Young Writers Society

Doctor?

*

You did it. Your hats have been thrown into the air, the valedictorian (you could have got it if you applied yourself a bit more) told her cliche speech, your pictures have been taken with the deans and presidents and heads of departments.

No more dissecting rat corpses, no more Macbeth lectures, no more x squared plus three m equals seven m plus negative twelve cubed, no more god-awful mile runs in gym class. Thank God.

On the other hand, you'll never have lunch in the cafeteria again, poking at the mystery meat and laughing with your friends. You'll never throw crumpled paper across the room, with cramped handwriting speaking of the teacher's sweat stains. You'll never take that horrendous yellow bus, with the Freshman nervous and loud in the front and the Sophomores frantically finishing AP Euro homework, the Juniors sleeping against the window and the Seniors, shamefully hiding in the back, green with envy for those who have a car.

You'll never have that again.

Yeah, loads of you are off to college but that's going to be so different and you're savoring it, hungrily eating up the sight of everyone and everything until it all gets blurry and you realize you're crying.

You turn, wipe your eyes and get ready for the next chapter of your life.

*

For the next player only!

A hospital room! Though perhaps the doctor, specifically?

----

I sit in my chair, knees bouncing nervously. I can't believe the day has finally come, after four whole years of waiting. Four whole years.

But the mass of people around me are all just as excited to finally be here, to walk across that stage, shake the principal's hand, and complete my entire high school career with a simple piece of paper.

Then the names started. One by one, the students filed out onto the stage. Cameras were flashing everywhere, yet the scattered cheering sounded in the entire arena.

I sat there for ages, waiting anxiously to go up. There was sweat beading down my neck from the heat, and my cap was continually falling off my head, despite the bobby pins holding it in place.

After what seemed like hours, we were finally walking forward, and I will never forget the principal's voice as he said, "Julia Marie Zabowski."

----

Next poster's eyes ONLY:

High School Graduation Ceremony. That is my final guess.

Images play across the screen in an array of color. People gasp around me, surprised by the obvious. I look around to see the glowing faces of my friends. Why did they make me come here? To this dark, crowded place where the sound is too loud and seats too cramped?

I reach over and steal some candy from my friend. Despite my efforts to be secretive she realizes and slaps my hand away, a smile on her face. People shush us, trying to hear even though the sound is almost deafening.
____________________________________________________________

Do not read this unless you are the next person!

I'm going to go with: movie theaters?

~*~*~*~

We stand on opposite courts, divided by a white mesh net. Sweat is dripping down my neck and building up in the cups of my sports bra. Our next break is not for another few hits, but my eyes keep drifting over to the bench where my water bottle stands, condensating so temptingly. Just looking at it makes me so much more aware of the dryness in my mouth, the sun stealing away my hydration.

My opponent throws a small object into the air and bats it to me. I tense, shifting into my position, arms locked and eyes narrowed as it whirls through the air. It collides with my swing, sending it back over the net and into her court. 15-love. Just a bit more and I can rest. Just a bit more and I can feel that exquisite, cool liquid flush into my mouth, soaking into my tongue and surfing down my throat into my empty belly.

~*~*~*

You know the drill. Eyes away, soldier, unless you are the one to accept my challenge!

I think you're thirsty, Iggy!



I'm at the back of the room with my fingertips on the keyboard and the progression of lights playing out across the stage, and I feel like I'm the one who's god. The fans sway and mosh with their backs to me -- they jump as I set the steam rockets off with the hit of the guitar, they cheer when the fireworks rise with a hard trill on the piano -- but it is as it should be. They do not see god. They bought and bargained for and scalped tickets for something else. But humans always think something else is the main event. And in the back, I am god.

Hannah - you're the pianist for a popular singer, but no one pays attention to you.

-
"Your dress is beautiful," I said.

"So is yours," Laura said to me.

I blushed. I'd been dreaming of this day for three years, ever since I realized I was in love with Mark. My best friend was beside me, my maid of honor. "That dress looks so beautiful on you," I said.

Laura blushed. "You made a good choice. I love the color. It's so soft and pretty."

"Sean will have to propose to you now," I said.

"Come on," Laura said. "You should find your dad. It's almost time." She took my hand. "Don't forget your bouquet."

--