Vague Unease

Taylor McCrae                                    Vague Unease 

The smell of burning leaves stirs the memories

                             

                                         Each one in its own way,

             

                                                                             A Still Life

Having no destination

                          They meander through

                                                       The Labyrinth of my childhood

                                                                          

                                                                                                  Memories

Memories bringing back

                              The houses all facing the same direction

                              The double locked gates

                              The schools yellow brick, pockmarked, and chipped

And still

         Concealed in the shadows

                                          Of my memory  

                                                            Eagles, Tigers, Wolves, and Serpents

                                                                                                                   Creep in

Growing with them a vague unease

                                Street lights come on

                                                      Instinctively relaxing

                                                                        Certain of safety

                                                                                        His last voluntary movement

Provides no immunity      

The Real Reason

Throughout the course of the school year, I have had to hear about the teachers strike. Now all that "Job Action" stuff is great and all, but through sceientific data, and countless hours of research, I have discovered the real reason the teachers are striking.

It all started as I laced up my dress shoes, and put the final touches on my perfect look for Senior Formal. As I stood there, looking suave as ever before, I began to dread the night of dancing I had before me. I've always hated dancing, the whole idea of it is very primitive, moving to beats? no for me, I don't even like to eat beats. Then it came to me, no one actually likes to dance. Then I added in the factor that teachers have chaperoned every dance I had ever been to. Then it all made sense, the teachers really didn't care about the money, theclass sizes, or the vaction pay. They just can't dance. I must admit, I agree with most teachers decision to stike, based on their inferrior moves. But my next discovery would lead to the first break through, and the only evidence I needed to support my theory.

I began to follow my english teach Mr. Van Camp around, to see if I could find any evidence. My frst discoveries were minor, for instance, he waxes his head every three hours. If he cannot, he begins to grow restless. But it wasn't until the second Tuesday of my examination that I made my tremendous break through. Every other Tuesday at nine PM all of the teachers at PMSS, meet in the Library to get their Bi-Weekly "Searcy's Steppers Club" dance lesson. The teachers need lots of work. Believe me. Searcy claims the stike needs to last the rest of the year, because there is no way that they will be ready for prom. At the end of the meetings, the teachers would often brainstorm different versions of fabricated stories they would use in the event that the government would gibe into their purposly ridiculous demands. The overall moral of the teachers lessons remains low, and shows no sign of becoming any better.

My finds need to become public knowledge. The world must know about the tactless teachers of B.C.

As my exposure to this beverage culminated, I couldn't help but feel an utter disappointment in the pulpy, liquidy, flavorless, juice. The chilling lack of substance, left me waiting for the rest of the body, but the tasteless liquid continued to taunt me, reminding me of the floride rinses of my days in the old country. The one sucessful aspect of this, not so refreshing, refreshment was the full reenactment of the dental expearence, I could almost hear the drills, as I swished the revolting pink liquid about my mouth, it was as if the liquid was coming for my teeth. The aromas of this liquid ran up my nostrils, making circles stinging my nose hairs deep down into their pores. It began to start swirrling around in never-ending circles as though it has begun a laundry machine type of spin cycle. And actually had to throw out the majority of my given portion, due to the disspicable tang, that was left in my mounth. I must now take this oppertunity to express that this beverage is exeptionally dim-witted, and lacks any type of intlectual qualities.

One of a Kind

I am the first, the last, the future, but not the past. I once was the past, but I didn’t have time for it anymore. I only live in the now, which I currently dominate in every single way possible.

I am a champion Candle Stick Bowler. I hold the world record for most first place finishes. At everything.  I fought Chuck Norris, and knocked him out in 0.69 seconds. I have never bleed, sweat, or cried in my entire life. I own many leather bound books, and my bedroom smells of rich mahogany. I taught Roger Federer how to play tennis, then I taught Novak Djokovic how to be better. I enjoy peanut butter, and banana sandwiches, but only if they’re toasted.

I wrote all of Shakespeare’s plays, because I  thought it would be a decent way to spend a Tuesday night. I once lost at a competition just to see how it felt. I hold the record for most twinkies eaten in one sitting, it was over 9000. Oprah is in my book club. I own, New Line Cinema, Exxon Mobile, McDonalds, Wal-Mart, and the Pen Mar Cinema Center. I personally stopped the third, and fourth jets on September 11, 2001. I neglected to stop the other two, because I was at my Medal of Honor ceremony for stopping the third and fourth. Did I forget to mention I’m a time traveler?

After becoming the greatest specimen on the planet, I purchased all of Pluto, and the scenic areas of Jupiter.  I have slept in over 5000 beds.  Once I flew, but I forgot how I did it. I took the cookie from the cookie jar. I ran Iron Man, backwards.

I’ve saved over 200 small children from utter death, I leap Buildings in a single bound, I can run the mile in under 2 minutes, but I have yet to attend a single university class. 

For Your Consideration

117 Oak Ave
Kaleden, British Columbia,
V0H 1K0

April 4, 2011

Mr. Kleats
120 Geen Avenue,
Penticton, British Columbia
V2A 3W1



Dear Mr. Kleats:


   I am the father of Jed I. Knight, the point guard, and top scorer on your Jr. boys basketball team. I am writing you with some concerns that I have after watching you coach the first half of the season. I have noticed the following, and I would like to take this opportunity to present some pro-active solutions to the situations at hand. 


   To start with I have noticed that you often arrive to practice late. I understand that you have a very busy life, and all of your time given is as a volunteer. At this juncture I would like to offer you my services, in starting, or filling in for you during practices, or games you can not make. I have also noted that practices often lack organization. Many of the players on this team have played basketball for up to ten years, and are very familiar with many different practice drills. If you are ever in doubt you can always ask my son, or either of the two other captains, for drills, or practice techniques. 


   I also couldn't help but notice that there is too much emphasis put on winning. This is a problem because at this age there are still many players who are playing to have fun. At this age, and in this non competitive league, I think it would be more appropriate to have the team be non-competitive for the remaining games in league play. On this topic, my son has also received numerous negative comments from parents, and players for having received more playing time than the other boys on the team. I think it would be in the teams best interest to have the playing time be equal for the remainder of the year. 


  My final concern is the manor in which you sometimes speak to the children. I understand coaching can be very stressful, as I have done it. But I would greatly appreciate it if you would please not yell at, or use a stern voice with the children. My son has approached me multiple times to voice his displeasure with the way you speak to him, and his friends. 


  Mr. Kleats I would greatly appreciate if you take my opinions into consideration, and contact me with your suggestions, or concerns. 


Sincerely, 


Jack Knight

Punishment, or Rehabilitation?

Taylor McCrae
117 Oak Ave,
Kaleden, B.C.
V0H 1K0

February 10, 2011

John Smith
Mayor
City Hall 568 Main Steet
Small Village, B.C.

Dear Mr. Smith:


   The severity of the situation you have been put in is nothing to be taken lightly. Being the man that I am, I truly believe that no one deserves to die. The Holocaust was a tragic affair that will live in infamy forever, and the thought that our villages hero was an architect of it is a appalling matter. 


   Gunther Grass' actions proved him to be a very evil man, in the past. Although he appears to be awful, we need to take into consideration what he has done since his days in the S.S. Mr. Grass has become the most valuable citizen in our small town, and we need to honestly consider what good would come of sending him to prison. The main purpose of encarceration is to rehabilitate, and have time to reflect on what changes you must make in your life, to become a better person. I can truly say without a doubt in my mind that Gunther Grass is a rehabititted man.

   Something that also needs to be taken into consideration is the substancial cost it would be to inprison Mr. Grass. It costs approximatly $70,000 per year to uphold a prisoner every year. This is a lot of money, for someone who is in the twilight of their life. It would truly be a waste of that money, because it would be much more useful for sturggling families accross the country, that have trouble every night feeding their family. To put Mr. Grass in prison would be a giant mistake.

   We also must consider the affect on our community. If Mr.Grass is no longer allowed to run his factory, over half the people in our town will lose their jobs. This is a very serious consequnce. If The good people of our town lose their jobs, it will force a mass move, based on the fact that the factory makes up the majority of our undiversified employment. Also many people will lose out on the support that he gives them to help them make ends meet. This would be awful, because small children will be going hungry, and probably die, or be taken away from their parents.

   Mr. Grass is truly a model citizen. We need to consider what he's doing, rather than what he's done. Grass although previously violent, evil, malevolent man is now a reformed hero like man. Gunter Grass needs to remain as the man he is now.

Sincerely,

Taylor McCrae

Going the Extra Mile

George looked up from shoeing the horse to see the outline of Curley's wife in the doorway of the barn. They were alone. George attempted to shy away from her stare, but it cut into him like a thousand daggers. Her presence left him as stiff as a board,  When she spoke her voice hissed like a hyena
    "I'm looking for Curley, have you seen him 'round here?" She demanded 
    "No I ain't seen no one, I'm like a fish out of water. I don't get told nothin." George retorted 
    "Well I wasn't asking to get no 3rd degree from you!" Hissed Curley's wife
    "Aww put a cork in it, all you do is walk 'round here looking for trouble! You're off your rocker if you think I would have any idea where Curley is!"
Curley's wife shied away from Georges words as if they were arrows piercing her skin. George couldn't help but feel bad for the way he had treated her, so he decided to Bite the bullet, and give her the attention she so badly desired. 
    "I didn't mean no harm, I'm just feeling a bit under the weather." 
    "Well thats not reason to treat someone like they're thick as a brick."
George attempted to end the conversation, but Curley's wife's stare was unwavering. She looked at George as she confined in him. 
    "I hate my life." She admitted "Can I admit something to you?" She inquired.
George nodded his head inviting her to continue
    "I wasn't looking for Curley, I came looking for you.." 
Her words stung George. He knew she was trouble for Lennie, but her never expected her to come for him. He refused to acknowledge her invitation for trouble. 
    "Whats wrong?" She demanded "Cat got your tounge." 
    "No, I just ain't looking for no trouble, thats all."
    "Trouble from who? Curley? Ha, you don' got to worry about Curley he ain' no danger to you. Heck his shooting is so bad he couldn't even hit the broad side of a barn!" 
    "I don't care about his shooting, or nothing. I wan' nothing to do with you!"
Just Then a tall shapeless figure appeared in the door. Lennie looked onto the scene with disbelief. 
    "George, what are you doing?" He demanded. "You told me to stay away, that she was nothin' but trouble." 
    "Lennie you stay out of this!" He screamed "I outta tan your hide for comin' in here and questioning me." Lennie sunk down in disbelief then Curley's wife shouted out
    "Lennie get him, he's trapped me in here." 
    "George is that true?"
    "Coarse it ain' true. She's lying!" Protested George.
    "Well i don't believe you, because you come in here with her! You're trying to get rid of her!" Lennie accused. 
    "No I ain't Lennie! You know I wouldn't, you know me!" George Cried but it was in vein; for Lennie was set on protecting the honour of Curley's wife. Lennie reached down and grabbed a medium sized earth stained rock and moved over to george as fast as a cheetah. George had no time to react, and in no time he had pounded the rock into Georges head numerous times. 
   "Good job, good job" Repeated Curleys wife "No we need leave." 
   "He won't be bugging anyone, anymore" He commanded. 
   "No, no he won't. He's off to a better place, or maybe a worse one...."