Young Writers Society

Continued from Front Page

-seems to have no sign of stopping.

"Gaining the lead in this year's primary will be like shooting fish in a barrel," says Smith. That statment seems to have some weight to it according to a recent gallop pole published in the New York Times last Sunday*. All estimates point to an unprecedented landslide victory for the young senator with an astounding seventy percent of those polled choosing Smith as their front runner.

“It’s simple,” says Smith “, the American people expect a United States that leads the world in both the strength of its military and economy; we need to hunker down and think about the long haul…” which means issuing similar reactionist reforms such as those Smith had instated in Utah as Governor in ‘97, which many would argue, happened to work**.

When asked about a comment made by fellow republican presidential hopeful George W. Bush of“, swinging too far to the radical right on his polices.” Smith responded casually“: some citizens aren’t lucky enough to have the good life handed to them on a silver platter. I intend to issue polices to build up the United States… make it stronger. I’m not interested in spoon feeding a nation… that’s a weak nation.”

According to Smith in an October 8th, 1999 address to Congress, a stronger nation means secure boarders, and keeping the United States from being“ spread to thin.” What does he mean by spread to thin you might ask? “Think about Rome,” Smith says. “In the end, they became too concerned with spreading the Empire, they forgot what was important and the center of modern civilization collapsed from within.”

Taking a page out of the Art of War, Mr. Smith appears to have the right idea according to the majority of republicans, and if turning the nation’s focus inward will win the hearts and minds of Americans in November, Smith may have a solid platform in this up coming election. - R.M. Murray (August 4th 2000)

Chapter 3 – May 27th 2001

Denny and Jake sat on the end of the mattress in the guest bedroom, taking turns throwing a basketball against the newly painted cream colored wall. Denny lobbed the ball back against the wall as he asked, “Why does Greg always call him Scout?”

Catching the ball, Jake let out a snort of air“, That’s a stupid question.”

“Only because you don’t know the stupid answer,” Denny huffed out throwing the ball back against the wall. The ball came back and nearly crashed against the old seventies desk lamp before falling to a stop on the navy blue carpet.

“No. It’s because Marshal is a Boy Scout is why,” replied Jake confidently, collecting the ball from the floor and bouncing it even harder off the wall. Denny dodged the incoming ball letting it ricochet off the wall and into the cabinet beside him.

“So he, like, wears the uniform with the merit badges and everything?”

“All the merit badges.”

“All of them? Like… um, swimming?”

---

Coming up for a fresh breath of air out of the Pacific Ocean, Marshal dunked his head back down into the water, reaching hand over hand through the chilling blue waves. As he continued to swim along the shore, dolphins appeared beside him.

Eventually wading through the tide and onto the sand, the Scout Master hands Marshal his Swimming Merit Badge, which Marshal immediately placed on his soaking wet olive sash draped across his chest.

---

Denny raised a skeptical eyebrow“, what about horse back ridding?”

---

Galloping full speed through the green polo field, leaping up and over an Ascending Oxer, Marshal rode a massive black steed. With only one hand on the reins, Marshal reached back and drew his bow and single arrow from his leather quiver.

The stray target up ahead was begging to be struck as Marshal and stallion continued to drive forward. Drawing back the bow, Marshal aims… fires…

…Bull’s-eye.

Riding past the target, the same Scout Master hands Marshal two new badges. The small crowd that had gathered gave a modest collective golf clap as the Scout galloped onward.

---

Jake turned to Denny with a jealous frown“, and archery.”

“What about engineering?”

---

On the hot blacktop at Aliso Viejo Elementary school, waiting patiently to receive a merit badge for his building made out of Popsicle sticks, a young chubby Cub Scout jumped back in distress as a brick hurling through the air collides with and utterly destroys his tower.

The Scout Master and Cub Scout, with tears streaming down his pudgy face, look towards the end of the basketball court. There, they find Marshal standing proudly besides a ½ scale replica of a French Model Trebuchet… made of toothpicks.

---

Jake keeps nodding his head as Denny’s eyes widen while he continues to frantically rattle off badges “;sheep herding, first aid, cooking… topography?”

---

Inhaling a lung full of ocean air while starring up at his wall, Marshal solemnly looked over an eight by eleven map of his apartment complex labeled ‘home’ drawn in blue ink. Releasing a heavy sigh, the young boy removed the pushpins that kept it on the wall and carefully folded the map into a triangle.

Slowly he pulled his hiking pack over his shoulders, lifting up the right strap and readjusting the black armband on his bicep. Looking over his shoulder, Marshal gave a final goodbye to his empty room, the apartment, his spring and summer home, and finally walked out.

The only remnants that someone was ever n the house at all were the other eight by eleven maps that blanket all four walls of the room; all meticulously drawn in blue ink, detailing miles of surrounding roads that reach from San Diego up to Santa Cruz, none of which would ever reach home again.

During the ride to the airport from Aunt Whoever, Marshal said nothing.

During the flight leaving the Pacific Ocean behind, Marshal said nothing.

During the ride to a new house, in a new state, with his old dad: nothing.

---

Denny and Jake continued to stare awestruck at the wall. “Wow,” Denny breathed out.

“Yup, freakin’ wow,” sighed Jake with a hint of bile rising up from his stomach.

“What are you things doing in my room?” Marshal growled throwing his bags down on the ground.

“It’s our house,” replied Jake.

“It’s my room.”

“Your room is in our house.”

William stepped into Marshal’s door frame and pound his fist on the side of the wall. “Thing One, Thing Two, get out.” Begrudgingly, the twins pulled themselves up from their seats and shoved each other out of the room like human pin-balls.

Once the twins had found another room to inhabit William turned to Marshal“; so, how was California?”

“Plastic.”

“That sounds… accurate. Hey, guess what?”

“The lease is up on the twins, and your mom is trading up for new models.”

“Do you even know what that means?”

“It’s less funny when I have to explain it to you.”

“Sure.”

Stepping into the door frame, Marshal’s dad knocked on the side of the wall. Marshal quickly stood at attention for his slightly balder father. “At ease Scout.” The Scout snapped to parade rest while William rolled his eyes and left the room. Taking a seat on the bed next to his son“, Marshal, I know this is must be hard for you but-- son you can sit down.”

Marshal took a seat next to his father, with the boy burying his head in the man’s shoulder. Greg Summerland simply looked at his shoes “;Everything is going to be okay son.”

Marshal’s voice choked “,you’ve said that before.”

Standing up, Marshal’s father strode over to the wooden bedside table and took his son’s Scout Handbook lying under the old desk lamp. “Marshal, do you know what makes this country great?”

Marshal responded from rote“; we were founded on the pursuit of truth, justice, and liberty.”

“This nation was built on great traditions, and even though things change, we’ll always have those traditions. Things may have changed here, but you and me, we’re always going to have our traditions… no matter what.”

Marshal stood up wearily, and hugged his dad. Mr. Summerland pat his son on the back and took a step back. “Present, arms.”

The young boy gave a flawless salute. His father returned salute and took his leave. Before he exits however, Mr. Summerland tossed the Scout Book back to his son“, this Friday, I got something planed for your Aviation Badge.”

“What is it?”

“You’ll have to wait until Friday.”

---

At exactly six-twelve AM, Marshal woke up gasping for reality, sweating bullets, and breathing heavy. Each breath following the last became slower and more relaxed as the boy reminded himself of where he was, and who was no longer with him. Reaching a steady heart rate, Marshal gathered his thoughts, threw off his covers, and started his morning routine.

After pulling his sheets taught enough that the quarter he dropped on the mattress bounced to an acceptable height, The Scout crossed over to the window on the far side of the room, and drew up the blinds. He had arrived late last night and with everything that happened, didn’t bother paying attention to his surroundings on the trip to the new house. Looking out into the backyard, Marshal was pleased to see acres of lush green tress; dense woods so thick that the eye could not penetrate the end. It was overwhelming, but a beautiful challenge waiting to be navigated.

After showering and jumping into some blue jeans and a tan t-shirt, Marshal crept into the hall away from his room and the master bedroom, past the twin’s rooms, and up into the kitchen. The boy paused in the foyer between the hall and the kitchen, looking to his left out the floor to ceiling window beside the front door. The sun was coming up and over the top of the cul-de-sac nearly blinding Marshal. Shielding his eyes and turning to the right, The Scout shook his head at the sight of the decadent living room. The house was monstrously huge, and food was the only thing that would comfort Marshal in this foreign behemoth.

It was about seven when William dragged himself up the main stairs from his room on the ground floor and into the kitchen. The teenager was baffled to find Marshal sitting at the table eating scrambled eggs with one hand and scanning the newspaper with the other. “What are you doing?”

Marshal looked first to the eggs and then to his stepbrother“, fishing.”

William nodded sleepily and continued to wander toward the pantry, grabbing a box of Pop Tarts. Marshal looked up from his paper as William shoved the pastries in the toaster. “What are you doing?”

“Breakfast,” replied a groggy William.

“If you say so.”

Suddenly, the hallway produced a horrific duet of whining and arguing: “But I don’t want it to be Monday; make the Monday go away!” moaned Jake, quickly followed by Denny“, I can’t find my pants; I can’t go today if I don’t have pants!”

“Let’s move it you two, we’re not going to be late again this morning,” Ms. Garner shouted rushing into the kitchen. She quickly set out materials for making sandwiches, throwing the finished products in marked brown paper bags. Ms. Garner was like a controlled tornado, pausing only to watch Marshal walk his plate into the sink, rinse, and load it into the dishwasher. William also observed this strange custom asking“, so, are you ready for the Y today Marshal?”

“The what?”

“The Y.”

“Is this a retarded version of ‘Who’s On First?”

Denny and Jake came tumbling, and shoving each other into the kitchen pawing at each other for the last box of Pop Tarts.

“All right boys, let's go,” says Ms. Garner storming off to the garage. William turned to Marshal looking thoroughly confused“, we all go to the YMCA for day camp.”

“What about me?”

William turned a brown paper sack around that has Marshal’s name scribbled in Sharpie Marker on the front. “Its sports week this week.”

“Where’s my dad?”

“Work. He’ll pick us up at five.”

“Five? That’s ten hours from now.”

William shrugged and headed to the garage. Marshal followed.

In the massive garage, Ms. Garner already had the engine running, while William took his place in the shotgun seat. The twins squirmed in the middle row of the emerald Land Cruiser. Marshal opened the passenger door to a poking war already in progress.

“Don’t touch me Denny,” Jake squealed.

“No one wants to touch you Jake”

“Then quit touching me!”

Ms. Garner intervened with a sharp“, enough boys!”

Marshal climbed into the middle seat, and closed the door behind him. After about six seconds The Scout crawled over the middle row and into the third row of seats. If this were to be his new place, sitting in the far back, it would be difficult to look forward to Friday. Although, thought Marshal, at lest he’d have a good view out the rear window and time to think about everything he’d left behind for a strange house, filled with strange folks, headed for a strange camp.