“She’s in room 325 sweetie, and you should probably hurry,” the old woman responded as she pointed a bony finger to her right.

“Thanks!” Shayna yelled at the woman as her feet promptly took her half way down the white hospital hallway.  She ran down the hall and into the room her mother was in.

The woman she saw lying in the hospital bed looked nothing like her mother. She looked red and disfigured.  The limbs on the left side of her body were missing, and half of her head was wrapped in white gauze now stained red with the color of a life that would soon be leaving.  Shayna’s heart sank as she ran to the side of the bed, unsure of what to do or say.  The only thing on her mind was the last time she had spoken to her mother.  She had hurt her mother, saying that she couldn’t come home for her own birthday dinner because she had to work.  She had noticed how wounded her mother sounded on the phone, but she didn’t really care.

“I’ll see her eventually. It’s not that big of a deal, I mean…we can just celebrate my birthday another night,” Shayna said to herself when she got off the phone.  And now she couldn’t even remember the last time she had ever spent time with her mom.  It was all over though.  She watched her mother’s chest move slowly up and down, slowing down with each passing minute.  She had so many regrets, but it was too late.  The woman who had cared for Shayna her entire life was now laying before her, hooked up to more tubes, wires, and IV’s than she had ever seen before.  She reached down and lightly touched her mother’s leg, and at that moment the green line on the screen next to the bed went flat.  The sound of her mother’s heart beat ceasing was ringing in her ears.  She sank down to her knees and buried her face into the side of the bed.

“God…she bought that soap again…how many times have I asked her NOT to buy this kind of soap? It makes me smell like flowers and I hate it.” Mark thought to himself as he rubbed the wash cloth over his chest and under his arms.  All of a sudden he heard a ringing sound, he froze and the soapy washcloth hit the white tiled shower floor.  His heart began to race and without thinking twice, Mark sprinted out of the shower, without turning off the water.  He managed to grab his dark blue bathrobe from the hook on the bathroom door before he ran out dripping all over the tan bedroom carpet.  He ran downstairs, tripping on a little stuffed clown that made a startling, “Sqeeeeeeeeak!”

“I should have put a phone in the bedroom, gahh what was I thinking?!” he said to himself.  He reached for the phone and pulled it up just as as it was in the middle of the fourth ring.  “HI HELLO IS THIS MR. SMITH??” he uttered in one breath, without waiting for the person on the other end to speak first.  “Yes sir, and is this Mr. Warenton?” the man on the phone replied. “YES, THIS IS HE!” Mark quickly responded back, “HAVE YOU FOUND HIM? MY SON! HAVE YOU FOUND HIM YET?” His knuckles were turning white from gripping the plastic phone so hard and his chest was rapidly caving in and out, in and out.  A small dark puddle was forming on the ground right where he was standing and there was a soapy trail left on the stairs.  His breathing was loud, and he was aware of it, but he couldn’t stop it.  The voice on the other end paused then quietly replied..”Mr. Warenton, I’m so sorry. We’ve found your son, but….well he’s….” Mark dropped to his knees, his eyes welling up and his voice cracking as he cut Mr. Smith off, “He can’t be…he’s not…dead….is he?” Mr. Smith whispered a silent, “I’m sorry.”

Mark threw the phone across the room.  It hit the yellow dining room wall, coming down on a shelf of delicate China and shattering both it and the white china all to pieces.  He buried his face on the white rug and banged his clenched fists on the ground over and over again.  His shoulders were shaking and he was screaming.  Just then he heard a key turn in the front door.  The front door slowly opened and he looked up.  “Honey?” Mrs. Warenton said as she looked at her husband lying on the floor in a puddle of soap and water.  It took her all of 3 seconds to figure out what had happened and then she was on the floor right next to him.  Both with broken hearts, wishing they hadn’t taken their eyes off of him at the park that day.

By: Katelyn Bateman, section 4

My mother used to have a mother.  Well, technically everyone used to have a mother at some point otherwise they wouldn’t exist.  But my mother used to have a mother who was alive.  She was sixteen when she died, leaving my mom motherless and leaving me grandmotherless.  My mom is literally my best friend in the entire world, and I can’t even imagine what I would do if she died.  In fact, I know quite a few older people who’s mothers have already died.  Part of growing old is losing the ones you love, and dying eventually yourself.  Death is kind of a scary thing to think about.  However, if you know where you’re gonig when you die, it doesn’t actually seem as scary.  At least for me anyways, thats how it is.  I’m not a perfect person, but I like to think that I know where I’m going  when I die, because I’m a Christian.  This journal is getting kind of sad, talking about death and all, so I should switch to something happy!  Back to my mother-she is an amazing woman and I love her with all my heart.  This weekend I’m going home to see her for Easter and I can’t wait! When I go home, I’m literally not going to think about school at all.  I’m going to relax and enjoy being with my family.  I’m probably gonig to dye Easter eggs with my three little brothers.  Its a tradition in my family, and one that  probably won’t be going away any time soon.  My mother also always invites the entire family over to our house for Easter lunch and dinner on Sunday.  I love having everyone over at my house and I haven’t seen them all in a while, so I’m especially excited.  Also, I didn’t get to go home for Easter last year, because as a freshman here at Mary Washington, I wasn’t allowed to have my car here with me.  It was really hard being away from my family, so that is why I’m so excited about going home this weekend.  Plus, I have had probably the most intense and stressful week of the semester this week, so I’m definitely ready for a weekend at home.  I had a 12 page paper due on Monday for my sociology class, a statistics group project due on Tuesday, a sociology quiz on Thursday, and a spanish and oceanography exam on Friday.  Not to mention this journal assignment  and the short story also due on Friday.  Needless to say, its been a hectic week.  Sorry, this is probably going to be really boring to read.

By: Katelyn Bateman

I saw him walking around this building earlier.  God it’s so hard trying to avoid him, and it would suck so bad if this elevator opened and he was…

In walked the devil himself at that very moment, interrupting my thoughts and causing them to become an unfortunate reality.

“Hey,” he said.  I replied with a quick, “What are YOU doing here?” “Oh, you know, just riding in the elevator!” he replied, in a tone that made me want to falcon punch him in the face.  I could see in his eyes that he thought this was a joke.  “I really wish you would stop following me,” I uttered.  Watching his playful glance turn into a more serious one.  “What makes you think I’m following you?! Maybe I was tired and didn’t feel like taking the stairs! Ever think about that? Huh?” “No, I didn’t…” I replied. “Because that’s a bullshit excuse.”  Now he just looked pissed.  “You’re the one who broke up with me, remember!? So why the hell are you acting like a little bitch?” he exclaimed.  “Because you broke my heart! Remember? Because you were never there! And because you never even cared about me!  THAT’S why!” I managed to finish my rant before the lump formed in my throat.  “I hate you for that.  I hate that I wasted so much time and effort loving you.” I added.  He just starred at me, not knowing what to say I guess.  “You’re a really emotional person…you know that right?” he replied back.  At that point I could feel the lump diminishing in my throat, as it was quickly replaced with a boiling hot rage.  It took all  the strength I had not to leap across that elevator and knock his teeth in.  “And you’re an asshole…you know that right?” I responded back to him.  Trying not to explode.  “Yep, not the first time you’ve called me one.” He replied.  “God, why is it taking so long for this elevator to get to the third floor?!” I shouted frustratingly.   He chuckled and said, “Wouldn’t it be so hilarious if we got stuck in here together?”  “NO!” I shouted, “It WOULDN’T be hilarious!”  I was getting more and more frustrated by the second.   Suddenly, the elevator stopped.  Except we weren’t on the third floor. We weren’t on any floor.  We were in between floors and we were stuck.   “Wow, that’s just perfect!” I muttered under my breath.  “It is, isn’t it?” he replied, while moving closer to me.  “What the hell are you doing?!” I exclaimed as I was slowly being pushed against the elevator wall.  “Something I should have done a long time ago,” he said as he tenderly grabbed my face and leaned in with his eyes closed.  My hand suddenly flew up, and I felt myself slap him in the face.  His eyes were closed so he didn’t see it coming.

By: Katelyn Bateman

Regard the art on the cover of this book.  Relax, focus, take in the colors and the composition. Freewrite about anything it suggests to you, reminds you of, or makes you feel. 

The first thing that comes to my mind is the earth.  The colors…green, yellow, brown, white, tan….they’re all earthy colors.  It also reminds me of the quilt on my mother’s bed.  My grandmother made it for her when she got married.  It kind of smells like my grandmother’s house.  Her house smells like old people, but for some reason I like it. It makes me feel warm and safe and it makes me think back to my childhood.  Back to the cover art though…. the pattern resembles a quilt of the earth.  As if I am in an airplane soaring above the ground, looking down on a bunch of fields and yards.  The green patches especially look like acres of land.  Or like a town below, filled with people.  The patches of land are all different sizes though.  Some are square, rectangular, triangular, circular, but none of them are perfectly shaped.  It makes me think of diversity.  How there are so many humans in the world of different shapes, sizes, and colors.   There are also little dots or hash marks on a lot of the shapes in this picture.  To me they seem like little houses.  Or they could be crops. Rows of crops in a huge green plantation field.  They seem too big to be people though. Unless they are all really big people.  But I’d kind of prefer to look of them as being buildings or little houses.  I wonder if the people living in those houses know that they are on the cover of a Writing book.  I wonder if that’s what Janet Burroway thought about when she chose this art for the cover of her book.  I wonder what those people are doing right now? They’re probably sitting on their laptops writing a journal assignment for an English class they’re taking.  Or it could be a family sitting around a table eating dinner together.  Or kids playing board games and watching TV.  Now this has got me thinking about Google earth.  It’s so weird to see my car in the driveway on the areal shot of my house taken from a plane or helicopter.  I also always wonder if I was there when they took the picture…. and if I was, what was I doing?  I wonder what kinds of weird things the Google earth people see in those pictures they take.  What if someone took an areal shot of my neighborhood and put it on the cover of a book for a creative writing class. That would be really cool.

Holding that white, square packet,
the one with those purple figures on the front.

I gaze around the garden.
It looks sad these days,
like a small child, whose mother is constantly away.

I think of those tall purple flowers
as I slip on those familiar green gloves
with the musty smell of earth on them.

The sun warms that empty, black dirt,
calling to those tall purple flowers.
The ones that she loves.

Katelyn Bateman, section 04

I wish I could forget all those times,
you never told me you loved me.  Your skin so tan,
from all those days spent on the beach. Lime
wedges in your Corona.  Covered with sand.

I used to imagine that I was yours.  That
you would change your mind, and we would be
right together.  My feet on the sandy mat
inside your car, your hand on my sunburned knee.

How could I be so foolish?  You said we were just
friends.  All we were ever meant to be.
The Bass turned up so high; my thoughts are a mess,
rattled by those speakers.  You swerved then cursed.

You were always so stubborn, and I learned my lesson.
I look at you in those glasses; neon blue,
and I no longer see the same person…
the words crawling across my lips…”Who are you?”

-Katelyn Bateman, section 04

I’ve always been proud of who I am.
Though today I am afraid
to be a Romanov.

These wide, echoing rooms,
never to be ours again.

Prisoners of this country.
Our country.
Father won’t tell me much,
though I know.

I’m aware that the childhood,
I once confidently knew was mine,
Is now being taken away.
Silenced forever.

“Shut up!” “Don’t move!”
They shout at the family,
that they once knelt before.
A respect now missing.

A hand once kissed,
now trembling with fear.

Betrayed and shattered.
In that moment, is the ending
to my story–
A mystery only remaining.

By: Katelyn Bateman, section 04

One of many summers spent in the Outer Banks
She wanted the tall green mug
With “OBX” printed on it’s face
A memory of those long days
Spent entirely by those protected beach dunes

She claims that without drinking it
She becomes a monster
Though I’ve never actually seen it happen.
I’d be afraid if it did

I find it sitting in the microwave
Cold and forgotten
In the morning rush.

She’s outside watering the purple irises
Growing tall behind the house
She says they were my grandmother’s favorite
So they are hers as well.
The mug is resting on the washer machine
Next to a pile of fresh, folded white towels

Sitting at the kitchen table
She blows in it,
Then takes a sip
While reading from the book of Proverbs
With purple notes scribbled all over the pages
In between those verses that are most important to her

I find the piece of ceramic sitting next to the kitchen sink
All the dishes have been washed–
Except for that green mug
A faint brown ring,
Tracing the inner circumference of the cup.
The green sponge in the windowsill
Still damp with the smell of Dawn dish soap

The coffee pot is brewing again
The green mug is sitting on the dining room table
Its cold to the touch
Next to a bottle of lemon pledge
With that citrus aroma in the air

Sitting there with pink lipstick on its rim
She has to be reminded where it is
Its always waiting to be warm again, to be filled
To be in her hands again
As she sits on the back porch…and relaxes.

-Katelyn Bateman, section 04