My Island of Misfit ToysFor most of my life, I floated in an ocean of uncertainty and anxiety. The buoy that I clung to was my younger sister, which, ironically, I struggled to keep afloat as well. Keeping us both from drowning, I believed I could always find my way back to the surface if I had someone there with me. When we drifted upon the shore of the Island of Misfit Toys, I found that we were not alone.That ocean is known to many as society and, more specifically, high school. It’s full of sharks and elusive mermaids – negative and positive peer pressure. My Island of Misfit Toys is the Anime Club. Each wild native is unique and often misunderstood. We’re labeled as nerds, emo-kids, and freaks; I see us as intelligent, sensitive artists. So what if we watch ‘cartoons’? We don’t go with the flow of that ocean. We rise above it.Every day, though, I see Misfits out in that ocean that can’t swim. With a
The Last Carriage The last carriage’s doors slammed shut, and the clatter of hooves began trotting down the road beyond the iron fence laced with vines. The gates’ hinges shrieked and rattled with its closing. A bitter wind with the taste of winter rustled the dried leaves upon the cemetery’s trees. Standing at the foot of a grave, a man dressed in black held a single red rose. The marble headstone’s epigraph read, “Beloved daughter and treasured beloved.” Below it, dozens of bouquets became a pall to the fresh laid earth. The wind returned and chilled the nape of the man’s neck, soft as her hands. He clenched a fist around the rose and the thorns drew blood. He tightened his hand further until his knuckles turned white. White as her bloodless face. Beginning to tremble, the man lowered his head and rain fell from a clear sky.