2. Desired section: Stories and Poems
3. My experience: Past editor and section head
4. My example:
Keep in mind that this was written a little over a year ago. The plot is weak and a tad unbelievable but I'd like to think it's well written.
QUOTE
Wiping the dust from his glasses to see better, Gareth gazed at the picture which he held in is equally dusty hands.
"Wow! This guy is the spitting image of Morgan!" he said aloud, though nobody was there to listen.
The young man turned, and slowly walked down the ladder, being careful not to drop the box of junk he had found in the attic.
"Any idea who this guy is?" he asked Yoan, one of his roommates, showing him the picture.
"Nope," he replied in a thick Bulgarian accent. "Ask Mogo when he comes in."
Gareth turned to place the photograph on the table, "Yeah, probably just some dead dude."
"What else did you find up there?"
"Nothing much, just an old newspaper and some more pictures, nothing really interesting," Gareth replied, placing the newspaper on the kitchen table along with the photograph. He checked his watch. "Shoot, we can't wait for Morgan anymore, we have to go or we'll miss the play!"
"Why do we gotta see a stinkin' play anyway?" Yoan asked with a disgruntled look on his face.
"You know why. If we don't we'll totally fail the exam. Besides, watching a boring play for a couple hours is way better than reading a super long book by some boring old guy."
"Ah fine, you got me," he said putting his arms up in surrender and started to head for the door.
"I just hope he isn't too mad at us for leaving him behind," said Gareth.
"Nah, he'll be fine. Now come on already!" The two friends walked out the door, leaving the apartment behind them.
Morgan came home at about 6:45 that afternoon, an hour late.
"Hmm... figured they wouldn't be here," he said to himself, but he didn't really blame them. He hung his coat up and went to fetch his book to read. By the third page, he wished he could have been at that play after all, but it was too late anyway. He put down his book and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He just sat there, motionless, still tired last minute cramming.
He didn't know how long he had been sitting there until he saw the newspaper on the table.
"Ah, nothing I like better than reading the paper." He slowly flipped through the pages. "Rising heat prices a concern for citizens. Local hockey team wins tournament. Hiring full time/part time employees over winter holidays, phone number below for more info."
"Hehe, if I fail this exam and get kicked out of school I can always work for them," he chuckled.
He continued to flip through the pages, reading an article or two that seemed to pique his interest. He turned the page, and just stopped, eyes fixated on the paper.
Before him was a picture of a young man, below a rather disturbing title. "Local Man Dies in Freak Accident." He threw the paper to the ground, not able to bear looking at it anymore. The picture in the paper, it was…
"Me. That was me," Morgan said, hands shaking, his face white. "No, it can't be! H-How in the world did I end up on today's paper? How could that possibly be me?" He thought to himself. After all, he knew better than anybody that he was alive.
But it couldn't be a coincidence either. Just early that morning on the news they were commenting on how heating your home was becoming more and more expensive. No, it couldn't be a coincidence. It was a warning.
"Yes, a warning!" he said to himself, almost sounding like a crazed lunatic, pacing up and down the room. "Hahaha! Yes, that's what it is." He looked down at the paper, and noticed something he hadn't before. January 15th it said it bold letters.
"No, it couldn't be," he thought, checking his watch to make sure. "Just as I thought, today isn't the 15th at all… it's the 14th."
"I won't let this come true," he said aloud. "I'm not going to let this happen." He slowly backed out of the room, his head turning from side to side like a scared animal knowing its hunter may pounce at any moment.
"Wait a minute, what if this is all a joke? Yeah, just another one of Yoan's twisted jokes. Yeah, that's it." Scarcely believing his own words, he picked up the remote. "Ah, let's see what's on."
The New Year is starting off worse than expected. A bad start for 2006, rising heating prices are getting higher and higher. Schools are closed due to the cold, and many people are left freezing without any heat at all. More on this story at 11:00.
In local news, high school hockey team Stings took first place in a tournament today, representing Ottawa in a tournament of more than 50 other cities across the province.
The remote fell to the floor. "No. No! You're not real!" he screamed at the TV. He jumped on the coffee table, breaking the glass. His legs bleeding, he collapsed on the floor, no longer able to stand.
"HAHAHA!" he cackled like a madman, "I'm not going to die! HA! No, NEVER! I'm not going to die. I'm not going to die," he said, repeating the same five words over and over until they were nothing more than meaningless sounds…
"What a boring play, man. I bet it would have been easier to read the book," said Yoan, climbing the last stair on the fourth floor of the apartment building. "Yo, did you lock the door when you left?"
"Yeah, 'course I did," Gareth replied.
The two friends walked down the hall and into their apartment, and saw something they'd never forget, but wished they could.
"Hey, kid, you shouldn't be in here!" yelled one of the paramedics standing over Morgan's body. His legs bandaged, but blood could be seen on the floor around where he lay.
"Wha-What's going on here?"
"Is our friend going be ok?"
"This guy's your friend?" asked a police officer. "Well I have to say I really don't know. It appears as if he had a mental breakdown, went into a mad rage, trashed the living room, and just collapsed here. A neighbour called in, said she heard somebody saying that he 'wasn't going to die' over an over again. Any idea what could have triggered this?"
"No, no idea," Yoan answered for both of them.
"Well, if you think of anything, just come by the station and ask for Officer Wallace."
"Sure thing."
"Your friend will be okay," the man tried to assure them. "Okay, take him away boys." The paramedics, who now had Morgan on a stretcher, carried him out of the room.
"Wow, who would have thought? What do you think made him go nuts like that?" Yoan asked.
"Who knows?" He knelt down to pick up the newspaper on the floor. "It could have been anything, really." He looked at the top of the paper, curious as to how old it was. The date at the top read:
January 15th, 1982
"Wow! This guy is the spitting image of Morgan!" he said aloud, though nobody was there to listen.
The young man turned, and slowly walked down the ladder, being careful not to drop the box of junk he had found in the attic.
"Any idea who this guy is?" he asked Yoan, one of his roommates, showing him the picture.
"Nope," he replied in a thick Bulgarian accent. "Ask Mogo when he comes in."
Gareth turned to place the photograph on the table, "Yeah, probably just some dead dude."
"What else did you find up there?"
"Nothing much, just an old newspaper and some more pictures, nothing really interesting," Gareth replied, placing the newspaper on the kitchen table along with the photograph. He checked his watch. "Shoot, we can't wait for Morgan anymore, we have to go or we'll miss the play!"
"Why do we gotta see a stinkin' play anyway?" Yoan asked with a disgruntled look on his face.
"You know why. If we don't we'll totally fail the exam. Besides, watching a boring play for a couple hours is way better than reading a super long book by some boring old guy."
"Ah fine, you got me," he said putting his arms up in surrender and started to head for the door.
"I just hope he isn't too mad at us for leaving him behind," said Gareth.
"Nah, he'll be fine. Now come on already!" The two friends walked out the door, leaving the apartment behind them.
Morgan came home at about 6:45 that afternoon, an hour late.
"Hmm... figured they wouldn't be here," he said to himself, but he didn't really blame them. He hung his coat up and went to fetch his book to read. By the third page, he wished he could have been at that play after all, but it was too late anyway. He put down his book and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He just sat there, motionless, still tired last minute cramming.
He didn't know how long he had been sitting there until he saw the newspaper on the table.
"Ah, nothing I like better than reading the paper." He slowly flipped through the pages. "Rising heat prices a concern for citizens. Local hockey team wins tournament. Hiring full time/part time employees over winter holidays, phone number below for more info."
"Hehe, if I fail this exam and get kicked out of school I can always work for them," he chuckled.
He continued to flip through the pages, reading an article or two that seemed to pique his interest. He turned the page, and just stopped, eyes fixated on the paper.
Before him was a picture of a young man, below a rather disturbing title. "Local Man Dies in Freak Accident." He threw the paper to the ground, not able to bear looking at it anymore. The picture in the paper, it was…
"Me. That was me," Morgan said, hands shaking, his face white. "No, it can't be! H-How in the world did I end up on today's paper? How could that possibly be me?" He thought to himself. After all, he knew better than anybody that he was alive.
But it couldn't be a coincidence either. Just early that morning on the news they were commenting on how heating your home was becoming more and more expensive. No, it couldn't be a coincidence. It was a warning.
"Yes, a warning!" he said to himself, almost sounding like a crazed lunatic, pacing up and down the room. "Hahaha! Yes, that's what it is." He looked down at the paper, and noticed something he hadn't before. January 15th it said it bold letters.
"No, it couldn't be," he thought, checking his watch to make sure. "Just as I thought, today isn't the 15th at all… it's the 14th."
"I won't let this come true," he said aloud. "I'm not going to let this happen." He slowly backed out of the room, his head turning from side to side like a scared animal knowing its hunter may pounce at any moment.
"Wait a minute, what if this is all a joke? Yeah, just another one of Yoan's twisted jokes. Yeah, that's it." Scarcely believing his own words, he picked up the remote. "Ah, let's see what's on."
The New Year is starting off worse than expected. A bad start for 2006, rising heating prices are getting higher and higher. Schools are closed due to the cold, and many people are left freezing without any heat at all. More on this story at 11:00.
In local news, high school hockey team Stings took first place in a tournament today, representing Ottawa in a tournament of more than 50 other cities across the province.
The remote fell to the floor. "No. No! You're not real!" he screamed at the TV. He jumped on the coffee table, breaking the glass. His legs bleeding, he collapsed on the floor, no longer able to stand.
"HAHAHA!" he cackled like a madman, "I'm not going to die! HA! No, NEVER! I'm not going to die. I'm not going to die," he said, repeating the same five words over and over until they were nothing more than meaningless sounds…
"What a boring play, man. I bet it would have been easier to read the book," said Yoan, climbing the last stair on the fourth floor of the apartment building. "Yo, did you lock the door when you left?"
"Yeah, 'course I did," Gareth replied.
The two friends walked down the hall and into their apartment, and saw something they'd never forget, but wished they could.
"Hey, kid, you shouldn't be in here!" yelled one of the paramedics standing over Morgan's body. His legs bandaged, but blood could be seen on the floor around where he lay.
"Wha-What's going on here?"
"Is our friend going be ok?"
"This guy's your friend?" asked a police officer. "Well I have to say I really don't know. It appears as if he had a mental breakdown, went into a mad rage, trashed the living room, and just collapsed here. A neighbour called in, said she heard somebody saying that he 'wasn't going to die' over an over again. Any idea what could have triggered this?"
"No, no idea," Yoan answered for both of them.
"Well, if you think of anything, just come by the station and ask for Officer Wallace."
"Sure thing."
"Your friend will be okay," the man tried to assure them. "Okay, take him away boys." The paramedics, who now had Morgan on a stretcher, carried him out of the room.
"Wow, who would have thought? What do you think made him go nuts like that?" Yoan asked.
"Who knows?" He knelt down to pick up the newspaper on the floor. "It could have been anything, really." He looked at the top of the paper, curious as to how old it was. The date at the top read:
January 15th, 1982
