The Ghostwriter

Written in Ninth Grade for Honors Prep English

"Listen, Ed," I told the bird, "spare me the melancholy moaning and give me your story!"
"Ah, but if I were known as the great Poe once more, then, then I would be at peace!" he wailed in that self-pitying moan I had come to despise. "If only I were not condemned, confined to this wretched form!"
I hung my head and let out a raspy groan of exasperation. "How many times," I intoned, "have we had this conversation." I jabbed my finger at Edgar's feathery breast. "You're a raven! Get over it!" Regaining my composure, I added shrewdly, "If you dictate a story to me, maybe you'll feel better."
Ed narrowed his beady eyes and smoothed his ruffled plumage. "Still I yearn for the day when my existence is revealed to the world---that I am none other than the ghost of Edgar Allen Poe!"
I tried not to laugh. "I'm glad we got that out of the way. Let's get down to business, shall we?" I grabbed a pen.
Mr. Poe's ghost nestled on the metronome on my desk. He gazed out the window at a dismal storm, and, after a moment, spoke. "It is to be titled 'The Bones of the Martyr.'"
"So will this be another one of your tragic hero, doomed-from-the-start pieces?" I asked conversationally. He ignored me, and began his story.
We worked through the night, with Ed flapping around the study, narrating excitedly, and me transcribing his every word, occasionally stopping him to ask, "Is that all one sentence?" The storm raged on until morning, when he finally finished.
"All right, old bird," I said wearily. "That's it. Same time next week."
Instead of flying immediately out the window as he normally did, Edgar looked me straight in the eye. I was uncomfortable with this, because it reminded that I was taking advantage of him. I had been claiming his stories as my own, and I always felt a small cringe of guilt when praised for them. However, the moment passed as I remembered whom I was dealing with: a dead poet, and a crabby one at that.
"Are you aware of the date, my friend?" Ed asked cryptically.
"October 7th?" Today I was to be recognized for winning the O. Henry Award. I didn't tell Ed that, of course, because I had used one of his stories to win. I couldn't let such a good story go to waste, could I?
"Indeed," Ed muttered, as if answering my question. He attempted a smile with his beak, and then flew away.
I spent so much time in preparation for my upcoming speech that I forgot all about Ed's strange remark. Of course, even if I had recognized the date of Poe's death, I do not know what I could have done. I was determined to have a good time, so I spent several minutes practicing lying through my teeth. "Oh, you know how it is," I told my reflection in the mirror. "These stories just come to me." Actually, this was partially true. One stormy night Poe had just popped through my window, determined to continue his legacy. Believe me, I recognize opportunity when it comes tapping, tapping at my chamber door. After all, you only get fifteen minutes of fame. I checked myself one last time in the mirror, and strode outside to the rented limousine, which matched my rented tuxedo.
The cold, brisk stare I received from the driver was an embodiment of the weather outside, and the growing sense of isolation somewhat eroded my self-confidence. Feeling very strange, I sipped my drink as the limo cruised silently down the street. It seemed to me that the moon was especially luminous in the night sky, not to mention oddly distorted by the sleek, black windows. Thankfully, it was not long before I reached the warm, bright college, and was basking in the praise of my peers.
The dinner of recognition was very nice. The food made my mouth churn with delight, and I downed wine with the veracity of a---
Poe must be getting to me; I'm beginning to sound like a deranged madman myself. It's almost scary.
However, when the moment of glory arrived, I had pushed aside all my misgivings. I stepped up to the podium, smiling and waving cheerfully. Clearing my throat, I gripped the lectern. "First off all," I told my audience, "I'd like to thank the 'Big O' himself, Mr. Henry."
With that, I gestured grandly to the bust of the author that hung above the ballroom door. I squinted in confusion, for I sensed a thing amiss. Was that a shadow on top of the sculpture?
But no! It was Poe himself, now spreading his long, black wings and flying towards me! He seemed to engulf the room in darkness!
I gasped in terror, and made to flee. Alas, the raven blocked me at every turn, and finally I cried for mercy!
"It's true!" I shrieked. "It's true! I stole your work! I took it, used it for my own purposes! Please, let me be! Do not torment me so!"
Poe cackled and flew higher, swooping down at me unceasingly. A man who had been so quick to congratulate me during dinner was restraining me, telling me to calm down, there was no reason to fear.
The subsequent events are not altogether clear to me now. I can only recall that I felt the most hopeless, bleak despair, and yearned to awake from my nightmare. I have a vague recollection of running blindly back to my house, my stomach aching with overindulgence, and my soul starving for salvation. When I burst through the door of my newly purchased mansion, I expected my answering machine to be bursting with messages, a sight to which I had perhaps grown too accustomed. Alas, the pulsating number was a mere digit. If it had been yesterday, I would have laughed upon thinking I would have but a single message. Aching for accolades, I groped at the buttons, and found myself listening to---
The voice was all too familiar; I recognized it from the deepest pit of my heart. It spoke a single word; a curious word that made my very blood run cold.
"Nevermore!"

Power of the Pen: The Best of the Rest

In seventh and eighth grade, I participated in the regional Power of the Pen competition. Meets consisted of three rounds of 45 minutes wherein you were expected to come up with a complete story or essay. I wasn't always overly inspired by the prompts, but I usually found myself writing at least one silly, subversive sentence that made me giggle. I could only imagine how the judges would react to my unusual sense of humor.
Out of context, these sentences are even funnier:

From Amazed:
"The voice!" Alvin shouted. "The voice comes out of nowhere! Why do we obey it?"
Shuddering, my eyes widened in recollection. "The giant rats will hunt us down. We must go forward to survive!"

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From Mission Algebra:
I tossed and turned in bed that night. Dodos filled my dreams. I whimpered in fear.

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From Alien Intervention:
"I'm afraid I'll have to correct you," he shouted, and turned into blue smoke. The blue smoke went up Sam's nose.
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From The Clown*:
Reflecting back on that fateful humid day, I cursed myself for not being stronger, for wasting all my money on the Twirl-A-Whirl, but most of all for agreeing with that fat, evil harlequin.
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From There Used to be Three:
This can't be good, I thought, and blacked out as a cold, strange hand touched the back of my neck.
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So a Human Walks into a Bar (uploaded in full) includes probably my favorite line I ever wrote:
Mr. Bubbles chortled.
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*The Clown includes other gems such as 
"I saw the whole town pointing and laughing at me, and the satanic man pelting me with water balloons, cackling, 'You want some water, huh? Huh?!'"
and
"Being a clown had transformed me into a cold, hard human being."

Did the Lion Sleep Tonight?

I wrote the following story in the Eighth Grade for the regional Power of the Pen contest. We had 45 minutes and this was the prompt: You awaken from a dream remembering vividly a place you've never been before. Describe it.

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"Wow!" I shouted. "That was a close one!"
When my brother looked over at me from his bed I realized how stupid I must have sounded. But still, everything had been so real in the dream. I realized now it was only a dream, but then it had felt as if I was actually in the African veldt. As I explained this to my brother, he looked at me like I was crazy.
"I ran with the graceful gazelle! I ate with an enormous elephant!" I enthused. "I raced with a wrinkled rhinoceros!"
"Don't practice your alliteration on me," my brother grumbled. "It's too early in the morning."
"Sorry, but I've never felt so alive! I ran in the tall, brown grass, felt the sun beating down on me. The sun was like a golden stone in a fiery sky during sunset. The grass seemed to be alive in the cool, morning breeze!"
"I hope you fell in the mud," moaned my brother and pulled his pillow over his head.
I laughed. "Oh, I did! I wallowed in the mud with three friendly warthogs. I was at a watering hole and was joined by a herd of wildebeests! I was alone with nature!"
"Blehhh," said my brother.
"I looked up in the sky and saw colorful bids swooping in formation. They looked like kites, like moving brushes of paint on blue canvas," I murmured.
I smiled, remembering the quick, regal leopard, and the mangy hyena who thought life was one big joke. All the animals had been so beautiful and the scenery was breathtaking. Everything was perfect.
Except...
"I almost got eaten by a lion," I recalled with a shudder. That was why I had called out "That was a close one" upon waking up.
It had been terrifying. I was watching a group of playful primates when a bone-chilling roar echoed through the land. Suddenly, a lion leapt out of nowhere and bounded towards me, its mane flying.
I ran faster and faster, but alas! I felt claws in my flesh, and I fell to the ground.
Then I woke up.
My brother chuckled. "I had a dream, too," he admitted confidentially. "I was in the African veldt. Guess what I was?"
He licked his lips. The hair on the back of my neck stood up.
"I was a lion!" he said. Then he pounced.

So a Human Walks into a Bar

I wrote the following story in the Eighth Grade for the regional Power of the Pen contest. We had 45 minutes and this was the prompt: Bees sting, roses have thorns; show what real---or imagined---defense system humans possess.

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"So a human walks into a bar," I said, leaning across the table to get a better view of my extraterrestrial companions.
"That is not funny," said Alien #1, whose name roughly translated to "Three Stalk Bison.
"I wasn't finished," I said testily. "Anyway, he walks into a bar...and falls unconscious. Why?" I looked at them expectantly.
"I have no idea," gurgled the gelatinous mass of bubbles, Alien # 2.
"Because---" I started, "he walked into a bar!"
No reaction.
"Into a bar, " I explained, and frowned. I was losing my audience. "You know, like that?" I made a rough gesture to hammer in my point.
"Don't humans have a defense system to prevent such...unfortunate accidents?" asked Mr. Bubbles.
I hung my head. "First of all, it's just a joke. You guys have no sense of humor."
Before Three Stalk could come back with a retort, I raised my voice to cut him off. "And secondly," I said, "humans do have a defense system. It's called embarrassment."
I received a quizzical expression from Three Stalk. "Embarrassment? Explain," he said, as if he was daring me.
"Well, see that guy over there with the four arms? Let's say he wants to ask that purple girl on a date," I hypothesized. "But he knows that if she turns him down, this will mean major embarrassment for him."
"But they are not humans," Mr. Bubbles pointed out.
I gave him a tight smile. "I'm just using them as examples, seeing as how I'm the only earthling in the bar."
Three Stalk wagged his finger at me. "But what about in a life or death struggle?" he asked.
"That too!" I exclaimed. "If you know you can't win a fight, you won't get into one. Because if you did, you'd be very embarrassed when you lost."
Mr. Bubbles chortled. "You'd be killed! That's what one would be afraid of!"
I shook my head. "If you're killed, that's a good thing! Then you won't be ashamed for the rest of your life!" I leaned back in my chair. "Having people snicker at you, that's what humans fear!"
"Your argument is confusing to us," Three Stalks said, although it was obvious he knew I had won.
"Confusing? It's easy!" I shouted. "As easy as why the chicken crossed the road!"
"Why?" asked Mr. Bubbles.
"To get to the other side!" I finished with a flourish.
No reaction.
"Aliens," I scoffed. "No sense of humor!"