noN-ficTion

Click the following links to navigate to original non-fiction prose written by Brazosport ISD students. 

"Long Live My Hero..." - Brooks, Nicholas
"No Matter What" - Manuel Garcia
"Grammy" - Taylor Pratt
"Rookie" - Christy Sink
"Morals" - Michael McFatridge

You may respond to any of these by clicking the Response button below the title.

Long Live My Hero...
by Nicholas Brooks

     I lean against the rough, white-washed plaster wall of the hallway outside of his room, and listen to the random announcements going back and forth across the hospital like some strange universal yelling contest. "Dr. Green to intensive care... Dr. Green to intensive care..."competes with the ding of the elevators and the almost silent swish of the doors opening and closing to the lCU.
     The smell of alcohol hangs in the air as if to sterilize every breath that I take. I look around at the other people in the hallway. Some have grim, determined looks on their faces while others simply look lost. I shove my hands deep into my pockets while the rest of my family crowds around the doctor, listening for some small sliver of hope.
     The doctor speaks softly but leaves absolutely no doubt. "I'm sorry everyone, it doesn't look good. When he fell off of the roof, he cracked three ribs. His lungs are filling up with blood, which is causing his fever to elevate. Normally, we could drain the blood with a small procedure but his heart is too weak from that last cancer surgery. I'm afraid the surgery itself would kill him. His heart is trying to pump out the blood while the lungs continually fill up. Eventually his heart is going to tire and simply give out. All that's keeping him going now is the machines."
     The doctor removes his glasses with their coke-bottle lenses.
     "There are only two options. You can leave him hooked up to the machines. If you choose that option, there's almost no chance of recovery. Or we can take him off of the machines and his heart will most likely shut down. I'll let your family be alone so you can talk. Just contact the nurse's station when you're ready and they'll let me know what you decide."
     As I grit my teeth wishing there was something I could do to save him, the tears begin to flood my eyes. I try to fight off the invasion by wiping off the tears with the back of my hand because Papa wouldn't like to see me this way.
     I don't even have to guess what he'd say at a time like this. I just close my eyes and hear those words that he said to me....

     Who would have thought that it was those very words that I needed to hear most right now? Funny that it's not my life spinning out of control but Papa's, and yet his words spoke the comfort I desperately needed.
     I open my eyes and step into his hospital room. All I can see is Papa laying there on the bed with sunlight streaming through the window onto his face, with machines hooked up to his frail body. I look at the rest of my family, feeling the inevitable choice that we must make. It just tears me up inside. Still, Papa's words echo in my mind "1 promise with time it will pass. Just don't ever give up your faith. "
     Mom-Mom speaks first, telling Papa how dear he's been - what a wonderful life he's provided for her. Then one by one the rest of the family speaks to Papa, saying goodbye in their own way.
     Finally, it's my turn. I lean over the bed railing and kiss his brow. The taste of
salt clings to my lips from the sweat of his fever and I begin to speak my heart. He doesn't seem to hear me, but I won't give up. Not now, not ever. "Papa, you are my hero. I love you and one day I will see you again. Goodbye, Papa. You'll be in a better place."

My hero is dead.
Long live my hero.
Let him live in my heart.

 

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No Matter What
by Manuel Garcia

     He had always been there for me; what was I supposed to do now that he was gone? My entire family missed him dearly, just like any family would after the loss of a loved one. Each one of us felt that it affected us more than the rest, but I knew that it was different for me; after all he was my twin. Abram and I had done everything together. We had dressed in matching outfits, had our own language, and we had learned to tie our shoes together. That tragic evening was one that I will never forget, but the events of the following year were vital in the process of moving on with my life. It took only one person to help me through it- James.
James was our neighbor; I never thought of him as anything other than one of my sister’s friends. His mouth often formed a smile that would not only comfort, but could also make anyone smile back. James was the kind of guy who always seemed happy- no matter what was going on he always had a smile on his face. He usually kept to himself, so much so that my sister said he was often picked on for not talking when they were younger. It wasn’t until later that I realized why he kept to himself so much.
     It was a strange chain of events that led to the passing of Abram. He was a surefooted boy; he could climb a tree better than the average monkey. Not once had I seen him fall or even slip, that is, until that day. Dark clouds menaced above, threatening to ruin our day. Abram and I had decided to play in the tree house. As we climbed the ladder, the wind picked up and blew my hat onto a far out branch. Abram said he would get it, and knowing that he could do it with ease, I said nothing. He was about halfway out when the loud howl of wind started again. The branches danced their awful dance of vengeance, a cruel dance of revenge for building upon them. Abram clung to the tree branch, but the flailing was too violent. I heard his bones break as he hit the ground below, followed by an eerie silence and the howling of wind. The branches danced yet again, but this time they danced in triumph.
     James had seen the incident from his window. He quickly rushed outside after telling his mother to call an ambulance. James was a lifeguard, and he quickly put his training to good use, checking for a pulse and refusing to move Abram before an emergency crew arrived. He seemed to have forgotten about me as I sat at the base of the tree with a blank expression.
“What just happened?” I thought to myself; I knew something was wrong. Abram and I had always had a special connection, when he felt bad, I did too. At that moment I felt empty inside, like there was nothing there. It was then that I noticed James coming to me, reassuring me- he knew Abram was gone.
     “Everything will be fine, the ambulance is here and they’ll take good care of Abram,” he said. Looking back I wonder why I believed him, I knew that Abram wasn’t there anymore. Why else would I feel so empty?
     The next couple of days were a blur of tears. I remember talking to James; our conversation usually centered around the loss his twin sister when he was seven. He told me that when he was little he wished that he could have had someone to talk to, and that if I ever needed anyone he was there for me. I suddenly realized why James had always kept to himself; he never had anyone to talk to about the death of his sister. James did not want that to happen to me because he knew what would have happened had I kept it all inside. It was on that day that I felt a true connection to James.
     We began talking every couple of days and it soon became a daily occurrence. As soon as my homework was finished, I would rush over to James’ house, knock on the door and run up to his bedroom. Over the following months James and I grew closer and closer together. I would often spend the night with him, and since he lived next door, my mom didn’t mind because I could come home whenever I wanted. James became like a second brother to me, he helped me with everything. No matter how stupid my questions may have seemed to other people, it was important to James if it was important to me.
     A year later, James graduated from high school and we spent the last couple days of the summer hanging out. My mother let me miss a day of school to go with James’ parents to drop him off at school in Austin. It was a somewhat depressing car trip; I knew it was the last day that I would spend with my “big brother” James.
     “Don’t worry,” he said, “you’ll always be able to talk to me whenever you want. I’ll make sure and have my parents give you my phone number; you can call me whenever you want to talk, no matter what.”
It wasn’t until he gave me a goodbye hug that I realized just how much he meant to me. Tears streamed down my face, but I wasn’t embarrassed; James was crying too.
     Those three years with James helped me to deal with the passing of Abram. Were it not for James, I fear that I would have become a very introverted person as opposed to the outgoing young man I am now. James gave me the greatest gift of all: the gift of friendship when I most needed it.

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Grammy

By Taylor Pratt

     Being an only child I always kept to myself and took care of my own business; I never really took the time to care about anyone else. I was turning into an eight year old who was already tired with life, completely burnt out, until I spent a weekend with the woman who breathed air into my almost deflated balloon of life.
Kathleen Pratt, my grandmother, is the most loving person I have ever known in my entire life. She always had patience for the most unforgiving people, and she was always calm in any situation. She wasn’t the most beautiful person in the world considering she was in her late seventies, but if you have to get old she did it beautifully. Her hair was thin but it was always groomed as if she had a thick, shining, healthy head of hair. Classy is the only word to define the way she dressed. Everything she wore was color-coordinated and in pristine condition. She always looked like she had just been ironed; you almost didn’t want to touch her because you might wrinkle her. But on the other hand she had this air of grace around her that attracted you to her, like a bug to a light. The one thing that sticks out in my mind the most is her hugs. They were like a fleece blanket on a cold winter day, or a glass of cold lemonade and a shade tree on a sunny summer afternoon. They seemed to envelope you like a perfect fit glove. I called her ”Grammy” because in truth she is not directly related to me. She was my Grandpa’s second wife but they are now divorced, so she has no relation to me by blood or marriage. So morally, she could have never seen me again in my life and there would be no ill thoughts of her. But she has had the most affect on my life because she didn’t let me go even though society never held her to me. I have a Grandpa, Grandma, Nanny, Pappy, Pa-Pa, and Granny who all are related to me through my parents, but none have cared for me like my Grammy. It’s the fact that she continued to love me that tells me how much she really cared.
     I know that she was with me from the beginning of my time because she is in the videos of my birth, patiently awaiting my arrival with this calm look on her face as if she and God had personally met to ensure my timely arrival. The others in the waiting room have a look of anxiety and fear on their faces. But not Grammy. She was the calm in the storm of the waiting room; her face remains constantly happy and patient.
     The first true memory I have of her is a warm and beautiful summer weekend, the first time I stayed at her house while my parents went on vacation. I was very upset that I wasn’t being allowed to go on the vacation with my parents, so when she arrived at my house to pick me up I was immediately in opposition. Finally noticing my upset mood, she sat me down and asked me, “Aren’t you excited that Mom and Dad are going on vacation? Now you can come on a vacation to my house.” A vacation? I thought it was just going to be a boring stay at someone’s house. I guess my eight-year-old brain had never thought of it from the point of view that this might actually be fun. That was the moment that I decided that maybe Grammy wasn’t just old and boring.
     The ride back to her house in Houston is probably one of my most distinct memories with her; not a single moment was silent. It seemed like she was trying to write a biography about me because she just asked question after question about me. “How is school? Do you like your teachers? Who is your best friend this year?” That was probably the time when I started to trust her because I spoke my heart to her and she just listened. I felt so special because she was only focusing her attention on me. For one time in my life I had the stage and the spotlight.
That weekend was close enough to paradise that I could feel the coarse sand in between my small toes. The first night she let me pick out the movie that I wanted to watch, which was The Little Mermaid, and we stayed up late and made ice cream sundaes. When I was eight I was in bed every night at eight-thirty and I was always begging to stay up just a little later, but to be able to stay up as late as I wanted to was awesome! The next morning I was appointed to pick out breakfast and when I asked,” Can we please have doughnuts?” I was answered with,” Of course we can!” We went to the pool, rode bikes, painted our fingernails, and played dress up. That weekend I lived every eight year-old’s dream. It was everything I loved to do except for all at the same time. The whole weekend just passed as a blur. I can’t remember thinking anything was boring during that entire weekend. During my whole life I never had that much fun at one time.
     At the time I didn’t realize that she was doing anything more than being really nice to me. But now I know what she was showing me was unselfish love. She saw the kid in me who was having no fun with life, and she showed me love and how to have fun with life. Even if it was just doing something simple.
     Grammy had breathed life into my life balloon. From that point on I can’t remember a time when life was ever boring. Just thinking about what I learned that weekend, I could always find love even in the worst times because I knew that there was someone who would always find love for me. I discovered that if you have love you can have fun and if you can have fun you will have love. Grammy taught me one of the most important lessons a person can learn in his life: if you can have only one thing in the world, it should be love. It is by far the most valuable thing I have ever learned.
 

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Rookie

By Christy Sink

     The mere thought of another day of torture made me question my sanity. My awkward gait (thanks to aching muscles) and the beautiful goose egg on my head were constant reminders of what I had endured. It was the beginning of an eternity of practices, which would test my mettle and define my character.
     As I watched the flawless elegance of the veterans in winter guard, I had come to love the art of enacting a scene with flags, rifles, bodies, and sabers. The dainty costumes and brightly colored flags misrepresented the true nature of this grueling sport. Oblivious, I determined to join this elite troupe and thus tried out with similarly entranced freshman. It was harder than it first appeared. Undaunted, I told myself the try-outs would be the worst part. I had no realization there was a conspiracy afoot. The veterans were weaving a false sense of security around us- the unsuspecting freshmen. They knew they required fresh meat, I mean new recruits, for the upcoming season. Blissfully unaware, I rejoiced when I made the team. I was filled with renewed conviction in my ability to pick up this sport with ease. It was not until summer boot camp that I realized the harsh reality of Color Guard.
     That first day we learned every rudimentary flag routine known to woman. The veterans seemed to do every move perfectly, performing a graceful ballet in which their flags became extensions of their bodies. I, on the other hand, seemed to be performing Swan Lake in combat boots. To make matters worse, my flag refused to cooperate. Not only did it fail to become an extension of my body, it seemed intent upon attacking said body. I soon realized that any and all protruding body parts were susceptible to its mischievous attacks. Nevertheless, I persevered. However, every time I seemed to be making headway, actually managing to coax the flag into compliance, the director would move on to the next routine. The breaking point came when she introduced tosses.
     “Now we shall do a bump toss. Twist your wrist, pull down, push up, and let go;” our instructor said, as if it were a piece of cake. As I watched other rookies toss and then wildly flail for their awkwardly, cart-wheeling flags, I began to know the meaning of impending doom. Steeling myself for the worst, I pushed down and twisted up, just as the director had instructed. My flag spiraled up and then nose-dived back down scoring a direct hit upon its intended target- my forehead. The pain was so intense that I could feel my head throbbing as I sank to the floor, mindless of all but the consuming pain. Out of nowhere a voice spoke: “Get back up and try again. The flag is not alive. You control it, not the other way around. Do not let the flag scare you; it cannot kill you.” As I wondered what lunatic was addressing me, a hand touched mine and pulled me up. I opened my eyes and realized the captain herself had come to speak to me.
     “You cannot give up. Guard is about recognizing your fears and overcoming them. If you stop now you have let the flag beat you. It is inanimate.” Her words sparked a sense of defiance in me. I would not let this flag beat me; I had gotten this far. I could not give up now. So, with my head still throbbing, I set up to toss again. For the first hundred or so attempts, the flag maintained the upper hand. My arm burned from the exertion, but in my best Jane Fonda impression, I relished the pain and worked through the burn. Finally, the flag ceded the victory and became the inanimate object my captain said it should be.
     The next few months were full of trials that made me stronger. With determination, I pushed through, not allowing the flag to regain the upper hand. I strived to attain the skill necessary to emulate the elegant veterans. Finding strength through pain and stamina to endure the trials helped me refine my character and face the difficulties in every day life. Now, finding myself in the role of Captain, I reflect on the words of wisdom from former leaders. It is my turn to teach the freshman how to push through the difficulty of learning something from scratch. I hope to instill in them the necessary determination to excel. There is no gain without pain.
 

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Morals

By Michael McFatridge

     Let me ask you a question. If our society is mainly based on moral conduct, how is it that we neglect it so much? You may not see it outright everywhere you go, but I assure you, it's there. From the insignificant crime of taking too many samples of a new product at Wal-Mart, to cheating on your tax return, or driving away from a car accident for which you were at fault. My friends, we are losing exactly what we should treasure most about ourselves: our morality.
    Here we come barreling into the 21st century, flagrantly losing all morality that our parents’ generation has passed down to us, and loving every minute of it. Life at the present time moves so quickly that nobody ever just takes time out anymore to help a person in distress, to donate an item you don't need anymore, or to pick up a piece of litter on the ground. The reason we are declining in morality is due to the fact that we are rushing to forget it at the same time. I kid you not, this is a serious problem. Soon, there will be no "old days" as our parents and grandparents have re-lived to us on so many occasions. There will only be a world full of pushy, egomaniacal fiends in pursuit of personal gain and selfish aspirations. Is this the kind of world we want to grow up in? Is this truly what we want to be, and what we want to lead our children into?
     Of course all is not lost. If we could just stop once in our day to help someone less fortunate than us or to help beautify our community just a little, we could make the world a better place. We are moving at an astounding pace towards a brighter tomorrow with more jobs, better economy, and more peace. But all of this progress means nothing if the people living in this future care only about themselves. Our generation has lost sight of what's important. But that's alright, because everyone loses sight of things sometimes. But what truly defines us as human beings is how we get back on track and reinstate our morals into our being. Only then can we become a truly unified people, leading a brighter tomorrow.

- Letter to Editor, first appeared in The Facts on October 13, 2004

 

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