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| Aight…This is the writter wanna be |
Hi and welcome to my web page of writing. Well lets start off by introducing myself (just in case you don't know who I am). My name is Salvador J Alvarez. I'm 16 years old about to turn 17, I live in Calexico, Califorrnia, I'm an incoming senior in high school, and I enjoy to write. To me, writing is a way to express feelings, emotions, etc. But anyways. In this web page you will find some things that were written by me or other people. I hope you guys enjoy what you read. Comments are welcome. Just write to MarvinMartian00@webtv.net
Introduction:
For Chow, school was all but impossible. He failed every subject in the 10th grade. He flunked chemistry, getting a grade of zero. Chow also flunked World History, Geometry, and English. He didn't do much better in sports. Although he did manage to make the school's baseball team when he was in the 10th grade. Throughout his youth Chow was awkward socially. He was not actually disliked by the other students; no one cared that much about him. He was astonished if a classmate ever said hello to him outside of school hours. There's no way to tell how he might have done at dating. Chow never once asked a girl out. He would never ask anyone out because he was afraid of being turned down. Chow was a loser. He, his classmates, and everyone else knew it. So he rolled with it. Chow had made up his mind early in life that if things were meant to work out they would. Otherwise he would content himself with what appeared to be his inevitable mediocrity. However, one thing was important to Chow. Writing. He was proud of what he could write. Of course no one else appreciated it. In his sophomore year of high school, he submitted some articles to the editors of the school newspaper. The articles were turned down. Despite this particular rejection, Chow was so convinced of his ability that he decided try out for Journalism class. When he was a junior, Chow took a Journalism class. His teacher said he was one of the best writers in his class. Chow was elected the editor for the front page of the school's newspaper. He was in charge of deciding what stories were good enough to make it to the front page. Later on in his junior year, Chow got into a class called Work Experience. He was sent to the Calexico Chronicle, which printed the city's newspaper and the school's newspaper. There he learned more about Journalism. Now Chow will be a senior. Once again he's thinking about getting into Journalism class. He's also thinking about taking a creative writing class. Chow now wants to become a professional writer. He hopes his dream comes true. Look out in the future work writen by Chow.
The Story About A Guy Named Chow:
Agony claws my mind. I am a statistic. When I first got here I felt very much alone. I was overwhelmed by grief, and I expected to find sympathy. I found no sympathy. I saw thousand of others whose bodies were badly mangled as mine. I was given a number and placed in a category. The category was called "suicide." The day I died was not just any other ordinary day, it was my 17th birthday. I had thought about suicide and even tried it before but it always failed or didn't have the strength to do so. But this time it was different. I had been planning it for quite some time now. Everything had to be perfect. No one really knew what I had planned for my birthday. No one expected it. On September 30, 2000 the tragedy happened. My body was found in a local canal by my house. It doesn't matter how everything had happened. What mattered was that I was dead. I had gotten drunk for my birthday and depression came over me. I was so fed up with everything. I wasn't happy anymore. Everything seemed to bother me. I had walked to the canal. Already drunk, I took several aspirins, I cut my veins, and I jumped into the canal. I was sure that my attempt for suicide wouldn't fail this time. Suddenly I awakened. It was very quiet. A police man was standing over me. I saw a doctor. My body was mangled. I was saturated in blood. It was so strange how I couldn't feel anything. Then I heard what terrified me the most. The doctor said, "This boy is dead." I realized I didn't want to be dead but it was too late. I can't be dead. I just turned 17. I'm supposed to have a wonderful life ahead of me. I haven't lived yet. I just can't be dead. Later I was placed in a drawer. My parents came to identify me. Why did they have to see me like this? Why did I have to look at mom's eyes when she faced the most terrible ordeal of her life? Dad suddenly said, "Yes, he's our son." The police man then gave them the suicide note I had left them near the canal. My funeral was weird. I saw my relatives and the little friends I had walk toward the casket. They looked at me with the saddest eyes I've ever seen. Some of them were even crying. Please, somebody, wake me up. Get me out of here. I can't bear to see the pain that I caused my mom. I can' believe I'm actually dead. Please don't burry me. I'm not dead. I have a lot of living to do. I want to laugh and run again. Please don't put me in the ground. I promise that if you give me one more chance, god, I'll be more careful with what I do. All I want is one more chance. I can't be dead. God, I'm only 17.
Dead At 17:
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