Luke LaGraff - 200 words

Well there is really no reason to write about God, now is there? I don't think or believe it's a topic to write about. I just think God-writin' is a purely fictional undertaking, and therefore kind of ridiculous to write about.

At least if you're writing about the big G man in a serious tone.

And I'm not saying God is fictional. But writing about God would have to be considered fictional, of course. How the hell do you know what God is or isn't? If you do know, please find out why egg nog can't be around all year? I love that shit. God will know the answer and the remedy. Can you mention that at the next company picnic?

So, we've covered a lot of ground on this topic today. And good, no questions. Wow, I seemed to have affected everyone's mind on the futility of writing about God.

Again, just for good measure- It's illogical to write about God. Yet, it's logical to write about people who write about God.

So I've got a problem with conjecture.

I, too, do.

I, too, want to know the 'end'. Not as much as I used to. My story is right about... now.

Luke LaGraff is a lover of sandwiches, egg nog, and one of a kind days. He used to forget them, but now has realized he shouldn't; they have more meaning than ever at this point of his life. He enjoys the sun in LA and watches hockey and funny things whenever he can. He listens to people. He's from Tennessee.

Debra Crosslin - My One and Only Catfight

Back during the Vietnam War I knew John. One night we were making out in his car. He was a great kisser.

Suddenly, John says, “I’m going to Vietnam.”

Well I was just thinking, "Let’s kiss some more," and then John asked me if I would write to him in Vietnam.

"Sure", I said sure, thinking about his kisses.

I wrote him, mostly about friends in the neighborhood. After one year, he came back. Thank God! His sister Nina wanted her friend and me to fight over John. If you like to hang out at Burger Chef with your friends and smoke you would just have to fight.

We fought and I was winning. All of a sudden, John’s older, fat sister jumps into the ring and sits on me. The loser girl kicks me in the face. My friend jumps on Nina and yells, “No fair!”

She was bleeding, but that kick in the face cost me a black eye.

I can go to Burger Chef and smoke! I am in line and there is John. I said, “ Look at my shiner all because of you.” He left and I never got to kiss him again.

The Vietnam War sucked!

Katie McMahon - Words

I have learned that everyone else’s bed is more comfortable than my own. But you came here, choosing to sleep here with your fingers in my hair and mouth because your bed was too small. With your feet hanging off, you say you can’t sleep; you won’t sleep. I dream that parts of my hair are missing and I can see bumps on my scalp, but when I wake up, your eyes are closed and little sounds fall out of your nose. I see a bright, fiery circle in the darkness of my eyelids and it fades whenever I open and close again.

I try very hard to not say, “Please don’t leave me,” or “I am so sad when you are not here. Sometimes I wish we never met,” or “Tell me why you are here, but make it what I want to hear.”

I want to say, “I like you so much. You make me feel different than before.”

Sometimes, a lot of times, I think I’m saying the wrong thing. I’m using the wrong words and I’d like to just create new words that were easier for me to say, that made lots of sense to everybody.

Katie McMahon writes and works. And writes. And works.

Marsi White - Second Day of Middle School

The foreign, deserted hallways were foreboding. My second day of middle school, the halls did not have the eeriness about them, when my dad walked me to my classroom for the first time yesterday. Only dropping me at the curb today, I watch as my dad speeds off. With a gulp and a twitch, I turn and face the school once more. Would today be as boring as yesterday? Are my skinny jeans and graphic t-shirt cool? Who will be in my PE class that go to for the first time? Will I be able to open my combination lock again? My steps are slow and deliberate, giving someone else a chance to get to my homeroom before me. My thoughts continue to wander. I am baffled that so many 7th grade girls talked to me yesterday. I wonder where they might be this morning. Was it a fluke? Suddenly, I hear a car door shut behind me and my named called out by a familiar voice, “Rollie!” Comforted by nothing and yet relieved, I realize it is my best friend. My heart smiles and my nervousness subsides. My second day of sixth grade is off to a good start.

Marsi lives in San Diego, CA with her husband, two children and dog. A private foundation grants writer by trade, Marsi explores her creative side by contributing to Writing Writer Writest. She is a breast cancer survivor and keeps a blog of her journey, entitled Nip-It.

James Littlejohn - 200 words

This kid shows up at my door. A six-week newspaper subscription will help him and his classmates go to Europe or something. “Why do you want to go to Europe?” I ask him. “I went, and it’s overrated.” The kid doesn’t have an answer, he hasn’t been out of the county, let alone the country, in over a year. He does his best to sell, but they stuck him with a bad product. I tell him I can read the news for free anytime I want. He doesn’t have an answer. He looks like he’ll be addicted to drugs in a few years. Maybe that’s stereotyping. Maybe that’s the truth. Maybe Europe’s what this kid needs to get his life turned around before it goes off the deep end, like it did with all my friends in High School. They didn’t go to Europe, and maybe that was the problem. “What am I talking about?” I tell myself. “This is nonsense, I can’t afford this, besides, I gave that guy on the freeway off-ramp some change last week.” I say no. He turns away. I change my mind. “Here’s five bucks,” I tell him, “but I don’t want the newspaper.”

http://www.jimlittlejohn.com/