I Could Write a Book

I'm grading suspenseful short stories from my English class tonight. While the level of writing is certainly improved from last year's grading, they are still entertaining in that "Oh, teenagers!" kind-of-way.

Here's a passage from my favorite so far, written by the same girl who when I was listing candidates for authors of The Great American Novel ("Twain, Hemmingway, Fitzgerald, Steinbeck") she solemnly raised her hand and added "Meyer".

I've had many a chuckle at these papers, but this is the first that made me wish I could read it out loud with Teresa and mercilessly mock it/turn it into a screenplay.

([sic] from this point forward)

We were along, defensless. We both had fear streaming down our bodies in the form of cold sweat. My heart skipped one, two, maybe six beats. I might die here. Before he even touches me. He came closer, his empty eyes on mine, I felt them invading even in the dark. I smelled death, and decay. I sat motionless like a manican in the mall. Un-alive. He stopped and said in a low, husky, unfamiliar voice "Kelsey will not be attending prom. And Brad... eh.. undecided" We stood up like light, and ran like never before. My legs pumped like Seabiscuit on the last stretch. I saw the black trees dashing by my head. Heard my hollow breathing. Shockwaves traveled to my feet. I lost the trail, and Brad screamed somewhere behind me. It was blood curdling, it sounded like it came from hell. I shuttered in fear. I dove into the nearest bush. I was crying, no sobbing. Sweating, thinking. Why me? Where was he? What happened to Brad? I want someone. Should I move? I was paralyzed in fear. I saw him walking very slowly in my direction. The faint outline of his body eaten by the dim moonlight. My body shook form the core out. I wanted to die right there before he had the chance to do it. I wanted an escape route, just pass out so I don't feel this painful fear. His breathing deep, a limp in his step, and a clenched teeth expression in his face revealing his strong jaw muscles. He can closer and closer and eventually passed by bush. I prayed for him to keep going. He stopped, and stood in silence. God, this was the most intense silence I've ever heard. His ears moved noticeably upwards like someone scratched his back and sent shivers to his head. He darted my way and I sprung like a bunny from a fox, but he grabbed my hair. I punched, screamed, but, kicked, but he was so strong. Silly strong, like Muhammed Ali, against me , a teenage girls. He was so cold, like a rock, and had blood, sticky blood all over his arms, which wrapped around my neck. Suddenly, I hear a whoosh! Sound. He releases my neck and falls to the ground. Motionless. Brad stood over me with a log. We took off like a top Kenyan marathoner in the last mile.


I need to have a chat with her about similes.