How’s one able to trust,
When the world’s so corrupt?
Who deserves to be worshiped,
When no one’s wholly honest?
How can one be so naïve,
When one knows it’s make-believe?
Is it just human nature?
To be so simple and blind,
Accepting every answer.
Never doubtfully opined,
That perhaps it’s all a lie.
But, it, they cannot deny.
But should one rely on this,
The beliefs of a cynic?
Jeremy shifted in bed and crunching his face, hearing the sound of a car driving down the street. His vision turned orange as headlights flooded his room and shined on his closed eyelids. The wheels drove into the gravel driveway and its engine’s rumbling neared at Jeremy’s window.
“Jeremy?!” Anna’s voice echoed from the adjacent room. “Are mama and papa home?!” Jeremy got up and sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the window in front of him and then glancing at the alarm clock that was on his white dresser, 5:19 AM.
His parents owned a small convenient store downtown. Their dad worked almost all day, going to work after breakfast. Their mom would care for the Anna, who was a year short from starting school while Jeremy was in high school. She joins their dad after supper, after she and Anna do a bedtime prayer. However, they close at 3 o’clock and come home.
In the room next door, Jeremy heard the bed creak as his little sister climbed out of bed. “Jeremy?” she called, drawing closer to the door. Two car doors slammed shut but the vehicle remained on; and a shadow passed through the light. Jeremy rose from his bed and headed to his parent’s home. Anna stood at doorway and followed her older brother. Jeremy turned the light on; his parent’s room was empty. There was a single knock then followed by consecutive knocks.
“Hello, Mr. Torres, this is the police. We have something to tell you,” a gruff voice said.
“Anna, stay here, okay,” Jeremy whispered, sitting her down on their parent’s bed. Anna gave him a questioning look.
Anna’s green little eyes looked down after realizing the seriousness in her brother’s voice. “Okay,” she meekly muttered. Jeremy ruffled Anna’s brown hair and then scurried off to answer the door.
Anna pressed her hand on the soft quilt on the mattress and breathed in the air in the room. It smelled of the scented candles that their mom burned by the drawer that had the altar for the Virgin Mary, and it smelled like her mom’s perfume. Anna got off the bed and went to the foot tall statue of the Holy Mother. A smile riddled with missing teeth spread across her face, her mother and she always prayed, asking for protection and such things. She hadn’t gotten the pray memorized so her mother had to help through it. A rosary on usually hung around her and Anna remembered she took it off and practiced her prayers with in the living room.
Jeremy peered through the door peephole, making sure it was indeed the police. He hastily unlocked the deadbolt and slid the chain lock off before opening the door and flicking the porch light on. “Sorry for making you wait. How can I help you?” Jeremy asked.
“Mr. Torres…” the older police officer paused. “Your parent’s convenient store was robbed, and… I’m so sorry to inform you that… your parents were killed.”
“What?” Jeremy muttered. “You… You mean, mom and dad are—“
“I’m sorry son,” the police officer repeated.
There was a sound of beads falling on the laminate wood flooring. “W—What? Mama and papa aren’t c—coming home?” Jeremy spun around to see his little sister a yard away behind him. “But… mama always said… Everyone would protect them… if we…” a hiccup cut off her words and she began to heavily sob. Jeremy quickly went to his sister and she buried her face into his shoulder. She turned her head to the other side after she saturated his collar with tears and saliva. “Mama said… it would protect them…” Anna managed to sputter out in the chokes of tears and t-shirt.
Switch on your flat screen T.V.
Flip through today’s newspaper.
With all this advertising,
It’s kind of patronizing.
Getting out of this nightmare,
They charge you a costly fee,
In this business, fear sells.
You are afraid of a life,
Deprived of their merchandise.
It slices and cuts like a knife,
Butchering your paradise.
They’ll cure all your phobias,
You can buy it off the shelf.
They don’t just sell their products,
No, their main sales pitch is fear.
A common commodity,
That’ll vanish with money.
Buyer beware of what you hear,
Know now, how one conducts,
In this business, fear sells.
It’s only been a week after Wendell Johnson and his assistant Mary Tudor began their speech experiment. They picked twenty-two children from the Davenport Orphanage in Iowa.
“The staff has come to the conclusion that you have a great deal of trouble with your speech,” a middle age woman said to the orphan that sat before her. Mary Tudor stared at the 10 year old boy, Case No. 13 Experimental Group IIA, Lawrence Neale. She continued on with her script, reminding, no, lying to the disconnected boy that he is a stutterer. “You have many of the symptoms of a child who is beginning to stutter. You must try to stop yourself immediately. Use your will power, do anything to keep from stuttering. Don’t ever speak unless you can do it right. You see how Adam stutters, don’t you? Well, he undoubtedly started the same way. Do you understand?”
Lawrence stirred in his chair, hanging his head lower. “Lawrence, do you understand?” He jerked his head up and he wrapped his arms around himself. Lawrence’s gray eyes looked at her, darting around. His round jaw tensed and his hand grabbed at his black hair. His held lifted and his lips parted before quickly being shut. Tudor jotted down her observations in her notes.
Case No. Experimental Group IIA: May 12th, 1939
Lawrence Neale- He’s having difficulty speaking, no, he’s afraid of talking. He’s trying to get the word right in his head before answering but anxiety is corrupting the words. It’s so surprising how just a few months ago, he was speaking freely.
Lawrence snapped his finger in frustration. “… Yes, I…,” another sharp snap interjected and he quickly spat out the rest of his sentence, “understand, ma’am.” He left out a sigh and his little body relaxed.
At least, he’s attempting to speak. Most refuse to talk, but he seems more conscious of himself.
“Lawrence, why did you snap just now?” Tudor asked. He stared at her, panic came over him again, realizing he had to explain to the brown haired woman his snapping. But he placed his hands in his lap, thumbs restlessly rubbing the middle fingers.
He’s uncomfortable about snapping now that I’ve asked his about it. Perhaps, he’s unsure about it or is now bitterly regretting the action.
Lawrence intensely dragged his thumb nail down into his finger. “Because, I’m…” he paused, clutching his left hand while the other is positioned to snap. “I’m afraid I’m can’t say… the next word. I was afraid… I-I,” his eyes widen, and he little bird chest begins to heave more rapidly.
“Lawrence!” Tudor scolded, “You’ve ruined all the progress you’ve made!”
He snapped his fingers, “No. No, I can say it!” he cried. His eyes watered and his large nostrils flared.
“Go ahead, then, say it correctly.”
The redness in his face faded and he hastily wiped his eyes and brow. He sat straight and quickly started to form the sentence in his head. His finger tapped the top of his hand, as he mentally spoke each word. “I… was afraid I was going to mess up.”
Tudor slightly nodded, not wanting to show approval because she couldn’t. He was in Group IIA; the six orphans in this group were normal speaker but given negative speech therapy, told they were stutterers.
She looked his schoolwork, noticing the familiar academic drop. Lawrence was a smart child; it showed in the I.Q test that they had them take in the beginning of the experiment. “It says here you refused to recite in class, why is that?”
Lawrence stirred his chair and he slowly reverted back to a depressed slouch, “I knew I was going to… have trouble on words,” he muttered. “They just…” he snapped his finger twice before continuing, “… wouldn’t come out… feels like it’s stuck in there.”
Tudor took note and finally dismissed the boy.
Two months passed and the experiment took its toll on the ones receiving the negative therapy. Recently, one of the girls had run away from the orphanage. Tudor had called in Lawrence for their monthly 45 minute session. He appeared more withdrawn and fractious, a stiff frown and distant stare toward the ground.
“So, Betty ran away recently,” she started off. Lawrence shifted around in his seat, staring at his bandaged fingers. “Why are your fingers bandaged, Lawrence?”
He meekly recreates the snapping motion, the beige band aids rub together.
He’s stopped verbally communicating, answering through gestures.
“So, you’ve snapped your fingers too much, huh,” Tudor said.
“They… blistered,” Lawrence muttered. His voice seemed so hoarse and strident as if his vocal cords had rusted from inactivity and were finally being used again. It came to a surprise to him, as well, gulping in embarrassment.
“I see,” Tudor replied. “Isaac is wondering where you were today.” Isaac was in Group IIB, normal speaker who were treated as such and praised for their nice enunciation. Isaac, like most of the test subjects, was oblivious to the experimentations upon themselves and others. “Does your best friend know about your stuttering?”
“No.”
“Why not?” Tudor asked, taking note that he replies with short responses.
He looked up at Tudor, neck tightening as he struggled to establish a sentence. “I hardly ever talk to him,” shuffling his feet.
Mr. Johnson entered the small room. “Miss Tudor, we must end this… My colleagues are questioning our work.” Johnson straightened his tie and pushed his thick rimmed glasses over the hump of his nose. Tudor went over to her superior and stepped out of the room with him, letting Lawrence sit alone.
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“They’re dubbing this the Monster Study; they’re horrified by our experimentation on children; comparing us to the Nazis, for God’s sake.”
“But the results? This proves your hypothesis; this is the largest collection of scientific information on the subject of stuttering onset.”
“Mary, you’ve seen what it’s done to these children. They’re suffering of negative psychological effects and retain speech problems which they may now have for the rest of their lives.”
Tudor looked back into the room where Lawrence quietly and brokenly sat.
Here is the Faith Anthology. Great work everyone! Have a great summer!
Creative Writing Faith Anthology
Th s is h w it felt,
And th s is how it st ll f els,
H re in this wh te room,
Wh re it started out.
Sm ll, noth ng but a tear,
Which now had gr wn to be
A g ping hole that
Reson tes with the ache of
M ssing you.
Rem mbering the glimmer refl cted in
yo r eyes,
It’s n thing but a flick r.
Watching, h lpless as that lig t burns out,
In th s white room,
Wh re it all ended.
Th s is h w it felt,
And th s is how it st ll feels.
A soft knock echoed through the speakeasy and a voice answered from within. “Come in.”
An aged investigator slowly stepped in, hat tilted down to cover his eyes. He let the heavy door close behind him with a gentle thud.
“Well, well. How on earth did I know it was going to be you, Madison?” Said the young man at the counter.
“And how on earth did I know you were going to be here, of all places?” Madison asked back.
The young criminal smiled at the investigator and patted the barstool next to him. “Sit. Have a drink on me.”
Madison tipped his hat up to reveal weary and sleep-ridden eyes and stared at the man at the bar. “I’m not gonna do either of them things. But I do have to talk to you, Robert.”
“Oh come on, Hank. I know how you love my scotch.” Madison only narrowed his eyes at Robert in reply. “Ok, fine. What’s on your mind, chief.” He said, leaning forward on the bar stool.
Madison approached the bar counter slowly, and leaned against it on his elbow, facing Robert.
“You’re not safe in this town anymore, kid. The department is hot on your trail, and they’re gonna catch you soon. I suggest you pack up your business and go.”
Robert stared at the detective, puzzlingly, for a few moments before a wide smile broke out on to his face. “Yeah, whatever. Sure I’m not.” He said, before rolling his eyes away from the investigator and taking a sip of his drink.
Madison took off his hat and set it on the counter before ruffling his hair with his hand. “Jesus, kid. Why don’t you just take my advice and leave.”
Robert set his drink down on the counter and stared into it, like he was searching for answers in the glass. He poked at the ice a bit and swirled it around before wiping his finger off on his trousers. “Because I’ve been doing this for what feels like so long, and, so far, I haven’t been caught. I mean, even you can’t catch me. I’ve admitted everything to you, but you don’t have any evidence against me. And we both know that without hard evidence, your boss won’t say I’m a criminal. That’s all there is to it.” With that, Robert shrugged his shoulders and swallowed the rest of his drink.
Madison decided his legs were getting too tired and he was too old to be standing for this long so he slunk on to the barstool next to Robert. He sighed and searched for what to say, rolling what Robert said to him around in his head. “I remember when I was like you, kid. When you think you’re invincible and that nothin’ can break your stride. And even when you fall down on your backside, you bounce right back up without so much as a scratch on you. Well, as time goes on, it catches up with you. What you did back then, you won’t be able to do when you’re older. It gets harder to bounce back up your feet. So, do what I’m tellin’ you to do. Get out of here, while you still got time. You’re a good kid, and you’re not meant for this life.”
Robert’s brow furrowed and he rubbed his forehead with his thumb and pointer finger, spinning what Madison said to him around in his head. The words weighed heavy on his mind and, for the first time in a long time, he didn’t know what to say or do. So he merely just reached behind the counter of the bar, poured himself another drink, and quietly sipped on it. Madison stared at the young man in silence, waiting for his response.
“I don’t plan on going anywhere, anytime soon. I’m good at the booze business, and I belong at the top of it. Period.” The young bootlegger said and stared at the wall in front of him, refusing to make eye contact with the private investigator.
Madison sighed and stared solemnly at the man he could consider his friend before getting up off the stool and putting his hat on. He looked from the floor, to the door, then back to Robert, thinking about what to do next before he took his hands out of his pockets and glanced at his watch.
With a heavy sigh he turned away and said “I’m sorry.” and took a few steps away from the young rum runner before the door crashed in with a loud bang. Robert jumped in surprise, knocking his glass on to the floor and it breaking into pieces. From the door came a stream of large men, all in police uniforms, pointing guns and yelling incoherently. More uniformed men came in from the back entrance, waving their guns all around and yelling the same things their comrades were doing.
Robert’s eyes filled with fear and they darted around, trying to find a gap in the blockade of the police. His head spun round and he scanned every man before panicking and jumping out of seat and running straight toward the uniformed men. Perhaps he could break through them and run from there? But he was not strong enough to push himself through and was greeted by a swarm of hands grabbing on to his arms and neck and throwing him to the ground.
His hands were yanked behind his back and he felt cold metal clamp around his wrists. Then, above all the other noise, he heard one man behind him yell out “Robert Young, you are under arrest for the illegal production and distribution of alcohol! Under the state and federal government…” Robert stopped listening after that. Everything from the floor to the walk outside was just a blur of loud voices, shaky movements, and squeezing hands.
As he was being led outside, a familiar face caught his attention. It was detective Hank Madison, who had been lost in the crowd when all the police came herding in. Robert squirmed and try to break free of the officer that was dragging him the the car’s grip, but his hold was strong.
“You! You betrayed me! I trusted you! I thought you would never try to get me arrested. I was wrong! God, I was so wrong. How could you? How?” Robert screamed at Madison from across the parking lot while being led to the car. Madison stared at the ground and scuffed his shoe in the dirt.
“Hey, Madison, what they heck was Young talking about? You betraying him and all that.” Said Anderson, one of Madison’s coworkers.
Madison merely shrugged and said “Beats me.” before slugging off back to his car.
It all started with a car crash. Some idiot thought that he could just know how to drive and drove his parent’s car right into a tree. His parents were crying and screaming for someone to help. But, everyone kept walking like they were completely oblivious to all of fire, smoke, and blood. Everyone was walking in different directions. They seemed caught up and concerned with something else, a more pressing matter.
I noticed the wreck but it didn’t concern me either. I kept walking. Something was pulling me. I couldn’t see it but I could feel it. I couldn’t focus on anything besides the feeling that was guiding me. The feeling, it was fear. Someone or something was afraid and it needed me. I had to find it. I had to help it.
I followed the feeling and I walked alone. I walked through never-ending fields and down winding streets. I walked through mazes of people, buildings, and cars. But it was all dull, blurred out almost. The background wasn’t important. Only the feeling was important.
I walked forever it felt like. I wasn’t exactly sure how long it was. It could have been hours, days, or years and it wouldn’t have mattered. The feeling was the only thing that mattered. It was my everything. It was my purpose.
I reached the edge. It was the edge of everything. It was like the whole world just cut off right there in the middle of the street.
I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and stepped off. I felt the wind rushing all around me. I felt weightless. Then. I felt nothing.
And then I woke up and realized that I was afraid. The fear was in me.
“Was my dream some kind metaphor? Was it my subconscious trying to show me something? Whatever. Its like 3am. I’m going back to sleep” I said to myself.
I closed my eyes and drifted back to sleep.
They escorted Denny into this box of an interrogation room. Everything was grey and bland, even the table and the chairs. Denny was sat down in a cold metal chair and told to keep his hands on the table. The two men that escorted him in left and an oldish-lanky looking replaced them. He was holding a blue-grey file folder. The man closed the door quietly behind him and stood there for a second before walking over to Denny. He took off Denny’s cuffs. The man sat down in chair opposite Denny and stared at him for a few seconds before introducing himself.
“Hello Denny, my name is Dr.Peter. I’m a psychologist,” he said taking his round glasses off.
Denny didn’t reply and Dr.Peter just stared at him some more.
An older lady with frizzy hair stuck her head in gave Dr.Peter a thumbs up.
Dr. Peter cleared his throat. “Exactly how times have you been arrested Denny?” he said looking at the now open file folder.
“You’re looking a the folder,” Denny retorted, “You tell me,”
Dr.Peter looked Denny right in the eyes. “No, I would like you to tell me Denny,”
Denny rolled his eyes. “This will be my 5th arrest this year,” Denny said matching Dr.Peter’s monotonous tone.
Dr. Peter put the folder down on the table. “I’m here to help you Denny. I need you to understand that. I’m here for fun or to have a good laugh. I want to help you and you being uncooperative isn’t helping anyone,”
Denny blinked at him out of shock.
“Now,” Dr.Peter continued, “I would appreciate it you would answer my questions. Do you think that you can do that?”
Denny nodded still shocked by Dr.Peter’s reDenny.
“Alrighty then,” Dr. Peter said with a small smile, “You know that we got your parent’s permission to talk to you right?”
Denny looked at him like he was stupid. “I don’t have any parents,”
“I meant your guardian. You think he’ll come to get you anytime soon?” Dr.Peter asked.
Denny looked down.. “I don’t know. he might not bail me out this time,”
Dr.Peter was staring intently at Denny. “And why do you think he would hesitant to bail you out?”
“I don’t know,” Denny said as he met Dr.Peter’s stare, “Its not like I did anything that bad. I didn’t off anyone or anything like that. I just beat a few mailboxes and took a few drugs, thats all,”
Dr.Peter stared at Denny for a few seconds before saying, “You didn’t answer my question,”
“You know,” Denny ignoring Dr.Peter said, “He’ll probably bail me out in the morning. Yeah, he’ll make stay here tonight, have mel squirm a bit. He’ll hope I’ll realize how bad prison is and then maybe, just maybe I’ll change my criminal ways. I’ll go back to being a good ‘Straight-A-Kid’. But I won’t because that wasn’t any fun!”
Dr. Peter jotted things down in the folder.
He was just about to speak when Johnny, Denny’s guardian, walked in.
“Oh, Hi Dr. Peter. Oh, Hi Denny,” Johnny said.
“Johnny, You bailed me out!” Denny said ecstatically.
“Yes Denny I did. But can’t stay with me anymore,” Johnny said.
“Wh-what?” Denny asked heartbroken.
Johnny looked at Dr. Peter like he was unsure of what to say next. “You heard me! I have lost faith in you ability to do good.”
Dr. Peter gave Johnny a thumbs up behind Denny’s back.
Johnny continued, “I took you to make you do good again and betrayed me. You’re bad actions are tearing me apart Denny and I don’t believe you can change your ways,”
Johnny started to open the door.
“No, Johnny, wait! I’ll change, I promise I will. I’ll change just for you. Please, don’t leave me. I have no where else to go. How else will I pay for college if you won’t do it for me?” Denny yelled.
Johnny paused and then turned back to Denny smiling. “Do you pinky promise?”
Johnny stuck out his pinky.
“I do,” Denny replied.
Denny wrapped his pinky around Johnny’s. Johnny pulled Denny in for a big hug.
“Um, alrighty then. If you two are done- You know, I’m just going to leave,” Dr. Peter said standing up.
Dr. Peter walked out of the room.
Johnny and Denny hugged for another five minutes. When they were done Johnny drove Denny back to his apartment. They celebrated Denny’s turnaround with Lisa, Mark, and Dr. Peter.
You thought you could save me
But no one can save me
If can’t have me
Then no one will want me
Someone broke me
You thought you could fix me
You lost me
But don’t worry the flames found me
I let them find me
Because no one likes me
But you liked me
You thought you could heal me
You had faith that this would get past me
You thought you could change me
But even you can’t help me
You liked me for me
You got to know me
And you still liked me
You said you would love me
That you would take care of me
And watch over me
You tried to do that for me
You had faith in me
You had faith that I could change me
You failed me
I failed me
You said you would keep me
The flames kept me
If you couldn’t be with me
Then no one could be with me
But you liked me
Creative Writing II/Creative Writing II Honors 
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