turn down Gridley Bryant Street. It was probably one of the biggest mistakes of my life, so far. So I smoothly went down the hill and picked up speed very quickly. I hadn’t put much thought into going down the hill until I was heading for a descent. A few things came to mind; one, I couldn’t ride a skate board; two, I was almost going forty miles per hour. Then three, I had no idea how to slow down, let alone stop! I was so overwhelmed with such worries that the board started shaking and I could no longer control the board. I was getting worried that I would suddenly turn unexpectaintly into a brick wall. If that happened I would have had to have been scraped off with a spatula. But my real decision was probably much worse. I decided to hop off the board and run down the hill and gradually slow myself down, but it was too late to realize my foot speed could never match forty miles per hour! The second my left foot made contact with the hard gravely pavement, I legit went head over heels. My knee was the first to land on the danger area. I could feel the moist skin get torn right off my body; it was like ripping bark off a tree. If you thought that hurt, my funny bone came next. My forehead smashed against the cool rock-hard pavement, but surprisingly I had no injury from this tragic event to my skull. Rolling over my head, my entire back skidded another twenty-five yards down the street, until I slid to a peeling halt.

My first impression was ‘I think I’m going to throw up everywhere’, but, I toughed it out and hobbled toward the cool green grass. Soon I heard my “helpful” friend cry out “Holy crabapples! What the snack is that white thing hanging out your elbow!?” I looked over to see a quick glimpse of my funny bone dangling out of my uncharted skin. After seeing that beauty I almost fainted from horror. I looked over at the evil street and cursed several times before dialing Mother Carolan’s cell phone. I felt warm juices flowing down my back and that brought more shivers down my spine. The skin of my palms had been torn off and left homeless on the treacherous street of Gridley Bryant. She finally answered on the fourth ring, “Mother? What would be appropriate reasons to call 911?” Mother Carolan raced to my location like a bloodhound on a trail. I hobbled into the beautiful bright blue Prius and we left my friends in the dust as we rushed to the ER. I looked back at my buddies just in time to see them give my funny bone a grimace. I could hear them through the glass windshield “Jeepers that’s legit was the nastiest thing I’ve probably ever seen.” I waved back at them giving them a look that said thanks for the help they didn’t give. When I realized the dark red cool blood was dripping out of the shredded muscles in my arms, I hollered at my mother “Hurry! Half of my juices are on the road Mom! I think I need the rest of it to make it to the ER!”

Even today I avoid this road at all costs because you can still see dried up blood splotches from my tripping down one of the steepest hills in Scituate.

The Shootout by Sean Davis

Sean Davis was standing at center ice. His stomach was in knots. His knees were trembling. He felt as though he was about to throw up his spaghetti lunch, and he wanted to so he wouldn’t have to face this moment. Yet, he knew he couldn’t because is coaches were depending on him. The parents and fans were depending on him, and most importantly, his team and friends were depending on him. The referee’s whistle blew and he started skating towards the net. There’s no turning back.
It was January of 2007 and a hockey tournament in Fort Wayne, Indiana, called the Silver Stick Mid-West Regional Hockey Tournament was going on. This tournament invited the best hockey clubs in the mid-west (from a certain tier) to come and play in a regional tournament. The winner of this regional tournament would then go to the national tournament. One of the teams in this tournament was the Columbus Flames. The Columbus Flames are a hockey club in a small town in southern Indiana. This club was a pretty good hockey club for a town in Indiana.

In the Silver Stick Tournament championship game the Columbus Flames played against the Ft. Wayne Comets. This game ended in a tie, so to determine the winner there was a shootout. After everyone picked to shoot in the shootout shot (to no avail), the last shooter, a player for the Flames, skated to center ice to shoot. His stomach was in knots and his knees were trembling. His name was Sean Davis.
While standing at center ice Sean looked around at the crowd. The hockey rink was nearly full and everyone in the whole building was looking at him. His nerves were building up inside him.
“I can do this,” he said to himself under his breath in more of a reassuring way than confidence.

“PHEEEEEW”, the referee’s whistled screeched. Sean knew it was now time. He started skating towards the net. He could feel everyone’s eyes boring into him as he made his way towards the net. When he was about 20 feet from the net, he cocked his stick back to shoot. He shot the puck towards the net. When watching the puck soar to the net a matter of 5 seconds seemed like 5 hours. He watched it as it sailed to the net passed the goalies’ stick and into the goal. The crowd went wild. The stands erupted with cheers from all the Columbus fans and the Ft. Wayne fans were silenced. The Columbus team cleared the bench and jumped on top of Sean. The team couldn’t believe it and neither could he. After the team got off of him, he went to congratulate his goalie then he got off the ice to go to the locker room leaving the team and fans still cheering and celebrating because of the outrageous victory.

That Damn Dog by Max Papile

In my opinion,he is the best dog ever. In fact, many other people also say this about him. He is loyal, kind, sweet, gentle, and has just the right amount of energy. He is also on his 3rd medical file, each one looking like a stuffed turkey on Thanksgiving. Everyone at the animal hospital knows him like heʼs a celebrity. You could say heʼs popular. One of the crazy receptionists goes, “Hello my sweet baby. Do you want a cookie? Of course you do my sweetie.” He has had everything wrong with him. He ate a plastic bag, he has seizures, his stomach inflated, he had a cancerous tumor right next to his eye, and then his stomach inflated again. Actually, so much has been done to him that my mom has started to call him the $70,000 dollar dog. Oh, and thatʼs not all, heʼs scared of EVERYTHING. Just to name a few: feathers. Men with mustaches, men with deep voices, men, loud noises, trucks, beeping noises, the vacuum, my mom when she yells, and the lawn mower. He is like a skittish old cat. He is also super clingy. When my mom is gone for more than 8 minutes he gets depressed. And all of this started on the day that my parents brought a Bernese Mountain Dog puppy into my living room. The first thing my brother said was “Is it real?”, followed by “Of course itʼs real, his name is Colonel.”
! Then one day everything changed. I was walking to my moms car at my brother and sisterʼs school from my middle school. I walked in the car I could tell something was wrong. Usually the radio was on and it wasnʼt. Usually mom my would ask how my day was, and she didnʼt. So after about five minutes of silence I asked if something waswrong. She said that Colonel was at the hospital and that he might not make it because his liver failed. I was crushed. As my brother and sister walked in the car,my mom told them and we all went quiet. We said nothing until dinner time. My whole family was in shock over what had happened. Then we got a call from the vet. She said that he was doing better and that the liver failure was caused by his seizure medicine. Then as the days went on we visited him and then the vet said we could take him home. He stayed quiet for a few days and then he was back to his normal self. It was amazing. The vet said that most dogs would die from something like this. That damn dog almost died again.

The Song by Joe Kennsinger

 
I was walking to the train from B.C High School, and I was listing to this song Animal by the Neon Trees. After reaching the footbridge I had gotten a txt message from my girlfriend Haley. The txt said, “Do you think this is working out”? I did not know what to say. So I said, “I don’t know. Do you think this is working out”? She said “No. Bye.” After what had just happened I had become aggravated and a little depressed. Then I entered Shaw’s to get a drink before I went on the train. When I got my drink and I was going to pay I had noticed that I had left my wallet inside my locker at school. At this point I said to myself “Can this day get any worse?” After returning my drink and leaving Shaw’s I continued to walk forth to the train station. When I had reached the train station I ignored all of my friends and walked to the very end of the platform. My friend Eamon walked up to me and said, “Hey Joe, is anything wrong?” I just ignored Eamon and soon enough he walked away. The train pulled into the station and I walked on it. It was an unusual day on the train because all of the seats were packed with people. Then all of a sudden the Conductor made an announcement on the intercom on the train. He said, “B.C students please find the nearest open seat and sit down.” I was scrambling to find a seat that wasn’t next to someone who looked creepy, but the Conductor was walking by, so I had to take the closest available seat I could find. When I sat in the seat I had noticed that the person next to me was sleeping. I took this as an opportunity to do my homework. I opened up my backpack and began to do my homework. Right after I wrote my name at the top of the paper, then his phone began to go off. His ringtone was very distracting so I could not focus on doing my homework, so I had stopped and started to play games on my iPod. After I got off at my stop I went home and took a shower, did my homework, searched for new songs to listen to, and then went to bed.

The Plane Ride by Will Higgins

        She is a pretty women. She has a clean hair cut; the hair falls just upon her shoulders.  She is a brunette. She leans back in her wooden chair and takes a sip of coffee from a plain white mug. The whole room is wooden.  All of the wood is knotty pine; it is like being inside of one giant tree.  The room has a high ceiling. It is made to replicate a log cabin. The fake logs meet at an angle at the center of the room. She is alone. We do not know her name. She is wearing a gray sweater, the button up kind.  Though she has all of them un buttoned.  The buttons themselves are black and some what rounded.  They have enough weight to dangle, but they are not heavy because of course they are in fact buttons.  Having a heavy button would be use less.  She also has a pair of blue denim jeans on. There is a large glass chandelier in the middle of the room.  The light is very strong against the dull morning sky.  Outside across the lake the sun has still not risen.  That is where she is watching, over the lake at the large pines.  All she can see is the gray out line, but she knows them by heart.  The camera slowly zooms out. It is still focused on her, but moves to reveal the next room. There is a small couch and a t.v. Beside the couch is a tall metal lamp.  A small oval rug covers the distance between the t.v and couch. ( which is a very small distance. )  The rug is one of those kids where it is all rings.  they seem to bee all sewn together.  Every three rings in a row are roughly the same colour.  The rug is clearly old,  with many of its wooly strands sticking out.  It would prick at your feet and be very uncomfortable if you were to walk across it without socks or light slippers.  Now we can see the whole house.  Due to which the camera had been continuously moving out during the time the rug was
described.   The house itself is in fact on the lake.  The only thing holding it up is a group of pillars that extend out of the water. The house is the same as the inside, it replicates a log cabin.  Except for the roof, the roof is of modern design with dark blue navy shingles. They have little bit of a rough texture, at least that is what we can speculate from this far away.  The camera extents up a hill.  It brings into focus a mail box.  We leave the house the background. Suddenly it becomes brighter.  The sun has risen.  The little plastic red flag on the side of the black mail box suddenly shoots up.  The camera sprints like a jack rabbit.  We are back to the women.  She quickly gets up.  As the gets up she leaves the coffee cup on the knotty pine table.  It skates a little and the coffee almost comes out.  She lets go of it before it hits the table letting it drop for about an inch.  She is trying to button her sweater but she is not moving fast enough.  So she wraps one side inside of the other and hurries out the door up the hill.

         I take my earphones out and look at the seat in front of me.  It is all blue.  A tight knitted sort of cloth with speckles of silver randomly dotting the landscape .  It is cheap.  The woman on the small screen in the middle of the isle continues to move.  She is rushing for something.  The movie looses my attention as the stewardess blocks my view.  She has very pale white face.  Her hair is a shocking yellow.  It would appear to have been unnaturally colored, but on second glance, due to her fair skin, it may be real.  The issue is debatable either way.  The stewardesses jacket is navy blue.  There are gold trims on the shoulders and on the cuffs.  Dull gold button are also following in line with a gold trim that runs from the bottom of the jacket and connects to the shoulders.  The line continues up under her large collar. The collar comes our way to much for how tight it is around her neck.  The gold carries around on the edge of the awkward collar to the
shoulders.  The skirt come just above the knees and is plain with no trims or buttons of any kind.  It retains the same navy color as the jacket.  She is about ten rows up.  Just the perfect amount that her high heels make it impossible to see past or around her.  Without the three inch heels however she would have to come to six rows before I was blocked out.  She hands a green can of soda to a passenger, followed by a wide, clear, plastic cup.  After which walking a foot she remembers to give the passenger a small square napkin with the same logo that is embroidered in gold on the top right corner of her jacket.  She continues down the isle and returns to the same methodical process with each passenger.  The movie was lake house, a fake story.  It featured Sandra Bullock, who plays a fake character in a fake movie.  The dark out lines of massive clouds outside my window are not.   They are the realist thing up at 30,000 feet.  Full of immense  energy that has been collecting for over a month.  I try not to think about the storm that has just engulfed the plane.  I look away just as everything becomes total darkness.  The clouds had blocked the light of the moon just like the stewardess had blocked my view of Sandra Bullock.  

        "Can I get you something to drink?" The stewardess repeats to a man who has just taken out his earphones one row ahead.  She has moved at a surprisingly fast rate.  Then the loud speaker crackles over the plane.   The captain speaks dry at first then more confident as he works out his vocal cords.  He tells us very calmly that we will be experiencing some turbulence.  I am not surprised.  He heads a warning to return to our seats and fasten out seat belts on, while at the same time the small orange seatbelt sign lights up over a hundred places around the cabin. Those clouds were huge.  The stewardess returns to her seat as fast a she can.  She leaves the man with
the earbuds in a promise that she will return with his drink.  He is still oblivious due to the temporary hearing impairment caused by his loud music.  A slow grinding sound can heard from right behind me.  It hurts to listen to.  Slowly but surly it picks up speed.  Then the grinding is put to a sudden silence as a fierce crack of metal against metal rushes through the air waves.  I turn in my seat as fast as I can.  I am shocked at the sight.  A woman just exited the bathroom, I could have sworn it was something more.

        Time stops. I don't. There is no sound at all.  The woman's foot steps go to rest but I can see that she is still in a slow moving position as I turn to my window.  I don't know why I looked that way.  Ancient human instinct to a present danger one might say.  A happy coincidence is my definition.  There is huge thunderous crack which is accompanied by an explosive array of bright white in the window.  The thunder that is a million times louder then the bathroom door awakens time from its nap.  The crack scares time so that it all happens too fast.  The plane shakes uncontrollably.  My stomach reaches upward in my chest cavity as if to beg the lungs for air as we drop.  We did not drop nor fast. But we dropped enough that it was felt.  I could here the engines the whole time as they pulled as back.  It only took 5 seconds for the lighting to strike.  It took thirty seconds for it all to happen. But it felt like a year.  The longest year ever.  A year that aged me and made me achey and tired from skipping the year before it.  My stomach was made for time travel and I though up into the brown paper bag that I pulled up just in time.  Finally the lights int he cabin flicker as the screams die down.  Sandra Bullock opens the black curtain that she used to cover herself from the tragedy I experienced.  Power surges back to the movie screen.    All of my power is gone and slowly I fall asleep content at last from my 30 second horror.

Off Season by Noah Levesque

​I heard the sound of small white seashells cracking beneath my slim bicycle tires as we pulled out of the driveway and onto the street. I could already feel the beaming sun shining down on my face, and a droplet of sweat gliding down my neck on the hot Summer day. As we hit the bike trail, a salty breeze blew from behind as we made our way to Sconset. We passed by rolling hills, tall trees, and beautiful lakes like speeding cars, zooming past all that is around them. We saw plains as flat as paper as we followed the winding bike path with the heavy beach chairs straped on to our backs. As my tires hit the sand and skidded to a halt, I chained up my bike and waited for the others to arrive. I turned and saw the sun hovering above the breathtaking beach. The seagulls circled the area in search of a snack while singing piercing songs in the sky.

Suddenly there was a scraping sound, footsteps, and the clattering of a bike chain and my friend stepped beside me.”Where should we set up?” he asked.”Wherever. I don’t care.” I stepped out on to the scalding sand as it burned my bare feet. I sprinted to the water, where I stepped in the cooler, more welcoming sand, probably almost leaving a trail steam off as I stepped. I stopped to look at the ocean, and just stared for a moment. The blue sea seemed to stretch on into infinity, never hitting anything else. The gigantic waves crashed down on the beach, sending up shells and ocean debris. The late afternoon descended into the horizon and I almost forgot I wasn’t alone on the practically deserted beach.” I guess we’re the only ones here.” I gazed out to see the whole length of the beach, natural and seemingly undisturbed.”Yeah…” I muttered.”I guess so.”

A Spare Key is Key by Jack Sadeghpour

​When you are only seven years old, and you are locked out of the house during a gigantic blizzard, it is entirely normal to freak out. Then again, you do not really have to be seven to go into an all-out panic mode in that situation. “Wow, it’s a blizzard, mommy!” I sprinted out the door to play in the snow. My dad was on a business trip in Orlando and my mom was shoveling snow. Unbeknownst to me, the door was locked, and as I closed it, I ultimately sealed my mom and my fate to freeze.

“Weeee!” I yelled, as I plopped down into the snow that had such high drifts it looked like mountains of powdered sugar. As I jumped and frolicked through what was a winter wonder land, I dove into snow and giggled and chuckled, because of the pure enjoyment I was having. After making a grand total of 37 snow angels, 49 snow balls, and 3 snowmen, I was ready to head in the warm, toasty house with snow still grabbing at my flesh. As I go to turn the knob, I suddenly felt a sense of panic. “Mommy!” I yelled, “The door is locked!”
She replied with an equally as nervous, “What?” “The door… it’s…it’s locked.”

So there we are huddling to stay warm for almost an hour. Then, as if God wished to help, the house across the street lights turned on. My mom bravely headed over to use their phone to call another neighbor who had a spare key to our house. The chilling wind was pushing my mom left and right as I sat at the door and watched in silence. As my mom came back, I got up and followed her to meet with our savor. We had to meet the second neighbor half of the way between her yard and our yard since the drifts were so high.  It was almost impossible to meet with one another with the howling wind, but we managed to still get the key. I guess a spare key is key.
 

A Very John Dunn Christmas by John Dunn

On December 24, 2007 I was on my way to the worst kind of Christmas party. Not one with family, one with friends, friends of my parents. With strangers, who were, for the most part, are over three times your age, rubbing elbows with you in every room. I was looking forward to a night of awkward boredom. My parents made the usual claim: “There will probably be kids your age there.” Yeah sure whatever you say, mom, I thought. This did little to lighten my spirits for two reasons: one, she was lying and I knew it; and two, even if this was true the outcome would be inevitable: nine-year-olds making a pitiful attempt at making small talk.
There was no snow on the ground, as I remember it, but plenty of ice. I was dreading the night ahead, but the car unconsciously sped down the road regardless of my wishes. The only thing keeping me going was the promise of delicious food. We arrive at our destination and the car slowed before stopping in front of the house.
“We’re here.”My mom said in a cheery voice.
I was sitting in the back and was the last one out of the car. I lingered behind, staring up at the unwanted holiday festivities. I was wearing heelys, which were considered cool at the time. The wheels were in, but I wasn’t rolling, nor did I see the ice ahead of me. I was just about to point my toes upward, lean back, and put weight on my heels, and glide across the stone walk-way that led to the stairs which, in turn, led to the front door of the house. My feet came out from under me incredibly fast, but when I was falling, the whole world seemed to be traveling in slow-motion. I was in the air for around three seconds before the pavement greeted me; I closed my eyes just before impact. My open hand was the first thing to hit the ground, and, therefore took the impact. When my whole body was on the ground, the world snapped back into real time. I felt pain in my right wrist and simultaneously let out a subtle gasp of pain. I was, give or take ten steps from the stone steps that led to the front door of the house ahead. I rose, tightly clutched my wrist, and ran inside. I can still hear the pitter-patter of my feet on the stone walk-way.
I entered the warm house and the smell of delicious food was overwhelming. I was in pain and breathing heavily. My dad, who was the closest one to me, did not notice.
“Ooooow” I said in an exaggerated voice in attempt to gain my dad’s attention.
He turned around and saw my dominant left hand clutching my broken right arm. He looked very worried.
“What’s wrong?” He asked in an equally worried voice. “I fell and my arm really hurts.” I say. He sits me down on a chair in a room adjacent to the door.
My family fills in. My parents ask me the standard questions: “Where does it hurt? How bad is it?” And the Elephant in the room”Is it broken.” I answered the first two questions, but my nine year old mind refused to accept that I had broken my arm on Christmas Eve. Finally, my dad conducted a test that he called “The old hockey test.” He lightly took my injured right wrist and asked me to pull away. He wasn’t even really holding on to my arm, my arm was just resting on his hand. However, this was enough. I made a very brief, half hearted attempt that resulted in a failure that no rational person could even consider close to being a success. My arm didn’t even move.
“OK it’s definitely broken.” My dad said in a rushed voice as he stood up. Being nine years old I knew deep down that he was right but still silently stood by my original argument that it was not broken. As much as I would love to go into detail about my hospital adventure, that’s a whole different story about a very John Dunn Christmas.