Breanne Girvin
New member
Make it up on your own dont copy. Im not going to use it or copy it. Im bored and want some ideas for my writing. WRITE AWAY!!?
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Writing Contest, write a piece of poetry or story?
- Thread starter Breanne Girvin
- Start date
It was Saturday afternoon in early October, and I was driving home to Neradi from Patton College for Fall Break. I was in the middle of my junior year, aiming for a degree in cartography. The russet, goldenrod and pumpkin leaves waltzed in a breeze as I sped down Turnpike 87.
As I drove along, I spotted a broken down VW Beetle on the side.
It was old, the red paint was starting to rust, and the wheels looked like a patchwork quilt. An older African-American woman was sitting in the car, humming along with the Beatles song on the radio. I pulled behind her, and walked over.
I must have surprised her, because she jumped up! I said kindly, "Hi. I saw your car broke down, and I can give you a ride." She looked at me the way my mom does whenever I mess up, "Young lady, do you know dangerous it is to give strangers ride?" I blushed, "Yes, I do. But your all alone, so I want to take you home. What's your name, I'm Petra Simonyi."
She returned my handshake, "I'm Marion Lewis. Thank you for picking me up, I'm running late for my grandson's baptism party." She pulled out a dusty box wrapped in magazine covers. I grinned, "I'll bet he's adorable." "He sure is, Petra," Mrs. Lewis agreed, as I showed her to my car. Once she settles in, we hit the road again.
Along the way, we talked about our lives. I learned Mrs. Lewis was a Civil Rights participant and took part in fifty-nine sit ins. She also petitioned for anti-lynching laws in rural Mississippi after WWII. I told her my grandparents registered African American voters, protested the Vietnam War, and still blogged about the importance of Civil Rights.
The hours passed, and we soon came to the town of Harrison Heights. We soon stopped at a cheerful brick house, with a paper banner reading 'Congratulations'. I parked out in front and told her, "Here we are, Mrs. Lewis. It was very nice to meet you."
What she said next totally took me by surprise, "Come on in with me. You've been driving all day, and it's the least I could do." The thought of food and drink was tempting, so I decided to stay.
The shindig was wonderful, forty five people were there: dancing, laughing, talking- just having a wonderful time. The baby's parents were grateful for me driving Mama to the reception, and they introduced me to Wilson. He was chubby, cooing and just about the most adorable baby I have ever seen in my life. For the rest of the evening, I ate hamburgers, Diet Coke and chatted with everyone. Once everything died dow, I felt like part of the family. In fact, I even took pictures with my digital camera so I could remember it all.
By 10:30, I called it a night, and drove off back towards Neradi. It was nearly midnight when I got home. My parents asked me where I was, I simply replied, "A really great party," before falling asleep on the couch.
The next morning, I told them about my experience, but I left my digital camera behind! Mom was skeptical about this, but Dad volunteered to drive out there with me.
When we did get back out there, we were in for a shock! There were no cozy brick house, just overgrown weeds and rubble. "I can't believe it," I cried. Dad shrugged, "It's okay, Petra. Maybe you were daydreaming." Just then a police car drove over, and the officer asked us, "Excuse my interrupting, but what are you doing out here?" I explained that I lost my camera out here at a party. Dad said I was daydreaming, but the police officer cut him off.
"About forty... forty-five years ago, Harrison Heights was an enclave of successful African Americans. My daddy was a rabbi in the next city over, and one summer evening, some skinheads came through and torched the entire area." "The entire area," Dad and I exclaimed, "how and why?"
The officer shook his head sadly, "Lots of people have hate in them, just won't leave nice people alone. Local rumors have it that there was a party, and every so often restless souls still have them. But, if your daughter delivered a ghost here, well young lady, you've let them go home." He wished us a good day, ten returned to his beat.
For a while, my dad and I sat there, contemplating what had happebed, and what I had experienced. Finally, my dad stood up, and said, "You did good, Petra. reuniting that woman with her family." We then started the long drive home.
About a week later, I received a package. A dusty looking parcel was sitting on my desk. Opening it, there was my camera, and the pictures were still saved. There was also a note that read, "Thank you."
I grinned, Marion Lewis just wanted to go home, and I was thrilled knowing I helped her do that.
As I drove along, I spotted a broken down VW Beetle on the side.
It was old, the red paint was starting to rust, and the wheels looked like a patchwork quilt. An older African-American woman was sitting in the car, humming along with the Beatles song on the radio. I pulled behind her, and walked over.
I must have surprised her, because she jumped up! I said kindly, "Hi. I saw your car broke down, and I can give you a ride." She looked at me the way my mom does whenever I mess up, "Young lady, do you know dangerous it is to give strangers ride?" I blushed, "Yes, I do. But your all alone, so I want to take you home. What's your name, I'm Petra Simonyi."
She returned my handshake, "I'm Marion Lewis. Thank you for picking me up, I'm running late for my grandson's baptism party." She pulled out a dusty box wrapped in magazine covers. I grinned, "I'll bet he's adorable." "He sure is, Petra," Mrs. Lewis agreed, as I showed her to my car. Once she settles in, we hit the road again.
Along the way, we talked about our lives. I learned Mrs. Lewis was a Civil Rights participant and took part in fifty-nine sit ins. She also petitioned for anti-lynching laws in rural Mississippi after WWII. I told her my grandparents registered African American voters, protested the Vietnam War, and still blogged about the importance of Civil Rights.
The hours passed, and we soon came to the town of Harrison Heights. We soon stopped at a cheerful brick house, with a paper banner reading 'Congratulations'. I parked out in front and told her, "Here we are, Mrs. Lewis. It was very nice to meet you."
What she said next totally took me by surprise, "Come on in with me. You've been driving all day, and it's the least I could do." The thought of food and drink was tempting, so I decided to stay.
The shindig was wonderful, forty five people were there: dancing, laughing, talking- just having a wonderful time. The baby's parents were grateful for me driving Mama to the reception, and they introduced me to Wilson. He was chubby, cooing and just about the most adorable baby I have ever seen in my life. For the rest of the evening, I ate hamburgers, Diet Coke and chatted with everyone. Once everything died dow, I felt like part of the family. In fact, I even took pictures with my digital camera so I could remember it all.
By 10:30, I called it a night, and drove off back towards Neradi. It was nearly midnight when I got home. My parents asked me where I was, I simply replied, "A really great party," before falling asleep on the couch.
The next morning, I told them about my experience, but I left my digital camera behind! Mom was skeptical about this, but Dad volunteered to drive out there with me.
When we did get back out there, we were in for a shock! There were no cozy brick house, just overgrown weeds and rubble. "I can't believe it," I cried. Dad shrugged, "It's okay, Petra. Maybe you were daydreaming." Just then a police car drove over, and the officer asked us, "Excuse my interrupting, but what are you doing out here?" I explained that I lost my camera out here at a party. Dad said I was daydreaming, but the police officer cut him off.
"About forty... forty-five years ago, Harrison Heights was an enclave of successful African Americans. My daddy was a rabbi in the next city over, and one summer evening, some skinheads came through and torched the entire area." "The entire area," Dad and I exclaimed, "how and why?"
The officer shook his head sadly, "Lots of people have hate in them, just won't leave nice people alone. Local rumors have it that there was a party, and every so often restless souls still have them. But, if your daughter delivered a ghost here, well young lady, you've let them go home." He wished us a good day, ten returned to his beat.
For a while, my dad and I sat there, contemplating what had happebed, and what I had experienced. Finally, my dad stood up, and said, "You did good, Petra. reuniting that woman with her family." We then started the long drive home.
About a week later, I received a package. A dusty looking parcel was sitting on my desk. Opening it, there was my camera, and the pictures were still saved. There was also a note that read, "Thank you."
I grinned, Marion Lewis just wanted to go home, and I was thrilled knowing I helped her do that.
Its just me!
New member
The little bird in my hand flutters,
the love in my head mutters.
Things unseen, undone, a wretch,
I cringe in deeper into my neck.
What does this all mean?
When none of these things can be seen?
I hope for the best but know there's none.
Even in the blazing, everlasting sun.
the love in my head mutters.
Things unseen, undone, a wretch,
I cringe in deeper into my neck.
What does this all mean?
When none of these things can be seen?
I hope for the best but know there's none.
Even in the blazing, everlasting sun.