WA3 Draft 2

Peace is a word
Like the dove is a bird
But behind it is so much more
It is like a saint
Without sin, without taint
And that is what makes the dove soar
It is a way of being
Without need of seeing
Whatever road you walk upon
But on this earth you can’t reach it
So there is no way to teach it
Until you are dead and gone
When your spirit drifts around
It will plant its feet on new ground
It needs no lessons of science or math
It will start walking
Listening, not talking
Because peace is the end of the path

WA 3 draft 1

Peace is a word
Like the dove is a bird
But behind it is much, much more
It is like a saint
No sin, no taint
And that is what makes the dove soar
When your spirit flies around
It will plant its feet on new ground
It needs no lessons of science or math
It will start walking
Listening, not talking
Because peace is the end of the path
It is a way of being
Without need of seeing
Whatever road you walk on
But on this earth you can’t reach it
So there is no way to teach it
Until you are dead and gone

WA2 Final Draft

Running. That was all he could think about. He had to get away. As he darted though the dense forest he could feel the mud squelch between his bare toes. The storm opened the heavens as he ran. Every part of his body was drenched. This was the first time he had ever felt so alive partly because of the mystery ahead of him but mostly because of the danger behind of him. The roar of thunder was a cannon instilling more terror in his heart than already present. Lighting ripped through the sky illuminating his face, stinging his eyes. His senses had become sensitive because of the soft light, quiet voices and overall dullness of the “hospital”. They were so sensitive that almost everything he did hurt. Even thinking for the first time with his unused, underdeveloped, vegetable brain created a pulsing numbness driving him farther and faster. This seemed worse but somehow better than the icy metal chair he would now be sitting in back at the “hospital”. Re ran until suddenly he collided with a wall, twenty feet high and too long to run around. The concrete barrier was rough on his soft never used hands. His heart was now beating out of his chest. He waived his hands frantically in the air searching for away around under or over this monstrous thing. Backing up to gain momentum, he futile attempted to run and scramble up the side of the wall. The hard surface scratched his palms and feet, a searing pain shot up his spine making his eyes water. He hated it, hated it for much longer than two minutes. The hate flew into his head shrinking his brain inhibiting him from thinking. He picked up a small stone hurling it at the wall. Useless. Then suddenly a light came shining through the dense vegetation. “Why did you run away?” asked a voice from a mouth hidden by the blinding light. The running man did not need to see the face, he knew the voice all to well. It was “Doctors” voice. A calm soothing voice that made everything better like falling into a dream that you want never to return from. The man hated Doctor even more than the wall. Out of the light stepped a group of men with restraining belts and syringes. “Why did you run away?” repeated Doctor as the running man’s screams were muffled by the gag shoved into his mouth. “I can give you everything you want, so there’s nothing to run from.” He could feel the needles entering his arms like fire piercing through his clammy veins. He would have screamed if he could. The fiery hotness spread throughout his entire body. Burning, scorching, blistering, blazing through his whole body until he felt warm and dazed and nothing as he blacked out. “I wonder what’s going through his head?” said Doctor Simon as he walked by the mans cell gazing into his window. “I don’t know” said a young attendant “But he sure was starting up a ruckus in there, something about a wall or something.” “Oh well” said Doctor Simon “Think about it to hard and you might end up in one of these sterile white boxes, I think that’s what would push me over the edge. Well, say hi to Jenny and the kids for me will you. Have a good weekend.” “Sure thing” murmured the attendant lost in thought. He stood there for a while. Thinking. His mind racing. Running.

WA2 Draft 2

Running. That was all he could think about. He had to get away. As he darted though the dense forest he could feel the mud squelch between his bare toes. The storm opened the heavens as he ran. Every part of his body was drenched. This was the first time he had ever felt so alive partly because of the mystery ahead of him but mostly because of the danger behind of him. The roar of thunder was a cannon instilling more terror in his heart than already present. Lighting ripped through the sky illuminating his face, stinging his eyes. His senses were hypersensitive because of the soft light, quiet voices and overall dullness of the “hospital”.  They were so sensitive that almost everything he did hurt. Even thinking for the first time with his unused, underdeveloped, vegetable brain created a pulsing numbness driving him farther and faster. This seemed worse but somehow better than the icy metal chair he would now be sitting in back at the “hospital”. Re ran until suddenly he collided with a wall, twenty feet high and too long to run around. The concrete barrier was rough on his soft never used hands. His heart was now beating out of his chest. He waived his hands frantically in the air searching for away around under or over this monstrous thing. He hated it, hated it for much longer than two minutes. The hate flew into his head shrinking his brain inhibiting him from thinking. He picked up a small stone hurling it at the wall. Useless. Then suddenly a light came shining through the dense vegetation. “Why did you run away?” asked a voice from a mouth hidden by the blinding light. The running man did not need to see the face, he knew the voice all to well. It was “Doctors” voice. A calm soothing voice that made everything better like falling into a dream that you want never to return from. The man hated Doctor even more than the wall. Out of the light stepped a group of men with restraining belts and syringes. “Why did you run away?” repeated Doctor as the running man’s screams were muffled by the gag placed over his mouth. “I can give you everything you want, so there’s nothing to run from.” He could feel the needles entering his arms like fire piercing through his clammy veins. He would have screamed if he could. The fiery hotness spread throughout his entire body. Burning, scorching, blistering, blazing through his whole body until he felt warm and dazed and nothing as he blacked out. “I wonder what’s going through his head?” said Doctor Simon as he walked by the mans cell gazing into his window. “I don’t know” said a young attendant “But he sure was starting up a ruckus in there, something about a wall or something.” “Oh well” said Doctor Simon “Think about it to hard and you might end up in one of these sterile white boxes, I think that’s what would push me over the edge. Well say hi to Jenny and the kids for me will you. Have a good weekend.” “Sure thing” murmured the attendant lost in thought. He stood there for a while. Thinking. His mind racing. Running.

WA 2 Draft 1

Running. That was all he could think about. He had to get away. As he darted though the dense forest he could feel the mud squelch between his bare toes. The storm opened the heavens as he ran. Every part of his body was drenched. This was the first time he had ever felt so alive partly because of the mystery ahead of him but mostly because of the danger behind of him. The roar of thunder was a cannon instilling more terror in his heart than already present. Lighting ripped through the sky illuminating his face stinging his eyes. His senses had been so dulled that almost everything he did hurt. Even thinking for the first time created a pulsing numbness in his head driving him farther and faster. This seemed worse but somehow better than the icy metal chair he would now be sitting in back at the “hospital”. Re ran until suddenly he collided with a wall, twenty feet high and to long to run around. The concrete barrier was rough on his soft never used hands. His heart was now beating out of his chest. He waived his hands frantically in the air searching for away around under or over this monstrous thing. He hated it, hated it for much longer than two minutes. The hate flew into his head shrinking his brain inhibiting him from thinking. He picked up a small stone hurling it at the wall. Useless. Then suddenly a light came shining through the dense vegetation. “Why did you run away?” asked a voice from a mouth hidden by the blinding light. The running man did not need to see the face, he knew the voice all to well it was “Doctors” voice. A calm soothing voice that made everything better like falling into a dream that you want never to return from. The man hated Doctor even more than the wall. Out of the light stepped a group of men with restraining belts and syringes. “Why did you run away?” repeated Doctor as the running mans screams were muffled by the gag placed over his mouth. “I can give you everything you want, so there’s nothing to run from.” He could feel the needles entering his arms like fire piercing through his clammy veins. He would have screamed if he could. The fiery hotness spread throughout his entire body. Burning, scorching, blistering, blazing through his whole body until he felt warm and dazed and nothing as he blacked out. “I wonder what’s going through his head?” said Doctor Simon as he walked by the mans cell gazing into his window. “I don’t know” said a young attendant “But he sure was starting up a ruckus in there, something about a wall or something.” “Oh well” said Doctor Simon “Think about it to hard and you might end up in one of these sterile white boxes, I think that’s what would push me over the edge. Well say hi to Jenny and the kids for me will you. Have a good weekend” “Sure thing” murmured the attendant lost in thought. He stood there for a while. Thinking. His mind racing. Running.

WA 1 Final Draft

There was a point in my early childhood when my grandmother passed away.  I didn’t know her well because my mother didn’t want us to see her.  It wasn’t either of their faults.  My grandmother was insane, legitimately insane; she did things like talk to the radio and play tennis on her couch.  But she died and I didn’t know how to feel about it.  I could tell my mother was sad obviously.  I was sad but not really sad like you should be when you lose a relative.   Its like trying to cry over someone you’ve never heard of dying.  Plenty of people die everyday.  I don’t cry for every one of them nobody does and nobody is even really sad about it. they might say that but really they aren’t.  Anyway the funeral recession was at my mothers’ house.  All these funeral peopled filed in started eating, talking.  Now my grandmother lived in the mountains of Appalachia and so did the people who were currently in my house.  They told each other stories about my grandmother and the room was filled with stimulating conversation and laughter.  I decided not to take part in this laughter seeing as if I couldn’t be sad at this event it would be respectful not to laugh and have a cheerful time.  I decided to sit on one of the folding chairs lining the walls.  Coincidentally I was sitting one chair over from a man who had a blank expressionless face.  He held a cane and wore sunglasses.  I could tell he was blind.   However what I did not know was that he was also the priest of the church that all these people attended.  He said “Hello?” wondering about the sudden noise of me sitting in a chair.  “Hi” I responded.  He continued saying “I don’t recognize your voice.”  I proceeded to tell him that I currently resided in this house and that this was my grandmothers’ funeral.  He said “You don’t seem to sad for one who has just had such a loss.”  I told him that I didn’t know my grandmother well enough to be sad at her death and I thought it would be respectful not to be to happy so here I was talking to him.  “I see.” He said following this statement with a deep ponderous pause. “You know” he finally said, “Do you know why I don’t do funerals?” “Why” I said playing along expecting a typical answer, but to my surprise he returned with. “ Its because I’m never sad.” At a loss for words and my mouth slightly agape he continued, “Is death really that bad?  Either you go to heaven as I know your grandmother would or nothing.  Its just like sleeping now neither one of those is to bad is it.” Without waiting for me to answer he continued.  “So I think you should go and listen to some stories.”  Following his advice I got up with a new understanding of life and death.  I listened to various stories about my grandmother and had an overall good time at the funeral.  I went to bed thinking about this statement neither really was that bad was it?  With that though in my mind I went to bed casting my mind off into a place that really wasn’t that bad.

WA 1 Draft 2

There was a point in my early childhood when my grandmother passed away.  I didn’t know her well because my mother didn’t want us to see her.  It wasn’t either of their faults.  My grandmother was insane, legitimately insane; she did things like talk to the radio and play tennis on her couch.  But she died and I didn’t know how to feel about it.  I could tell my mother was sad obviously.  I was sad but not really sad like you should be when you lose a relative.   Its like trying to cry over someone you’ve never heard of dying.  Anyway the funeral recession was at my mothers’ house.  All these funeral peopled filed in started eating, talking.  Now my grandmother lived in the mountains of Appalachia and so did the people who were currently in my house.  They told each other stories about my grandmother and the room was filled with stimulating conversation and laughter.  I decided not to take part in this laughter seeing as if I couldn’t be sad at this event it would be respectful not to laugh and have a cheerful time.  I decided to sit on one of the folding chairs lining the walls.  Coincidentally I was sitting one chair over from a man who had a blank expressionless face.  He held a cane and wore sunglasses.  I could tell he was blind.   However what I did not know was that he was also the priest of the church that all these people attended.  He said “Hello?” wondering about the sudden noise of me sitting in a chair.  “Hi” I responded.  He continued saying “I don’t recognize your voice.”  I proceeded to tell him that I currently resided in this house and that this was my grandmothers’ funeral.  He said “You don’t seem to sad for one who has just had such a loss.”  I told him that I didn’t know my grandmother well enough to be sad at her death and I thought it would be respectful not to be to happy so here I was talking to him.  “I see.” He said following this statement with a deep ponderous pause. “You know” he finally said, “Do you know why I don’t do funerals?” “Why” I said playing along expecting a typical answer, but to my surprise he returned with. “ Its because I’m never sad.” At a loss for words and my mouth slightly agape he continued, “Is death really that bad?  Either you go to heaven as I know your grandmother would or nothing.  Its just like sleeping now neither one of those is to bad is it.” Without waiting for me to answer he continued.  “So I think you should go and listen to some stories.”  Following his advice I got up with a new understanding of life and death.  I listened to various stories about my grandmother and had an overall good time at the funeral.