WA#4: First Draft

Dear President Barack Obama,

I am a high school student from Charlottesville, Virginia and am finally proud to live in America. I would like to congratulate you on being elected as the first African American president our country has seen. I support your policies and views on many issues our country currently faces, and would like to give you a little input on where I believe you should center your energies during your first year in the white house.

One large issue I believe should be made of extreme value in our country is the current state of the environment. Bush has kept much of the increasingly detrimental behaviors of Americans in the shadows over the past eight years, and I believe you can bring awareness to these concerns. I hate knowing that our country is the main reason for worldwide environmental distress. To change this, I would like to see you make alternative fuel options more readily available and more widely used. Also, I think small changes in the lifestyles of every American should gradually be brought about, with these changes being encouraged or enforced by your government. I fully support your aggressive climate and energy plan to reduce emissions levels greatly, and I think it should be put into full effect within your first year. Our world can’t wait much longer for our country to continue behaving as it currently is, and I hope you know that your admired position in this country is a key place to begin making changes to a more environmentally friendly country.

In your first year of presidency, I believe you should also make fixing the economy of utmost importance. I understand that the terrible state the economy is currently in may take more than a year to improve, but changing Bush’s old, unfavorable policies is a good place to start. I have never been able to understand why Bush would make tax policies that ultimately made the rich richer and the poor poorer, but taxing the rich more than the poor would be a positive change I think you should bring about. Rewarding the working class with tax cuts would be a great route to take in your first year of presidency. Also, as a student in high school beginning to look into college, tuition and other fees are of great concern for me. With the cost of college having risen 35% in the past five years, any changes brought about to reduce that cost would be a gateway for students across the nation seeking further education and a foundation for a successful life.

I hope you will take into account my hopes for your presidency, and I would like to thank you for your time and consideration. You are the change this country has been looking for and needing for the past eight years and I am confident you will live up to it. I am looking forward to the next four years as a citizen of the United States of America.


Sincerely,
Ellie von Storch

WA#3: Final Draft

under a spreading chestnut tree,

where the sun always shines

and the birds always sing

with insurmountable joy,

lies a treasure.

encompassing the chestnut tree

is a village.

the villagers hold this treasure,

and all of its wondrous powers,

beneath their shielding wing,

primed to defend it to the death.

inevitably, the day arrives.

the villagers stand with courage,

for they know their motive

and never would they falter

for the worth of the treasure.

yet they are few,

and soon loose to the opponents,

who carry greed on their backs,

hate in their eyes,

and war in their weapons.

having slain all the villagers,

they dig beneath the chestnut tree-

pigs digging through slop-

and find the chest of treasure.

upon opening it,

however,

the chest merely reveals three words:

“Peace on earth.”

puzzled, they turn from the treasure,

and look out onto the village,

the destroyed village,

and marvel.

why had the villagers,

believers of Peace,

fought back?

why?

because they had fought for peace.

they had fought for each other.

they had fought for their opponents.

they had fought for the sun that always shines,

and the birds that always sing.

they had fought for this moment,

when the opponents gaze out,

their eyes sweeping the dead village,

this village reminiscent of war,

and see the peace that lay within it.

the peace that whispers,

ever so softly,

and ever so lovingly,

to the dead:

“Thank You.”

and to the living:

“Redeem Yourselves.

Live Through Me.

For Them.

Forever.”

WA#3: Revised Draft

Under a spreading chestnut tree,

Where the sun always shines

And the birds always sing

With insurmountable joy,

Lies a treasure.

Encompassing the chestnut tree

Is a village.

The villagers hold this treasure,

And all of its wondrous powers,

Beneath their shielding wing,

Primed to defend it to the death.

Inevitably, the day arrives;

The villagers stand their guard.

They were few,

And soon lost to the opponents,

Who carried greed on their backs,

Hate in their eyes,

And war in their weapons.

Having slain all the villagers,

The opponents dug beneath the chestnut tree

And found the chest of treasure.

Upon opening it,

However,

The chest merely revealed three words:

“Peace on Earth.”

Puzzled, they turned from the treasure,

And looked out onto the village,

The destroyed village,

And wondered.

Why had the villagers,

Believers of peace,

Fought back?

Why?

Because they had fought for peace.

They had fought for each other.

They had fought for their opponents.

They had fought for the sun that always shines,

And the birds that always sing.

They had fought for this moment,

When the opponents would look out,

Their eyes sweeping the dead village,

This village reminiscent of war,

And see the peace that lay within it.

The peace that whispered,

Ever so softly,

And ever so lovingly,

To the dead:

“Thank you.”

And to the living:

“Redeem yourselves.

Live through me.

For them.

Forever.”

WA#3: First Draft

Under a spreading chestnut tree,

Where the sun always shines

And the birds always sing

With insurmountable joy,

Lies a treasure.

Surrounding the spreading chestnut tree

Is a village.

The villagers know of this treasure,

And know of its powers,

And would defend it to the death.

So the day inevitably arrives

When the villagers must defend.

They were few,

And soon lost to the opponents,

Who carried greed on their backs,

Hate in their eyes,

And war in their weapons.

With every last villager killed,

The opponents dug beneath the chestnut tree

And found the chest of treasure.

Upon opening it,

However,

The chest merely revealed three words:

“Peace on Earth.”

Puzzled, they looked out onto the village,

The destroyed village,

And wondered.

Why had the villagers,

Believers of peace,

Fought back?

Why?

Because they had fought for peace.

They had fought for each other.

They had fought for their opponents.

They had fought for the sun that always shines,

And the birds that always sing.

They had fought for this moment,

When the opponents would look out,

Their eyes sweeping the dead village,

This village reminiscent of war,

And see the peace that lay within it.

The peace that whispered,

Ever so softly,

And ever so lovingly,

To the dead:

“Thank you.”

And to the living:

“Redeem yourselves.

Live through me.

For them.

Forever.”

WA#2: Final Draft

The growing silence that ensued was dreadful. The air was so tense, it seemed as though every movement made was a move in a chess game. Why did she move there? Was that supposed to mean something? And it had only been an hour. Three more hours confined within the walls of the gray-green steel car loomed ominously. The dad, Mark, was driving while the daughter, Lilly, was the passenger.

The clear skies outside the car pleased Mark. They pissed off Lilly. If it was at least raining, then she wouldn’t have felt like the most miserable person in the world at the time. Somebody else would be miserable because of the rain, and to her, that was an undeniable fact.

What was also a fact, at least by Lilly’s standards, was that teenage girls and their dads do not get a long. Never have, never will. So a four hour car trip with a hateful relationship crammed in one car amounted to the Silent War. In the Silent War, the emotions were so potent, their vibes penetrated further than any words could have, and therefore, no words were spoken. And when it came to Silent Wars, Mark put aside his fatherly character with all its intentions of setting a mature example for his daughter. He stooped to his daughter’s immature, teenage ways and followed her lead in the War.

This particular father and daughter in this particular gray-green steel car were engaged in a particularly silent war.

Mark turned the radio on. Lily considered this a victory as he was obviously unable to handle the Silence. “Ohhhh. What now,” she whispered into the passenger window. However, this victory wouldn’t suffice. So she changed the station from the droning NPR news to her main man, Lil Wayne. It took a mere two seconds before Mark changed it back. She sucked her teeth, making a loud squelching sound. She reached her hand out and changed it to Lil Wayne again. He reached out his hand, slapped hers, and changed it back. She slapped his hand and changed it again.

Slap. Change. Again. Slap. Change. Again.

As the slapping and button-pressing intensified, the Battle of the Hands officially came underway. Back and forth, more and more viciously, they silently slapped one another’s hand. As the Battle reached its peak, however, a horn sounded and the two suddenly jerked to a stop. Having been so caught up in the Battle, Mark had accidentally swerved into another lane. As he straightened the car out, with both hands on the wheel, the honking car sped past, and its driver made a rude hand gesture. It was with just one finger- the middle one, to be precise.

Simultaneously, as though contaminated by the enemy, they each wiped his or her hands on the smooth, leather seats of the gray-green steel car. There was a brief, incredibly awkward moment of eye contact, but the two briskly looked away.

To Lilly’s dismay, their battle had ended with the radio playing, “…. the polls continue to show Obama with a strong lead over McCain…” This meant that her dad had won, and the war was at a tie: one-to-one.

As the sky outside grew dark, and Lilly thought out her next battle strategy. The devil emerged from the shadows of her mind, and without a moment’s hesitance, she put her plan into action. She whipped up her book from the carpeted floor of the car, slyly reached up to the ceiling of the gray-green steel car, and switched the light on. As she opened her book with sudden extreme intent on finishing the thing, she could feel his piercing eyes penetrating the skin on her face. Before his anger could singe a hole in her face, he surprisingly resumed to concentrating on the road, leaving the light on.

Victorious! Lilly was leading two-to-one.

Suddenly, a horn sounded again. It wasn’t one of those, Get Out Of The Way, Damnit, horns. It was more of a, Watch Out! horn, and it was coming from behind. Mark looked frantically into the rearview mirror, but couldn’t see anything; the light was blocking his view.

Two seconds later, two terrified screams later and one crash later, Mark and Lilly sat in the gray-green steel car, which sat in a ditch. The two looked into one another’s frightened, shocked and tear-filled eyes. They each marveled at the still existing life sitting at one another’s side.

The two continued to sit in silence, but the tone that this silence held was different. This silence was not the silence of war. It was the silence that exists when love overpowers the need for words. The pretend hate evaporated and the true love was unearthed. Simultaneously, the two embraced.

WA#2: Revised Draft

The silence was quite aggravating. The air was so tense, it seemed as though every movement made was a move in a chess game. Watched intently. Why did she move there? Was that supposed to mean something? And it had only been an hour. Three more hours confined within the walls of the gray-green steel car loomed ominously. The dad, Mark, was driving while the daughter, Lilly, was the passenger.

The clear skies outside the car pleased Mark. They pissed off Lilly. If it was at least raining, then she wouldn’t have felt like the most miserable person in the world at the time. Somebody else would be miserable because of the rain, and to her, that was an undeniable fact.

What’s also a fact, at least by Lilly’s standards, is that teenage girls and their dads do not get a long. Never have, never will. So a four hour car trip with a hateful relationship crammed in one car amounts to the Silent War. In a Silent War, emotions are so potent, their vibes penetrate further than any words could, and therefore, no words are spoken. This particular father and daughter in this particular gray-green steel car were engaged in a particularly silent war.

Mark turned the radio on. Lily considered this a victory as he was obviously unable to handle the Silence. “Ohhhh. What now,” she whispered into the passenger window. However, this victory wouldn’t suffice. So she changed the station from the droning NPR news to her main man, Lil Wayne. It took a mere two seconds before Mark changed it back. She sucked her teeth, making a loud squelching sound. She reached her hand out and changed it to Lil Wayne again. He reached out his hand, slapped hers, and changed it back. She slapped his hand and changed it again.

As the slapping and button-pressing intensified, the Battle of the Hands came underway. It was just a portion of the Silent War. Back and forth, more and more viciously, they silently slapped one another’s hand. As the Battle reached its peak, however, a horn sounded and the two suddenly jerked to a stop. Being so caught up in the Battle, Mark had accidentally swerved into another lane. As he straightened the car out, with both hands on the wheel, the honking car sped past, and its driver made a rude hand gesture. It was with just one finger- the middle one, to be precise.

Simultaneously, as though contaminated by the enemy, they each wiped his or her hands on the smooth, leather seats of the gray-green steel car. There was a brief, awkward moment of eye contact, but the two briskly looked away.

To Lilly’s dismay, their battle had ended with the radio playing, “…. the polls continue to show Obama with a strong lead over McCain…” This meant that her dad had won, and the war was at a tie: one-to-one.

The sky outside grew dark, and Lilly evolved her next plan of evil in her head. The devil emerged from the shadows of her mind, and without a moment’s hesitance, she put her plan into action. She whipped up her book from the carpeted floor of the car, slyly reached up to the ceiling of the gray-green steel car, and switched the light on. As she opened her book with sudden extreme intent on finishing the thing, she could feel his piercing eyes penetrating the skin on her face. Before his anger could singe a hole in her face, he surprisingly resumed to concentrating on the road, leaving the light on.

Victorious! Lilly was leading two-to-one.

Suddenly, a horn sounded again. It wasn’t one of those, Get Out Of The Way, Damnit, horns. It was more of a, Watch Out! horn, and it was coming from behind. Mark looked frantically into the rearview mirror, but couldn’t see anything; the light was blocking his vision.

Two seconds later, two terrified screams later and one crash later, Mark and Lilly sat in the gray-green steel car, which sat in a ditch. The two looked into one another’s frightened, shocked and tear-filled eyes. They each marveled at the still existing life sitting at one another’s side.

As they gazed, the atmosphere changed. The Silent War remained silent, but the war was over. The pretend hate evaporated and the true love was unearthed. Simultaneously, the two embraced.

Sometimes the things that aren’t said can be so powerful.

WA#2: First Draft

The silence was quite aggravating. The air was so tense, it seemed as though every small movement made by either person was a move in a chess game. Watched intently. Why did she move there? Was that supposed to mean something? And it had only been an hour. Three more hours confined within the walls of the gray-green steel car loomed ominously. The dad was driving, the daughter was passengering.

The clear skies outside the car pleased the dad; the driver. They pissed off the daughter; the passenger. If it was at least raining, then she wouldn’t have to feel like the most miserable person in the world at the time. Somebody else would be miserable because of the rain, it’s a fact.

What is also a fact, at least by the daughter’s standards, is that teenage girls and their dads do not get a long. Never have, never will. So a four hour car trip with a hateful relationship crammed in one car amounts to the Silent War. This particular father and daughter in this particular gray-green steel car were engaged in a particularly Silent War.

The things that aren’t said are so powerful.

The dad turned the radio on. The daughter considered this a victory. “Ohhhh. What now.” she whispered to the passenger window. But somehow, it wasn’t enough. So she changed the station from NPR covering the election to her main man, Lil Wayne. Two seconds passed, and the dad changed it back. She sucked her teeth. A loud squelching sound. She reached her hand out and changed it to Lil Wayne again. He reached out his hand, slapped hers, and changed it back. She slapped his hand and changed it again.

Soon, The Battle of the Hands was underway. Just a portion of the Silent War. Back and forth, more and more viciously, they slapped one another’s hand. It was becoming nearly as intense as the Biden-Palin Vice Presidential debate. However, the two suddenly jerked to a stop at the sound of a horn. The dad had swerved into another lane by accident. He was caught up in the Battle. As he straightened the car out, with both hands on the wheel, the honking car sped past, and its driver gestured rudely with something smaller then his hand. Just one finger, the middle one, to be precise.

Simultaneously, as though contaminated by the enemy, they both wiped their hands on the smooth, leather seats of the gray-green steel car. They had a brief, awkward moment of eye contact, but briskly looked away.

The things that aren’t said are so powerful.

To the daughter’s dismay, their battle had ended with the radio playing, “…. the polls continue to show Obama with a strong lead over McCain…” The war was currently at a tie: one-to-one.

The sky outside grew dark, and daughter’s next plan of evil popped into her head. The devil popped out of the closet. Again. She whipped up her book from the carpeted floor of the car, slyly reached up to the ceiling of the grey-green steel car, and switched the light on. As she opened her book, as though she suddenly had extreme intent on finishing the thing, she could feel he father’s piercing eyes penetrating the skin on her face. Before he could burn a hole in her face and resumed to concentrating on the road. He left the light on.

Victorious! The daughter leads two-to-one.

Suddenly, a horn sounded again. It wasn’t one of those, Get Out Of The Way, Damnit, horns. It was more of a Watch Out! horn. It was coming from behind. The father looked frantically into the rearview mirror, but couldn’t see anything; the light was blocking his vision. Two seconds later, Two terrified screams later, One crash later, the father and the daughter sat in their gray-green steel car in a ditch. The two looked into one another’s frightened, shocked and tear-filled eyes. They each marveled at the still existing life sitting at each other’s side.

The air changed. The Silent War remained silent, but the war was over. The pretend hate evaporated and the true love was unearthed. Simultaneously, the two embraced.

The things that aren’t said are so powerful.