I Have a Dream

     I have a dream, that one day I will proudly step into the classroom on time. I have a dream, that one day the infernal racket of my alarm will finally coax me to my feet to face the fate of each day. I have a dream, that the word "tardy" will be completely abolished from my vocabulary.

     But it takes time. It takes time, to change ones drowsy and dreary ways. It takes time, to erase all recollection of any instances of being "late" for class. It takes time to learn the great art of time management. Yet in 4 score years, I will have eradicated my lazy ways. In 4 score years people will associate the name Graham as one of punctuality. In 4 score years... I may also be dead.

     However this does not deter me from continuing to try. It does not deter the hope and motivation that dwindles inside of me. It does not deter me from striving perfection, for every millisecond closer I am to being on time brings me one step closer to success.

      One day Mr. VanCamp will look me in the eyes and say "Thank you for being on time". One day I will take prominent steps into the class that shake the very foundations of normal. One day I will not get a phone call home for being late.

     Tomorrow will be the beginning of this long haul journey of change. Tomorrow I will start by uplifting myself with pride knowing that all my English homework is complete. Tomorrow is another day, but as for today, I think that's enough writing, I'm already late for my next class.

Cliches

       George looked up from shoeing the horse to see the outline of Curley's wife in the doorway of the barn. They were alone.

      "What are ya doing in here? it's late, by now you should be snug as a bug in your own bed."

      Curley's wife smiled and remarked, "I was, I was like a pig in a blanket until I heard you stirring up a storm in here"

      George quickly turned away and meekly uttered, "Sorry, I'll put a cork in it now if you'd like"

      "That's alright, a mans gotta do what a mans gotta do so I'm not gonna flip my lid over it" stated Curley's wife.

      "Don't I know it," affirmed George, "if I wasn't doing this I would be poorer then a pickpocket in a nudist colony."

      Curley's wife edged just a step closer questioned, "What are ya doing hanging around Lennie? There's no funny business between the two of you right? Because if ya ask me i'd say he's a bit of a wet blanket."

     "Well Lennie may not be the cream of the crop but to me he still is company," retorted George.

     "Now I don't wanna curb your enthusiasm but you best be outta here. I don't wanna fan the flames of hatred between me and Curley"

      "I'll go," conceded Curley's wife, "but just remember that I didn't just fall off the turnip truck and I can put two and two together."

      George sat alone now, questioning what she knew.

Auschwitz

        The putrid stench of chlorine hit me harder then ever before. We are marching. We are marching through a hall, hardly wide enough to fit one person across, led by a man who parades us bearing a bright red swastika. The mark of evil. I run my hands down the rugged grey walls that keep us confined. The sharp edges of the wall claw at my weak and dehydrated hands. The cold forces its icy fingers through all the cracks and crevices of the wall and clings to our skin. Is this how it had been for the millions of others? I reach forward, grasping endlessly for just a breath of clean air yet I keep coming up empty handed. One final great stretch yields reward as we take a step into open air. The sun, despite the cold temperature, bounces blindingly off the fresh blanket of snow. It had been weeks since any of us had seen the sun so we stare, wide eyed at all the mystery around us. The walls of the building we are heading towards had once shone with hope, but now the walls are decrepit and decaying after months of neglect. My mouth is dry. For the past few weeks we have merely been rationed out drops of water each day. I lick my sandpaper mouth in search a just a morsel of secretion but to no avail. Nobody speaks, all that can be heard is the shuffle of bare feet on frigid snow. This is it. This is the end. My final words, "Mein kampf."