Writing Assignment: Night Call Poem (2 pts)- “Love Calling Through the Night”

Love Calling Through the Night

 

Moonlight pools in from the open window,

saving the man drowning in his own shadows.

Throbbing temples, the internal voices pushing to be freed

through his lips; the words he is afraid to say aloud.

 

Her beauty.

A fiery canopy of curls against porcelain skin

and the secrets that swim in her ocean eyes.

The only wonder of his world,

she holds him captive, never leaving his mind.

No resistance, those restless nights he struggles

to memorize the labels he stamps on each feeling,

trying to make sense of something words don’t even understand

themselves.

Her smile melts his armor, yet he feels readied for

the waging war between logic and passion.

 

A gentle wind sweeps the curtains

and the locks of his hair,

Her voice whispering, calling his name,

his heart echoing hers, a two-syllable beat.

Unspoken love in the shadows of the night.

 

For this collaboration, I chose to use Kim Roehl’s Sasha Kellogg again because she is set to be the main romance in Sebastian Crane’s life. I wanted this poem to express who Sebastian has yet to confess his feelings for Sasha and he constantly has her on his mind. He is evermore curious about her since she is such a mystery and he has fallen for her. Sebastian fears telling her these feelings because he has been hurt in the past, but he trusts her enough to tell her soon. His mind tells him not to waste time on love, yet his heart disagrees. He knows that he can’t articulate the feelings he has for her and fears he won’t be able to say everything he wants to say to her. He knows words don’t truly describe a feeling like this and is conflicted in that way since he always knows how to express his thoughts, not when it comes to love though.

 

Writing Assignment: Alternate Ending of “A Wild Party”

Burr’s lifeless vessel on the floor,

Queenie saw blue, red lights reflecting on the window.

“They’re here! We need to leave now,” she cried

to Black, standing over the body.

They made their way towards the window,

seeing the roof below.

With only seconds to go,

Black pushed up the window and

had Queenie exit first with him close behind.

It was only a matter of time until the men in

blue burst through the door and noticed the body on the

floor.

Queenie and her beloved Black hid themselves behind a chimney-top,

the cool wind brisking their bare bodies.

He held her close, his heart coming to a warm roast.

But the roof was slicked with remnants of precipitation.

The distance from the roof to the ground,

oh, the anticipation!

Queenie moved her foot and inch and gravity began to

pull her down.

Black called her name as she rolled down the steep

hill of shingles.

The butterflies in her stomach began to tingle

as she saw Black becoming smaller with each roll

and she saw the ground coming closer below.

She screamed in fright and fell deep into the night

 

into her bed, into her warm, cushioned bed

with Burrs by her side,

no gapping hole in his chest

when she opened her eyes.

The night had not come.

It had not even begun.

A wild night awaited Queenie

and all she wanted was to

escape the future she could not outrun.

Writing Assignment (4 pts): Monologue of a Household Tool. “A Chilly Love Story”

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           I must say, I am definitely your favorite appliance in the house. Really, you must think I’m full of it, but well…I’m kind of full, literally. I see you prance around in the kitchen, holding your pained stomach under your hand. I’ve got exactly what you need, believe me. Then your eyes meet my stainless-steel armor and I know I have gotten your attention. You quickly pace towards me and grasp the handle to unlock my secrets of delight. When you open my door, I feel so alive and everything just lights up. I see your eyes scanning me like a metal detector, only you’re detecting a milk carton, ketchup bottles, one slice of cheddar cheese, and an open can of Monster. My lights grow dimmer when I see your expectant smile fade and you close the door. But I don’t understand. I mean, I always have what you need. You can put a line of ketchup on the slice of cheese and have a glass of milk and the monster on the side…right? Then after two minutes of torturous agony, you open the door again. I wish all the time I could  make a roll of cookie dough magically appear in one of my compartments. This is the game we play: you leave me empty and come back for more. I let you take everything out of me because that is all I have to offer until you fill me up again. You are the one who gives me a purpose and a reason to open my door. I let you tattoo me with your photographs and dentist appointment notes hung on their tacky little magnets and never protest.

            Then I hear you open a door close by: my ice-cold brother. You mutter, “Yes,” while doing a celebratory gesture as his light illuminates your statuesque face. You pull out a box of…it’s so hard to say, give me a second because I feel I’m melting…Bagel Bites! How could you do this to me? It hurts knowing you choose to accept my cold brother’s gifts rather than mine. But wait, you look my way and I forget how you hurt me because you pull out that half-full can on Monster. No matter how many times you open my door, close it, then open it again in a passing of one long minute, I still adore you.

            See. I always win.

Writing Assignment: Postcards from the Past (4 pts.)- “Honorable Discharge”

Honorable Discharge

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Sebastian sat alone in the kitchen the day he got the letter. Tapping his pencil on the wooden table, his mind was racing as to what to put on the blank lined paper before him. His Thursday assignment from the university was to write about someone they deeply care for using figurative language. His thoughts immediately went to the tattered photograph in his leather wallet of him and his younger brother Donovan. He felt a sharp pain pulse under his shoulder-blade when he thought of “Donnie”, not knowing if he was nothing more than a corpse in a field or if he was still rolling away from the Reaper in his tank. Sebastian lost sleep some nights, wishing they had swapped places. He was supposed to protect Donnie, not the other way around. That was the way it always was as their wrathful drunk of a father, belt in hand, pacing the hall, screaming their names to punish them both for an empty carton of milk. Sebastian always made Donnie hide under the bed and he would go into the lion’s den, the sting of each lash becoming more tolerable than the last. He never wanted Donnie to shed blood for him and Sebastian caught himself envisioning Donnie’s hand turning the doorknob to come back into his life, into this home he was forced to leave through the draft.

Sebastian slowly laced the date together with the ink of his pen on paper. April 12, 1945. Donnie had been stationed on Asian soil a few days after his 18th birthday in February. Two months was a long time during the war, especially for Sebastian. The pen bleeds a black splotch on the page and the pain in his shoulder begins to throb again. His eyes felt a burning sensation of tears he could not bring himself to shed, not while Donnie is still out there wanting him to stop worrying about him.

The three knocks on the door startled him, He read the time on his watch, knowing it was too early for mail delivery. His heart pounded as he took steps towards the door. He could see the faces of men in navy uniforms, one holding an envelope in his gloved fingers. He hesitated, his fingers grazed the gold-faded knob he was so afraid to turn. He knew that if the door opened, He may kill his constant dreams of Donnie coming back. He had to face the unbearable truth.

“Mr. Sebastian Crane,” one of the men inquired with an unwavering face.

“Yes, that is me, sir,” Sebastian replied, focusing intently on the white envelope.

“Your brother, Donovan Crane, has been severely injured while aboard his tank on Japanese lines. This is his Honorable Discharge letter and he is receiving medical treatment as we speak. He will be in full recovery at the San Francisco General Hospital. It was an honor to have your brother serve with our military. Good day to you, Mr. Crane.”

Sebastian felt his a cool chill trace down his spine, envelope in his clammy hand. He stood frozen, watching the men walk to their vehicle in such an orderly fashion, as though they knew his eyes were following them. His beloved brother, alive. Sebastian raced to the counter, grabbed the keys, and raced to his Dodge parked on the driveway, neglecting to lock the door behind him.

 

The halls of the hospital were illuminated in white overhead lights that made Sebastian forget night lurked outside. He reached the front desk, exasperated.

“Ma’am, could you tell me where Donnie, er, Donovan Crane is being held?” He could feel his heart trembling wildly under his ribs.

“Let me check for you sir. May I ask who is looking for him,” her facial muscles holding the question still.

“I am his brother, Sebastian. Please, ma’am. I need to see him right away.”

“Well we aren’t supposed to have visitors for a full 24 hours. They can’t be disturbed.”

He could not believe what he was hearing. His cheeks began to get a bit hotter and he felt his jaw clench.

“The only thing that is going to be disturbed around here is your little job up here if you don’t take me to him right now,” Sebastian demanded.

She looked down at her scuffed shoes and made her way around the counter.

“Right this way, Mr. Crane.” She led him past open doorways of quietly sleeping men in their white- threaded sheets. He tried to imagine his brother’s unbroken face and body, just in case the man he saw before him was an imposter to his eyes, his memories of Donnie. The woman’s shoes tap ahead of him to a room full of low-to-the ground beds with scarred, bruised, men, some with hoisted up limbs and some with missing ones. He passed the aisle of bandaged heads and bloodied towels. His eyes caught the glimpse of dark brown hair and a Michelangelo sculpted jawline. Sebastian knew the profile of this face and he rushed past the woman to Donnie’s bedside.

            “Donnie! Donnie, I’m here, Bas is here,” soft tears beginning to make their way from his sky-blue eyes, ones that he and Donnie shared.

“Sir, you are disrupting him,” the woman’s voice bellowed behind him.

“Could you leave us alone please,” Sebastian coldly asked, hoping his slightly cracking voice wouldn’t give him away. He then heard the woman’s shoes slowly tap further and further away until they were inaudible. Donnie’s head slowly turned to face Sebastian. He languidly smile his soft, warming smile that would bring silence to a room of quarreling.

“Bas. Boy, am I glad to see you,” Donnie finally said, the black and blue bruising on his face being broken by his smile. Sebastian looked upon his brother, pained by his brother’s obvious agony he hid as though he only had a paper cut.

“I have missed you, Donnie,” Sebastian said softly.

“I missed you too, brother. If we get any sappier, people may think we’re lovers or something. We can’t ruin my reputation in the hospital, right,” Donnie joked tenderly.

“Yeah, you’re right,” Sebastian laid back in his seat, smiling. “Rub some dirt on it, Donnie.” They laughed together. Donnie began to shift in his bed using his hands. “So, what do they got you in here for,” Sebastian asked, not seeing physical injuries that could be worthy of honorable discharge.

Donnie patted the outline of his thighs under the blanket. “Well…when I was running back to the tank, a Jap put a bullet in my back. I fell and I couldn’t move my legs, so my boys had to carry me back into the tank. They’re the reason I’m alive, you know.” He paused, averting his eyes from Sebastian as he continued. “I was taken back to the medical ward and they managed to get the bullet out, but…I don’t know how else to put it. I have a hard time believing it myself…I…won’t be expected to walk again.” Donnie looked at Sebastian with a slight smile, “Don’t worry, Bas. It’ll all work out. Just have to get used to dancing in my wheelchair.”

All Sebastian could do was stare at Donnie’s immobile legs. His shoulder blade began to rage with a sharp pain that made him curse his father, the man that broke him with a bat, keeping him from taking Donnie’s place in the raining of bullets.

I could have saved him. This thought stirred in his mind, the beginning of a haunting he knew he could not escape.

Zac-Efron

(Donovan “Donnie” Crane, Sebastian’s brother)