1/100 My name is Alex McKee, I’m 16.
It was Fri, Sep 13, 2024, 1:48 PM.
Sunlight slanted thru tall, narrow windows in my Honors English classroom, 2nd floor.
I sat in the 4th row, 3rd from the door, a spot feeling safe.
It was Fri, Sep 13, 2024, 1:48 PM.
Sunlight slanted thru tall, narrow windows in my Honors English classroom, 2nd floor.
I sat in the 4th row, 3rd from the door, a spot feeling safe.
Comments
Good luck 🍀 young man.
BTW you should run for something in your town.
See you soon on the Pulitzer Prize website as a winner!
Once there, you'll transform your literary skills into visual storytelling, becoming an incredible visual storyteller.
Writing isn’t my strength, but I hope you grasp the essence of my message.
🏆
Thank you for all your help! :) I’ll be sure to start up a Substack and a Gumroad account. I’m already publishing some books so this could be a nice connection for it!
Good luck with all your endeavors!
I am one of millions that advocate for more gun laws, and more protections for our school children (that don't equate to you feeling like prisoners).
I believe you will carry the torch for the future.
Their leaves, turning amber, shimmered in the breeze, catching golden light against a clear sky.
Early fall’s calm wrapped the scene, the trees’ soft glow serene, almost unreal.
The beige surface was scratched, etched with years of doodles.
The teacher’s cursive notes on symbolism looped across the whiteboard.
A Shakespeare poster stared down, his gaze a mix of judgment and indifference.
Sweat beaded on my forehead; I tugged my gray hoodie’s collar for air.
The room was too warm, jeans sticking to my legs as I shifted in the hard plastic chair, restless, uneasy.
My 19 classmates were scattered: some slouched over books, others stared at the board or windows.
Pencil scratches, paper rustles formed a quiet rhythm, lulling me into boredom.
I doodled in my notebook’s margin, a half-formed leaf, the pencil’s graphite smudging under my sweaty palm, the page soft from constant use.
My kids contacted me when their high school was under an active shooter lockdown, and I experience my blood running cold. I was a lizard with cold mud in my veins. I couldn't move. The fear. The fear.
Amazing writer, you.
Strength.