From MRMS Creative Writing Workshop 2007
led by Ms. Mary Richert

by Matt T.

      It was an early morning on the U.S.S. Theodore Roosevelt. The mist hung in the air as the crew of the U.S.S. Theodore Roosevelt started their morning.
      Lieutenant Tumelty (Lt. for short) got out of his cramped upper bunk, rolled off it and twisted in the air to land on his feet. Sleeping below him snoring was his best bud, Lt. Flichum (call sign, Flinch). Lt. Tumelty (call sign, Tums) tapped his friend on the shoulder, Flinch didn’t wake up. Tums smiled to himself and lifted the mattress up. Flinch grunted as he hit the metal wall next to his bed and looked at his best bud. Tums smiled an innocent look and went to wake up his other friends. Adjacent to Tums and Flinch were Lt. Zimmerman (call sign, Zimmy) and Lt. Gish (call sign, Fish).  Fish woke up when he heard Flinch grunt.
      “Oh no, Tums” said Fish.
      “Okay, but you have to wake up Zimmy” said Tums.
      “Tums, if you do that again, I swear....” advised Flinch.
      Tums shrugged and went to get changed. He put on his favorite shirt (a Calvin and Hobbs shirt about a 6 month deployment) and his desert brown flight suit.
      “Tums, why do you have to always wake me up that way?” asked Flinch.
      “Well I tapped you on the shoulder and you didn’t wake up, and you know you’re a heavy sleeper,” accused Tums.
      “Next time tap, no, shake me to get me awake and if that doesn’t work then you can pull my mattress from under me.”
      “Sure” Tums said slurring the words.
      “Tums, remember that after breakfast at 09:00 (9 o’clock) we go on patrol,” exclaimed Zimmy
      “Yeah, skipper got a message relayed from a battleship saying they think they found a radar dish far inland and the battleship’s shells couldn’t reach the radar outpost,” added Fish.
      “I bet he wants the best prowler pilots to go jam the radar outpost!” said Flinch getting out of his bed to get his clothes for the morning.
      “You guys ready for breakfast? I hear they’re making pancakes and sausage with fruit for desert.” explained Tums as he pulled on his boots.
      The four aviators walked out of their stateroom and strode to the chow hall. When they got there the sweet smells of pancakes and sausage with a slight aroma of warm maple syrup reached their noses.  
      “Yummm, those pancakes look good,” said Zimmy, practically jumping off the ground .“ I love the days when we get pancakes.”
       Everybody went to the buffet line and each got heaping plates of pancakes and steaming hot sausage smothered in warm maple syrup. They all sat down and ate the food hungrily.
     A half an hour later they all went to the hangar bay. The echoing sounds of the hangar bay were a little to much for Tums.
      “Why is it always so loud down here,” said Tums, his voice rising a little bit higher than usual so he could be heard.
      “Well I think it’s because the ocean spray echoes around this empty hangar,” answered Fish.
      “Hello gents, how was breakfast?” interrupted Ensign Wolsk, coming out from under the wing of their E-A6B (Prowler).
      “Scrumptious,” exclaimed Flinch with a smile on his face.
      “How’s she doing?” asked Tums, looking at the Prowler.
      “Inspection is done,” answered Wolsk.
      “And?” asked Zimmy, looking at Wolsk quizzically.
      “She can fly in an half an hour,” Wolsk answered.
      Forty-five minutes later they were all climbing inside the cockpit of their E-A6B. The plane unfolded its wings and headed to the catapult.  Tums felt the familiar jerk as the prowler was launched from the catapult.  He looked out the window and saw the dull gray of the aircraft carrier turn to the deep blue of the ocean.
            “Okay, go straight until you hit the desert,” said Tums from the backseat.
            “Roger,” answered Fish from the pilot’s seat.
            Two minutes later Tums saw the barren land of the desert.
            “Take a right turn and we should see the radar dish coming up,” explained Tums.
            “There it is,” exclaimed Zimmy sitting right of Fish.
            “Are we in jamming range?” asked Flinch sitting behind Zimmy.
            “Almost. Now!” said Zimmy.
            “Jamming sequence begun,” said Tums pressing some buttons rapidly.  Flinch was flipping some
switches.
            “Tell me when I can knockout the dish,” said Zimmy.
            “Now!” said Tums.  Tums felt the rocket release from the clamp and shoot off toword the target.  He looked out and saw the dish go up in a ball of flames.
            “Yehaww!” yelled Fish turning the plane around to go back to the ship.
            “Mission complete!” they all said in unison.             

My Grandmother's Story

by Sophia C.

World War II began in September of 1939.  The Germans entered Poland, breaking the Versailles Treaty.  Adolf Hitler had come to power, blaming Germany’s problems on the Jews.  Germany lacked resources, was in the midst of an economic depression, and was still bitter over their loss in World War I.  Concentration camps were set up and the occupants were worked to death.   Along with Mussolini of Italy, and Hirohito of Japan, they set up the Rome-Berlin-Tokyo axis.  This is the story of my grandmother, Thalia Drougas Cologer.  She lived in Athens, Greece under the Italian and German occupation. 

This is my grandmother’s story.  “I was five years old when the war began.  My mother always told me that the war would never reach us.  We would only hear  about it from the news, but none of us would die from it.  We were lulled into a false sense of security.  That was about to change.  It was October 26^th, 1940, a Sunday.  The Italian government came to the Greek president and demanded that they surrender to the Italian troops.  The president said oci (ohi), or no.  I did not know this, I only learned it later.  I was on Mt.  Filopapw, a Mountain on the outskirts of Athens.  I was celebrating a name day party with my pro-giagia (pro-yiayia), great-grandmother and my pro-qeia (pro-thee), great-aunt, and her next door neighbors.  We stayed the night and at 5:00 A.M. the bomb sirens started blaring.  We all ran for cover in my pro-qeia basement.  The next day we returned to our house on 26 Alatsaton (Alatsaton) in Athens.  Many people were coming from the katafugion (katafigion), or shelter.  My cousin Niko, Nick scared me and said the Germans and Italians were coming to get us”. 

“Even though the Axis occupiers were among us, life still went on.  The older children went to school, and the parents went to work.  There were five girls in Birona, my community.  We played  cartia (chartia), a card game with my giagia (yiayia), grandmother.  She was like a saint.  She had only two sins, she played cartia and she danced.  We played jacks with rocks and my Mpampa (Baba) father found a marble which caused hours of entertainment”. 

“Food was becoming scarce.  My mama would walk for hours to try and find something to eat.  By 1941, many people were dying in the streets.  Once my older brother, whose name was also Niko, had a sack of wheat.  As he walked along, someone split open the bag and its contents spilled.  The people greedily ate the wheat.  I guess for many that was their first meal in two days.  We had a garden on top of the veranda.  We planted tomatoes and eggplants.  Glass was placed along the top of the wall so thieves would not come”.  

“We were luckier than most.  My father got a contracting job with the Germans. He was not a German sympathizer.  His job assured him that he would not be sent  to Germany as a laborer.  That still did not lessen my deepest fear.  I had  to deal with the boots stomping up and down the street.  I was always afraid of my brother leaving in the morning and not coming back.  The Germans would tell all the men to come to the offices in downtown.  Mama (Mama), mother told me to never go down there.  She said that they would send you off to a place where you would die”. 

At the end of the war we celebrated.  We sang eqenei Elesi (etheni Elisi), the British came.  My French teacher, Madolonos (Madolovos), was a Jew.  The neighbors hid him in their homes.  He made it through the war by tutoring the neighborhood children.  My brother and did not even know he was Jewish.

I was lucky in a way.  I was young so I was shielded from the extreme hardships of the war.  Whenever we hand extras my mother gave it to me.  Everyone in Athens had the same culture, religion, and language.  Even grown and far away we are still tied by that bond.  

The ended on May 7^th 1945, in Europe.  Adolf Hitler committed suicide along with executives. 

My grandmother married Christopher Cologer, a Greek from Chicago.  They currently live in Arnold, Maryland. 

From Mrs. Hamilton's 6th Grade Class

Comic Books
by Taylor H.

Page filled with action galore
My heart craves more, more
Superman and Green Arrow too
so many I will go blue

Running fast to save the day
The bad guys never get away
With super powers they unite
To fight off evil through the night

Hero's capes that dance in the wind
The Hulk has the bad guys pinned
For a low price I will buy
To watch the superheroes fly

Evil villains may get in the way
but that won't stop the heroes today
Even though they are not real
Their secret identities I will not squeal

Dreaming of Chicago
by Annie L.

Chicago is my heart
Beautiful and full of care
Swimming, shouting, climbing
As if it were a dare

My brain is full of wondrous things
Old places and lost memories
Bells and whistles, rings and dings
I feel arms of beautiful laces

Chicago is my family
Loving and warm
Some at home, some at school
Elder cousins asleep in a dorm

I see water dancing on the shore
Friends playing in the sand
I hear a soft knock on a door
"Wake up Annie, put your feet on the floor"
 

My summer camp, Camp Conowingo in Hartford County, is probably the scariest place I’ve ever been to.  There’s this abandoned chimney on the side of the trail to our cabins.  The story is that a mother and her three kids lived in a cabin during the Civil War.  The father was away at war.  One night, the mother looked out the window and saw Confederate soldiers marching up the hill.  She knew they were coming to kill the family because her husband was a Northern soldier.  She wanted her children to live, so she put her daughter, 9, and her son, 7, in the stone chimney.  Then she gave the daughter her 8-month old baby.  The children heard the mother being killed by the soldiers.
      When they were sure the soldiers were gone, the children started to cry for help.  But no one heard them.  Nobody searched for the kids because they thought the whole family had been killed.  Eventually, the kids died of starvation.  They say that if you shout up the chimney on an extremely dark night, the children will scream back at you and haunt your dreams.

Published in Weird Maryland (2006)

The Widow’s Book
By: Merritt E.

“Trick or treat!” we all had yelled at every house on the small road of Jenson Ave. Every Halloween Rob, Joe, Johnny, and I would go trick or treating. Then one Halloween, they dared me to go knock on the door to the old run-down house at the dark, overgrown end of the road. Everybody said it was haunted.

“We’ll give you half of our candy if you do it...and live,” they cackled.

Having never turned down a dare before, I walked up to the small, dark house, and rang the doorbell. I stood there for a minute, turned around and watched them staring in suspense. Then all of a sudden, the doorknob started to turn. My heart started to race. The door opened and...

“Why, hello young man.” A fairly old woman with gray hair opened the door. She wore a pale pink dress, a white bonnet, and wore a pin shaped like a flower. “How may I help you this evening?” The woman asked.

“T-T-Trick or treat?” I stuttered somewhat frightened.

“Oh yes, it’s Halloween isn’t it? Well, nobody ever comes here. I don’t believe I have any candy. I’m sorry.”

“That’s o. . .“

“But wait, I do have something I can give you. I’ll be right back.” After about a minute, the woman came back holding a book.

“I used to love this book as a child. It’s a book of poems. I can’t see too well any- more, and I know them all by heart so, here, I’d like you to have it.”

The woman gave me a sweet, loving smile. The kind your grandmother gives you when you give her a hug.

“Thank you, Miss.”

“You’re welcome. Have a good night, my boy,” and the door closed.

I walked back to the boys.

“Why you were gone for so long?”

“What happened to you?”

“Are you ok?”

“She was nice.” I answered calmly. I never told them about the book. Nor did I ever read it. It was so beat up and brittle and I didn’t want to break it.

Later that year my father was transferred and we were forced to move. I was 12 years old. I never went back to visit my hometown.

It has been 30 years since I left. I am married and we have a son, Donny, who is now five. And we just moved back to my hometown to be near my elderly parents. While unpacking, I noticed the old book of poems that I had received almost 30 years earlier -- to the day, since tonight is the night before Halloween. I thought that Donny would want to see it.

“Hey Donny!”

“Yah, Dad?”

“Come down here for a second.”

When Donny came down I told him that the book was very old and was given to me when I was young. “Thanks Daddy.” And he ran upstairs with the book. Donny wasn’t able to read well yet, but it would be good for him to have

-------------

 “Happy Halloween everybody!” Donny was in his little cowboy costume.

“Time to go trick or treating!”

“Ok, Donny in a minute. Let me just get ready.” Then I came up with an idea.

“Hey Donny, how about we go down to the house where I got that old book?”

“Ok, lets go!”

When we got to the house, it looked even grayer an older and, dirtier than before. Donny and I walked up to the house and rang the doorbell. Then the door opened.

“Trick or treat!”

“Hello young man, how may I help you?”

The woman who answered the door had gray hair, wore a pale pink dress, a white bonnet, and a pin shaped like a flower. It looked like the same woman and she didn’t look a day older even though she must be about ninety years old now.

“Oh it’s Halloween isn’t it? Nobody ever comes here. I’m quite sorry, but I don’t believe I have any candy. I’m a very poor widow.”

“That’s fine, we understand. Thank you anyway.”

“Have a good night.”

For some reason I could not think of a good way to bring up that I had met her 30 years ago, so Donny and I turned and walked away from the house and back to the street.

As we approached the street Donny exdaimed, “She looks just like the lady in the book you gave me!”

“What did you say?”

“That lady looked like the one in the book you gave me.”

“Her picture is in the book?” I asked.

“Not on a page but on a piece of paper in the book,” he replied.

“Well,” I said with my mind stuck on Donny’s curious words,  “It’s getting late and we should be getting home.”

When we got home, I found the book and carefully turned the old, fragile pages looking for that picture. As I got near the back, a piece of old, yellow newspaper fell out of the book and onto the floor.

“What’s this?”

I picked up the clipping and noticed the date, Novembr 1, 1900.1 turned the paper over and there was a picture the woman at the house looking just like she did when I first saw her so long ago, and just like she looked tonight; wearing a pale pink dress, a white bonnet, and a pin shaped like a flower. Below the picture it read:
           
            Irma Wilson
            Lived for many years at 274 Jenson Avenue
            Poet and loving wife of the late John Wilson
            Died on October 31, 1900.

                
"The Widow's Book" won 7th Grade Short Story
for the State of Maryland International Reading Association Young Author's Contest