Young Writers Society

NaPo!
I worked really hard on that image lol
Well I think I chose this because a lot of ~stuff~ has happened this year that I don’t really want to remember, but are also really important parts of me…so we’ll see how this goes. I don’t necessarily have a number goal, I’m just going to write what comes to me every day. So at least thirty. Maybe more. I dunno lol

I’m ready to fly,
but where to go?
What to bring?
Table of contents:
1: being an octopus
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Looking at the picture is so nostalgic about childhood with fairy castles.
tunnel rush

1: being an octopus


I have gotten good at
being an octopus.

I’ve had lots of practice these days, since:
the stolen money from an old, now lost
friend,

car problems, sickness, death and
stress

making myself small in the heat
of an argument to slip through

the crack in my door

and turning the colors of walls
when people walk by

seems the only way to survive.

(Like hiding in a kelp forest from a shark and turning green from nausea that happens to help you blend in.)

but the suction cups on my tentacles
are useful for climbing onto the roof,

and I can slide across the top of my parents’ bedroom
without making a noise.

I turn the color of shingles and
disappear into books and music.

2: hot afternoons

sweet ice cream drips down
me and my cousins fingers and chins, onto

the dusty ground and dries
up in the hot sun.

spring here is like an august day-
hot, so hot all the clouds go away by noon,

but it is not noon yet. my grandfather
sits in the shade in his chair staring up at the sky.

i come up to him, barefoot and dusty.
“what are you doing?”

“watching the clouds disappear.”
he replies, drawling out the words

like he has all the time in the world. because he does.
i pull up a chair and sit with him

and watch the remaining float away,
like our troubles whenever we come to this place.

3: neighbor kids

i grew up with
neighbor kids in my house.

first there was tyler:
we had just moved into our house,

and we were riding around
on the same driveway. the ice cream

truck came around and he
bought some and went inside.

tyler, his mom kristy, me and
my brothers: metal detectors

in the sideyard, easter cupcakes,
minecraft, drawing. we rode bikes

too much, played catch,
and i read books in his cherry tree.

then hudson and kora:
hudson, coming around the corner

on his bike, shirt unbuttoned,
standing up on his pedals.

kora, older, trailing behind.
hudson and kora, siblings:

bikes with no hands, hide and seek,
tag, basketball at the neighbor’s hoop where

we always forgot to raise it back up
from 7.5 feet. hudson: coming to the door,

shy, and blushing, asking if i was around.
kora: a reader, an artist, cool, and nice.

both: a mom sick with cancer.

summer: hudson and tyler ditch us
to swim in their pool. they apologize and we forget.

also summer: hudson and kora go
to the beach and end up watching their mom die of cancer.

summer again: three weeks later, i see them
at the library. i become dizzy and see double for a few seconds,

and my stomach hurts when i walk past them,
barely able to say hi.

tyler: still nice, but doesn’t like hudson.
hudson, kora: mostly normal.

funeral: butterflies and forget-me-not seeds,
my mom, crying, hudson and kora: stoic faced.

tyler, hudson, kora, me, my brothers later:

basketball, park, baseball, staying for dinner,
riding bikes. climbing the tree outside the creek entrance

and lighting fires in the pit in our backyard.

then covid, and here comes isaac.
riding around for hours, sometimes

on his bike, sometimes a skateboard,
the occasional scooter.

one day, it was 7:00 PM and all of the
car alarms were going off, and hudson came over

and shook his hand. isaac, nice but scary,
riding while we walked, throwing his knife

at trees. at the creek, riding through puddles,
going back home every fifteen minutes and hating his stepdad.

isaac, hudson, me, kora, my brothers:
eating chicken strips in the backyard

car alarms go off, but we hear yelling and
one staying on, still going, at 7:05.

we go outside and hide between the car and the truck.
tyler’s dad: yelling about car alarms at his neighbor,

the husband of kristy’s best friend. he is mad
about the stupid car alarms. caleb, police officer,

comes all the way down. hudson’s dad, marine:
comes all the way down. kristy comes out and yells,

too. we watch in awe and excitement and fear.

hudson and kora, online school:
behind and confused, come over,

and we help them.
isaac, over at the same time:

hating his stepdad and having to leave
after hudson hears his stepdad whistle from outside.

all of us: hating isaac’s stepdad,
joking about punching him in the face,

calling him tomato.

all of us: imperfect, struggling,
hating covid and missing school.

all of us: playing basketball and seeing
each other everyday.

all of us: together, on each other’s side.