WA 8 final draft

Elyon shuffled the notecards in front of her and studied her audience: a group of retirees from the local nursing home, Golden Acres. Most of the them were either not paying attention, or drifting off to sleep. Still, she at least had to try. Ignoring the cloying scent of disinfectant creeping into her nostrils, she cleared her throat and gave them her best cheerful smile while at the same time trying to minimize the view of her abnormally large canines, in case some of them still had sharp vision.

"Uh, thank you all for having me here to discuss the issue at hand... which is, of course, planting trees at Golden Acres." She'd better get a good grade in History for this.

"What?" yelled old Mrs. Elmerson in the back, who suffered from hearing loss.

"PLANTING TREES AT GOLDEN ACRES," repeated Elyon in a much louder voice.

"WHAT?"

"Oh for God's sake..." muttered Elyon under her breath. She smiled again, though it was forced.

"What did she say," said Mrs. Elmerson in what she thought was a whisper. 

"She said, 'Planting trees at Golden Acres,' dear," explained Mrs. Reynolds, who thankfully could hear quite well. Elyon was instantly grateful to the woman.

"Where?" demanded Mrs. Elmerson.

"Never mind."

"As I said," continued Elyon, "Everyone knows that, of course, trees help clean the air we breathe, and that's enormously beneficial for one's health and well-being."

"Yeah, well, in my day, trees were just standing in the way of progress. Cut 'em down and didn't ask questions, we did," snapped the combative old Mr. Jones, waving his cane to emphasize the point.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," grumbled Elyon. "Anyways, what the kids from the high school and I were thinking was that you all might like to help us plant trees around the nursing home -"

"I'm allergic to pollen!" interrupted Mr. Jones yet again. Elyon was sorely tempted to tell the old coot to stuff it, but that may not have gone over well with the other retirees.

"Uh, anyways, I hope you all are open to the idea, because - well, how many of you have grandchildren?"

"WHAT?"

"GRANDCHILDREN," she repeated. Several hands went up.

"Well, planting these trees will help these kids. It'll show them that their dear old grandpa and grandma cared about the environment -"

"Whaddaya mean 'cared'?!" 

"- Care about the environment, and that they were - are - working to make this planet a better place," Elyon ended, wishing for visiting hours to be over.

"I think it's a simply SMASHING idea, my dear," called Mrs. Reynolds from where she was sitting.

Elyon smiled as more voices joined Mrs. Reynolds, and pretty soon a group of elders were shuffling up to collect fliers (which were printed in large text, of course). They say back down, poring over the fliers.

"So, um, if you'll read, there's the date, which is April 25, a Saturday. We'll be providing the materials and stuff, and there will be snacks and stuff, in case you're wondering. We'll work in the late afternoon and evening, and the forecast is calling for pretty mild weather, so that should be pretty pleasant. It'll only be for a couple of hours. We'll probably end up doing most of the work anyways," she added under her breath.

"Hey!" Mr. Jones waved his cane like a conductor's baton for attention.

"Yeeeees, Mr. Jones?" drawled Elyon, just to irritate him a little.

"Why is your hair like that? You're a girl, aren't you?"

"My-?" Elyon raised her hand and brushed her mohawk-like mane of blond hair. "Of course I'm a girl!"

"Then why do you wear your hair in that ungodly horses' mane?"

Elyon groaned. She was so tired of explaining this. "It's just the way my hair grows, okay? I didn't really style it like this."

"You look like a punk," he declared.

Elyon grimaced. "Are you done now?"

"WHAT?"

"Not you, Mrs. Elmerson!"

"Oh gosh, look at the time," Elyon fibbed, pretending to glance at her watch, even though she didn't have one. "I guess I'll see you all on Saturday!" She grabbed her notecards and extra fliers, and got the hell out of there.

WA 8 draft 1

Elyon shuffled the notecards in front of her and studied her audience: a group of elders from the local nursing home, Golden Acres. Most of them were either not paying attention or drifting off to sleep. Still, she at least had to try. Ignoring the cloying scent of disinfectant creeping into her nostrils, she cleared her throat and gave them her best cheerful smile while at the same time trying to minimize the view of her abnormally large canines, in case some of them still had sharp vision. 

"Uh, thank you all for having me here to discuss the issue at hand... which is, of course, planting trees at Golden Acres." She'd better get a good great in History for this.

"What?" yelled Mrs. Elmerson in the back, who suffered from hearing loss. 

"PLANTING TREES AT GOLDEN ACRES," repeated Elyon in a much louder voice.

"WHAT?"

"Oh for God's sake..." muttered Elyon under her breath. She smiled again, though it was forced.

"What did she say?" said Mrs. Elmerson in what she thought was a whisper. 

"She said, 'Planting trees at Golden Acres,' dear," explained Mrs. Reynolds, who thankfully could hear quite well. Elyon was instantly grateful to the woman.

"Where?" demanded Mrs. Elmerson, who appeared to be suffering from more than hearing loss.

"Never mind."

"As I said," continued Elyon, "Everyone knows that, of course, trees help clean the air we breathe, and that's enormously beneficial for one's health and well-being."

"Yeah, well, in my day, trees were just standing in the way of progress," snapped the combative old Mr. Jones, waving his cane to emphasize this point.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," grumbled Elyon. "Anyways, what the kids from the high school and I were thinking was that you all might like to help us plant trees around the nursing home -"

"I'm allergic to pollen!" interrupted Mr. Jones yet again. Elyon was sorely tempted to tell the old coot to stuff it, but that may not have gone over well with the other retirees. 

"Uh, anyways, I hope you all are open to the idea, because - well, how many of you have grandchildren?"

"WHAT?"

"GRANDCHILDREN," she repeated. Several hands went up.

"Well, planting these trees will help these kids. It'll show them that their dear old grandpa and grandma cared about the environment -"

"Whaddaya mean 'cared'?!"

"- care about the environment, and that they were - are - working to make this planet a better place," Elyon ended, wishing for visiting hours to be over.

"I think it's a simply SMASHING idea, my dear!" called Mrs. Reynolds from where she was sitting.

Elyon smiled as more voices joined Mrs. Reynolds, and pretty soon she had a group of elders shuffling up to collect fliers (which were printed in large text, of course). They sat back down, poring over the fliers.

"So, um, if you'll read, there's the date, which is April 25, a Saturday. We'll be providing the materials and stuff, and there will be snacks and stuff, in case you're wondering. We'll work in the late afternoon and evening, and the forecast is calling for pretty mild weather, so that should be pretty pleasant. It'll only be for a couple hours. We'll probably end up doing most of the work anyways," she added under her breath.

"Hey!" Mr. Jones waved his cane like a conductor's baton for attention. 

"Yeeeees, Mr. Jones?" drawled Elyon, just to irritate him a little.

"Why is your hair like that? You're a girl, aren't you?"

"My-?" Elyon raised her hand and brushed her mohawk-like mane of blond hair. "Of course I'm a girl!"

"Then why do you wear your hair in that ungodly horse's mane?" 

Elyon groaned. She was so tired of explaining this. "It's just the way my hair grows. I didn't really style it like this. It's like... a kind of pattern baldness."

"You look like a punk," he declared.

"And you look like a cranky old geezer," she snapped back, to a chorus of giggles from the other retirees.

"WHAT?"

"Not you, Mrs. Elmerson!"

"Oh gosh, look at the time," Elyon fibbed, pretending to glance at her watch, even though she didn't have one. "I guess I'll see you all on Saturday!" She grabbed her notecards and extra fliers, and got the hell out of there.

WA 6 final draft

Acrid smoke drifted up from the cracked asphalt, stinking of tar and brimstone. Detective Lucas Zorran and Officer Jean-Paul Rosseau stood with their guns at the ready, and behind them assembled a battalion of policemen, looking less than confident. About twenty feet in front of them was a gaping hole in the major roadway, a column of smoke twirling lazily from its center. Huge cracks emanated from the impact point like strands of a spider web. The fallout from the impact was everywhere: broken windows, pieces of tires, the flaming shells of cars, chunks of brick walls.

"Can you see anything, Zorran?" whispered Rosseau shakily. He was a tall, lanky young twenty-something with a shock of floppy brown hair and an over-eager way about him. His brown leather greatcoat flapped about his knees.

"Nothing but smoke. Keep your eyes open, Officer. We could be in very deep trouble in a few seconds," advised his senior officer. Zorran was a bald black man with a fierce gaze and a personality stereotypically suited for army life (though he'd left the army at the age of 22). He wore a white coat and had his Sig Sauer pointed at the crater. Slowly the smoke was beginning to lift. There was a huge, bulky shape poking through the smoke.

Zorran and Rosseau took a few steps towards the object, skirting the enormous cracks and debris. As the object came into focus, Jean-Paul let out a small gasp. It was a chunk of pure white metal, smooth but for the slight dent on the bottom from striking the ground. It seemed like it hadn't suffered any damage at all from its trip through Earth's atmosphere. It was round on one side, but the other side had wires and bits of machinery poking from it, as though it had been torn from another structure. It looked, for all the world, like a piece of a flying saucer.

"Wh-what the hell is it?" gasped Rosseau, his gun hand shaking wildly. Zorran put a hand on the younger man's arm before he could put a bullet in the mysterious object.

"I don't know, Officer. Might be part of a space shuttle, or maybe a piece of the ISS. One thing's for sure. I've never seen this kind of metal in my life, and I've worked on and off with NASA for seventeen years. I know all of the latest technology they're developing and whatever this stuff is, either they've been keeping it all hush-hush, it's a prototype, or..." Zorran paused and rubbed his broad forehead; he felt a headache coming on.

"Or... what, sir?" asked Rosseau softly, excitedly. "Maybe it's part of a UFO!"

"Son, it is a UFO. We don't know what the hell this thing is or where it came from, it was flying - or falling, at least - and it is clearly some kind of object."

"But maybe, sir, maybe? It could be part of an alien spacecraft, couldn't it? I mean, satellites have more or less proven that there's at least signs of life on other planets, so -"

"Officer, will you shut up for a minute and just let me think?"

"Oh. Yes, sir. Sorry, sir."

"Be quiet. Now, I think... yes, I think I'll do that. I'll call my friend at NASA and ask her to come up here. Yeah. All right. Rosseau, you have a phone on you?"

"Oh yes - let me see..." Rosseau clumsily put the safety back on the gun and fumbled in his pocket for his pink cellphone, which he tossed to Zorran. He stared down at the carnation-colored device in his hand.

"Rosseau, was that really the only color available when you bought this thing?"

Rosseau went as pink as the cellphone. "It looked different in the magazine picture, sir." Zorran rolled his eyes and flipped it open with one hand, dialing the number of his NASA contact while keeping his gun trained on the white bulk in case it decided to do anything surprising. Tracy Morris, who was the head of Research & Development at Goddard Institute of Space Studies, picked up on the fourth ring.

"Whoever it is, make it snappy, 'kay? I've got a lot of work on my plate and a deadline," she snapped in a clipped, professional voice.

"Geez, Tracy, sorry I got you at a bad time," smiled Zorran.

"Lucas, is that you? Hey! How are you, baby?" she laughed, instantly melting into the warmer, more sociable voice that she used outside the office.

"I've been doing alright, but -"

"When are you going to come see me again?" she interrupted.

"Um, I was actually going to ask you to come down and see me - us. We've found something out in Barre, and I think you're going to want to check this out."

"Something like what? A piece of a shuttle? A meteor? A... UFO?" she snickered.

He knew she meant the last one as a joke, but he said, "The last one actually."

There was a moment of silence on the other end. Tracy knew Zorran almost never joked and was rarely sarcastic. "I'll come right down," she promised, and hung up. That was it. He had piqued her scientist's curiosity, and she would stop at nothing until she found out what it was.

WA 6 draft 1

Acrid smoke drifted up from the cracked asphalt, stinking of tar and brimstone. Detective Lucas Zorran and Officer Jean-Paul Rousseau stood with their guns at the ready, and behind them stood a battalion of policemen, looking less than confident. About twenty feet in front of them was a gaping hole in the major roadway, a column of smoke twirling lazily from its center. Huge cracks emanated from the impact point like strands of a spider web. The fallout from the impact was everywhere: broken windows, pieces of tires, the flaming shells of cars, chunks of brick walls. 

"Can you see anything, Zorran?" whispered Rousseau shakily. He was a tall, lanky young twenty-something with a shock of floppy brown hair and an over-eager way about him. His brown leather greatcoat flapped around his knees.

"Nothing but smoke. Keep your eyes open, Private. We could be in very deep trouble in a few seconds," advised his senior officer. Zorran was a bald black man with a fierce gaze and a personality stereotypically suited for army life (though he'd left the army at the age of 22). He wore a white coat and had his Sig Sauer pointed at the crater. Slowly the smoke was beginning to lift. There was a huge, bulky shape poking through the smoke. 

Zorran and Rousseau took a few steps towards the object, skirting the enormous cracks and debris. As the object came into focus, Jean-Paul let out a small gasp. It was a chunk of pure white metal, smooth but for the slight dent on the bottom from striking the ground. It seemed like it hadn't suffered any damage at all from its trip through Earth's atmosphere. It was round on one side, but the other side had wires and bits of machinery poking from it, as though it had been torn from another structure. It looked, for all the world, like a piece of a flying saucer.

"Wh-what the hell is it?" gasped Rousseau, his gun hand shaking wildly. Zorran put a hand on the younger man's arm before he could put a bullet in the mysterious object. 

"I don't know, Officer. Might be part of a space shuttle, or maybe a piece of the ISS. One thing's for sure. I've never seen this kind of metal in my life, and I've worked on and off with NASA for seventeen years. I know all of the latest technology they're developing and whatever this stuff is, either they've been keeping it all hush-hush, it's a prototype, or..." Zorran paused and rubbed his broad forehead; he felt a headache coming on. 

"Or... what, sir?" asked Rousseau softly, excitedly. "Maybe it's part of a UFO!"

"Son, it is a UFO. We don't know what the hell this thing is or where it came from, it was flying - or falling, at least - and it is clearly some kind of object."

"But maybe, sir, maybe? It could be part of an alien spacecraft, couldn't it? I mean, satellites have more or less proved that there's at least signs of life on other planets, so -"

"Officer, will you shut up for a minute and just let me think?"

"Oh. Yes, sir. Sorry, sir."

"Be quiet. Now, I suggest we let NASA know about this as soon as possible and not let anyone touch it or get near it until they get here.Rousseau, you have a phone on you?"

"Oh yes - let me see..." Rousseau clumsily put the safety back on his gun and fumbled in his pocket for his pink cellphone, which he tossed to Zorran. He stared down at the carnation-colored device in his hand. 

"Rousseau, was that really the only color available when you bought this thing?"

Rousseau went as pink as the cellphone. "It looked different in the magazine picture, sir." Zorran rolled his eyes and flipped it open with one hand, dialing the number to his most trusted contact in NASA while keeping his gun trained on the white bulk in case it decided to do anything surprising. Tracy Morris, who was the head of Research & Development at Goddard Institute of Space Studies, picked up on the fourth ring.

"Whoever it is, make it quick, okay? I've got a deadline and a lot of work to do," she snapped in a clipped, professional voice.

"Geez, Tracy, sorry I got you at a bad time," smiled Zorran.

"Lucas, is that you? Hey! How are you, baby?" she laughed, instantly melting into the warmer, more sociable voice that she used outside the office.

"I've been doing alright, how are you?"

"Oh, I'm not too bad, actually. When are you going to come see me again?" she chirped.

"Well, I was actually going to ask you to come down and see us. We've found something out in Barre, and I think you're going to want to check this out."

"Something like what? A piece of a shuttle? A meteor? A UFO?" 

She probably meant the last one as a joke, but Zorran, said, "The last one, actually."

"I'll come down as soon as I can," she assured him, and hung up. That was something Zorran could always count on: Tracy's unquenchable scientist's curiosity. He smiled, the first time he had that day.

WA 5 draft 3

I was standing in my normal clothes, looking at the faded, cardboard box in my hands. Inside was Aunt Tiffany's wedding dress, and I was about to put it on, something I'd dreamed of doing since I was a little girl. Suddenly I felt nervous that I would rip it or trip when I was walking in it. "Lucy? You ready to try that thing?" called Morgan from where she was getting changed.

I stood behind the big wooden pews, looking around the church. It must have been time for the wedding to start by now - we'd been in here for most of the day, getting things set up. Lizzy and I had been stealing cookies from the caterers' plates when they weren't looking, but then Noah caught us and made us stop. Of course, Lizzy blamed the idea on me. She's always doing that. It's like she forgets that I'm older and smarter than her.

Besides, it was her idea.

Morgan helped me get the dress on and was now zipping up the back. It was tighter than I had expected, but it really was beautiful. It went down to my feet and the sleeves actually made my arms look good. Morgan had a handful of flowers that she was pinning to the veil before I put it on.

I've never seen Ethan look so nervous. He was standing in front of the mirror, combing through his hair with his fingers. We were in one of those little rooms that you have Sunday school in when you're a little kid. They creep me out, especially at night. Noah caught my eye and came down to brush my jacket off. I wonder if he was still mad about the cookie thing.

"You look beautiful, Lucy," Morgan gushed as I looked at myself in the mirror.

"I'm so glad Aunt Tiffany let me have this dress. It's so... elegant." I did look pretty good in it. I twirled around in front of the glass. 

"Aunt Lucy?" I glanced down at Lizzy, our flower girl, who was pouting. She had on a shiny pink dress and was holding a basket of rose petals. "Percy's here and he won't go away!"

First Noah, now Lizzy. Why is everyone acting so bossy today? Noah just made my job as a ring bearer way harder, and now Lizzy's tattling on me (again!) just because I wanted to see Aunt Lucy. I mean, I didn't even do anything wrong! Did I?

"You know you're not supposed to see me before I walk down the aisle, young man," I reproached Percy, who had shown up unexpectedly just as the guests started arriving. I thought I had told Noah to keep an eye on him.

Percy sighed and gave me a pout that could've given Lucy a run for her money. "Everyone's telling me what to do today. Why can't I just -?"

"Because Aunt Lucy said so," interrupted Lizzy in her best bossy voice. She loved watching him squirm. "Now go away."

Percy gave her a pretty nasty sneer. "Tattletale," he whispered.

I was so annoyed with Lizzy. She really is nothing but a big tattletale, plus she's always siding with whoever's yelling at me. I went stomping out of the room, hoping to make Aunt Lucy feel sorry for me. People were starting to arrive, I noticed.

All of a sudden, I heard running feet behind me and turned around just in time to see Lizzy come flying out of the room and tackle me furiously. We shrieked as we fell to the ground, punching and pulling hair.

I really, really, hated Lizzy at that moment.

WA 5 draft 2

Lucy, the bride, was getting her veil adjusted by her sister and maid of honor, Morgan. Her dress was pure white and very shiny, with long sleeves that flared out at the ends and a gauzy train with hydrangeas and yellow roses. It was a bit uncomfortable, but Lucy kept reminding herself, It's only one day. It's only one day. 

Finally Morgan was done toying with the veil and stood back to admire her sister in all her shiny white glory. "You look beautiful, Lucy."

Lucy shyly examined her reflection in the mirror. "I'm so glad Aunt Tiffany let me have this dress. It's so... elegant."

"Well, it's almost time," announced Morgan, checking her pilot watch, which she had cleverly concealed under the sleeve of her dark red, floor-length gown. 

"Aunt Lucy?"

Lucy glanced down at her flower girl, also known as her niece, nine-year-old Lizzy. She was wearing a pale pink dress with those puffy sleeves that itched like crazy. She clutching a basket of rose petals in her chubby fist. Her normally sweet little face was set into a petulant pout.

"Percy's here and he won't go away!"

"Percy..." Lucy planted her fists on her hips and glared at said ring boy, who was peering up at her hopefully.

"I just wanted to see what you looked like before you get married," he explained.

"You know you're not supposed to see me before I walk down the aisle, young man." 

Percy gave a martyr's sigh. "Everyone's telling me what to do today. Why can't I just...?"

"'Cause Auntie Lucy said so," sniffed Lizzy archly. "Now go away."

Percy sneered at her. "You're just a big tattletale." Lizzy's eyes grew wide with anger. Percy turned and shuffled out of the room. Lizzy ran out after him and suddenly a loud shriek erupted from the church. 

"Oh no," groaned Morgan, hurrying out to them.

WA 5 draft 1

Percy stood behind the rows of wooden pews in the tiny church. It was a beautiful Friday afternoon. The low autumn light was slanting in through the high stained-glass windows on the west long wall, sending patterns of gold-tinged spots of light onto the floor. On the far short wall there was a large rose window that was as deep blue as the sea. On Percy's side, there were no windows, only the simple oak double doors that were open slightly to allow a sweet-smelling autumn breeze inside. Percy sighed and rested his chin on his arms, inhaling the scent of dead leaves, books, and cheap furniture fabric. The wedding hadn't started yet, but it was very close; the guests had begun to arrive. Most of them Percy didn't even know. 

Percy sighed and entered the back room where Ethan, the groom, and Noah, his best man, where nervously preparing for the big "I do." The room was one of those sparsely-furnished and vaguely creepy "church function" rooms with white cinderblock walls, crappy folding chairs, a single faux-wooden table, and tiny windows. Percy hated being in these kinds of rooms at night. For the wedding, someone had set up a cracked full-length mirror on a tilting axis, the kind that would flip over at the slightest nudge. 

Noah spotted the ten-year-old and grinned. "Hey, little man. Don't get those clothes dirty before the wedding's over."

Percy sighed. "I'm not. When's the wedding gonna start?"

"It'll start when it starts."

Noah was always giving him answers like this. "But you always say that!"

"Hey, it's true." Noah was Ethan's elder by two years, twenty-nine (and a half) as opposed to Ethan's twenty-seven. He was also his brother. He had stuck to his little brother like glue in the past week, offering advice and moral guidance - at least that's what he said. It was all meaningless to Percy, their nephew and ring bearer. 

As Ethan nervous combed and re-combed his hair in the mirror, Noah squatted in front of Percy and brushed off the front of his sports jacket and tie. Then he spun the boy around and did the same with his back. Lastly, he pushed Percy's short, silky blond hair into place and picked up a light blue silk cushion that had been on the table. He handed it to Percy, who held it reverently like a priceless gold statuette. There were two lustrous silver rings nestled into the center like bird eggs. Percy liked his job. It made him feel important and the silk felt nice on his fingers. 

"Do not drop those," commanded Noah as he beheld his nephew. "You will be in so much hot water if you do."

Percy nodded, suddenly nervous. He swallowed drily as strains of organ music floated through the doorway. Ethan looked twice as nervous as him as he shuffled out the door with Noah behind him, grinning. Percy was left alone to make sure he got the rings to them on time. 

WA 4 draft 2

Dear President Obama,

My most sincere congratulations on your recent inauguration. You are living proof of the power of this country and it is incredible to live in a United States with a black president when, not long ago, most people thought it would never happen.

This is a time for the people of this country to work together and help one another through crises large and small, and they are certainly capable of and willing to do that. I recently witnessed this firsthand, the day before your inauguration. My family was involved in a major collision on I-78 outside of the modest town of Hamburg, Pennsylvania. All those involved lived, although I saw several people taken away on stretchers. The EMT workers, police and firemen, and the shelter volunteers were very efficient in their removal of people from the wreckage and supplying us with food and a place to stay while we contacted our insurance agent and got ahold of a rental car. They even replaced the booster seats of everyone who had little kids.

These people didn't have to help us. The fact that they not only chose to provide with our basic needs but also arranged for us to stay in a hotel and remove our baggage from the wrecked cars went above and beyond what I think most people were expecting. What I am concerned about, however, is if the people who had serious injuries and had to go to the hospital were able to afford the medical bills. Mr. President, almost 50 million Americans can't afford health care. It's a disaster compared to other countries like Canada, Russia, and most of western Europe, who have universal health care. Too many people go into debt because of staggering medical bills. Either their employers don't provide adequate coverage or they're self-employed, meaning they can't afford it altogether. I think the issue you should focus on within the first year of your presidency is making health care available to everyone, no matter how much money they make. People should not have to go broke because they can't afford a surgery or treatments for their child's illness. Getting sick or injured is not something people can control.

So, President Obama, I urge you, please: Help your people by making universal health care a reality. America can't function as a country if people are constantly inhibited by medical costs. And there are people out there who really deserve the right to afford their medical costs, like the very kind people in Hamburg.

Sincerely,

Tess Keena

WA 4 draft 1

Dear Mr. Obama,

Congratulations on your becoming President. There are many things I'd like to say to you, but I'm limited to 1,000 words in this assignment.

My family was recently part of a major accident on I-78 involving 23 cars and three trucks. We all lived and sustained minor injuries, but I saw several people, including the trucker who hit us, being taken away in stretchers. No one was killed, thankfully. This all happened the day before your inauguration. The EMT workers, firefighters, and shelter workers were amazingly efficient and well-supplied for taking care of the victims. They were very kind. One man even offered me his jacket because I lost mine in the crash.

This is a perfect example of how the people of America come together and help one another in times of crisis, which I know is something you focused on during your inaugural speech. The people who helped us were incredibly kind and they provided us with food and a place to stay while we got in touch with our insurance agent and obtained a rental car. They even replaced my younger brother's car seat. 

Even though our family didn't have to go to the hospital, there were many people who did and I have to wonder, with the state of our health insurance, if they were able to pay their medical bills. Almost 50 million Americans don't have health insurance. We cannot continue like this. Too many people go into debt because they can't pay their medical bills. Their employers don't provide insurance or they're self-employed, meaning they don't even have health care. I think an issue that you should address within the first year of your presidency is universal health care for every citizen. People should not have to go broke because they can't afford a surgery or pay for their children's illnesses. It's not something they can control.

So I'm asking you, President Obama, please: Help your people by making health care available to the poor and self-employed so that these people can continue helping one another and creating a strong bond of community throughout our country. 

WA 3 draft 2

Peace and war are usually considered opposites. However, I believe that warfare is a much simpler side of human nature than peace. I am not criticizing peace; on the contrary, I think humans should practice it more often. But I am also saying that it takes a great deal more thought and self-restraint to practice peace than it does to wage war. People don't have to do any thinking to pick up a rock and throw it at someone who makes them angry. But they have to think in order to not pick up that rock and just walk away. Therein lies the problem.

Animals are often at war with each other for different reasons - leadership of a group, mates, territory boundaries, ect. This is natural behavior for them. Fighting is a basic instinct, a way to defend or prove themselves. The one who wins the fight wins the prize. Animals are much more simple-minded than humans in their pursuit of basic needs. If someone has what they want, they fight for it. They don't negotiate or offer to share. However, most animals (sea mammals and primates excluded) lack a developed neocortex. This is the part of the brain that can reason and rationalize. This is the logical portion of the brain. Because most animals don't have it, they can't predict the outcomes of their disputes beyond the very obvious - their most basic goals. But animals who do have neocortexes are capable of reasoning and developing language and rules. Humans have the largest neocortexes. We can not only predict the basic, physical outcomes of our disputes, we can predict the moral outcomes as well. We can deduce whether or not performing a certain action on a living being will hurt it. Most other creatures do not perceive the moral outcomes of their actions, and so do not see their behavior as cruel. They can not conceptualize "cruel."

So when a person chooses to leave someone alone rather than hurt them, are they using their higher brain? I think so. Humans are governed by a certain set of morals and values; we perceive certain actions, such as torture and murder, to be "wrong." Why? Because our morals tell us that intentionally hurting another person is a bad thing to do. Intentionally caused physical pain is disturbing to most humans, partly because we live in a complex, structured society and we are no longer doing whatever we can to survive in the wilderness. 

Which brings me back to the original problem: Peace is harder to enact than war because people have to think and exercise self-control rather than lash out based on their instincts and feelings. If one is threatened or challenged, inaction is frustrating because their instincts tell them to fight back. But acting on what their rationalizing, complex brains are telling them rather than what their instincts are telling them sets humans apart from other animals. We can enact a peace. We can stop a war. We just have to will ourselves to do it. We are not ruled by are baser minds; all that we are, all that we have created, is based on our the complex signals from our highly developed neocortexes. 

WA 3 draft 1

What about peace? 

Well, what about it? Peace and war are usually considered opposites. However, I believe that war is a much simpler side of human nature than peace. I am not criticizing peace; on the contrary, I think it is a very good thing for humans to practice. We should do it more often. But I am also saying that it takes a great deal of thought and self-restraint to practice peace than it does to wage a war. You don't have to do any thinking to pick up a rock and throw it at someone who makes you angry. You do have to think, however, in order to not pick up that rock and just walk away. Therein lies the problem.

Animals are often at war with each other, for different reasons - leadership of a group, mates, territorial disputes, ect. But this is natural behavior for them. Fighting is a basic instinct, a way to defend or prove yourself. The one who wins the fight gets the prize. Animals are much more simple-minded than humans in their pursuit of basic needs. If someone has what you want, you fight for it. You do not negotiate or offer to share. 

However, most animals (sea mammals and primates excluded) lack a developed neocortex. This is the part of the brain that can plan and rationalize. This is the logical portion of the brain. Because most animals don't have it, they can't predict the outcomes of their disputes beyond the very obvious - that they will catch their prey or something like that. But animals who do have neocortexes are capable of reasoning, and developing sophisticated rules and language. Humans have the largest neocortexes. We can not only predict the basic, physical outcomes of our disputes and actions, we can also predict the moral outcomes. We can deduce whether or not performing a certain action on another living being will hurt it. Most other creatures don't bother with the moral outcomes, such as when a cat plays with a wounded mouse. They don't see their behavior as cruel; they are not capable of such developed thought.

So when you choose to leave someone alone rather than hurt them, are you using your higher brain? I think so. We humans are governed by a set of morals and values; we perceive certain actions, such as torture, as wrong. Why? Because our morals tell us that intentionally hurting another person is a bad thing to do. Another person's pain disturbs us and, because we live in such a complex and sophisticated civilization, seems wrong because we are no longer simply a group of primates fending for ourselves in the wilderness. 

Which brings me back to my original problem: Peace is harder to enact than war because peace requires more brainpower and self-restraint than simply lashing out based on your emotions and instincts. Inaction is frustrating to people after a war; often they feel the enemies have not been punished enough or that the enemy has wronged them too much to be left alone. But acting on what are rational, analyzing, complex minds are telling us what to do than what our honest, simplistic instincts are telling us to do is what sets us apart from other animals. We can enact a peace. We can stop a war. We just have to will ourselves to do it. We are not ruled by our baser minds; we are the products of a large and complex neocortex! Let's use it more often.

Arashi sat on his bed. The wooly blanket beneath his uncovered hands itched and felt much too rough to ever sleep on. And yet night after night he found comfort under these coarse layers of fabric. The light was too bright. It was too warm. He knew he was being hypersensitive, but today was the ninth anniversary of the day his father, Jacen, had not returned from war. In the pockmarked off-white wall he could see his father's dancing hazel eyes. He could still recall their last conversation:

"B-but," Nine-year-old Arashi sniffled, wiping his eyes, "I wanna come with you! I don't want you to go alone!"

"I won't be alone. Your uncle will be here, and all the men of the village..." Jacen bent down, stroking his son's hair. "What's wrong?"

"I'm scared for you!" sobbed Arashi, flinging himself into his dad's arms. "I don't want you to die!"

"Arashi. Look at me." He son obeyed. "You need to be brave for me, okay? You have to promise to take care of your little cousin. You're going to be the man of the house while we're gone."

"I promise."

"It's going to be okay. Don't be in such a hurry to grow up. You'll be a man soon enough."

Yeah, well too late for that, Dad, Arashi thought bitterly, feeling the stubble on his chin - he'd quit shaving a month ago. He lay back on the bed, squinting out the window. The weather had been unfailingly sunny all week - an ironic counterpart to his grim mood. There was a stained-glass boat dangling in the window. His father had taught him how to sail a fishing vessel. He'd stuck with the hobby even after he and Tora, his younger cousin, left to settle in the Fire Country.

The door creaked open. Only one person came into his room without knocking.

"Tora?"

He listened to her shut the door and come over to his bed, blocking out the sparkly sunlight. Her face was concerned.

He sat up and regarded his cousin. Tora's shaggy black hair - almost identical in texture to his - framed her dark golden face and fell in an unruly ponytail down her back. She had a slightly more angular jawbone, a narrower nose, and darker skin than him. Arashi touched the indent of his nose and brow. "Look." He reached over to the table and picked up a necklace. It was a cord of leather strung through a pair of wolves' teeth. He slipped it on. "This was my dad's."

She nodded mutely. Somehow she could say more with her silences. 

"Why did he tell me it was going to be okay?" Arashi whispered, mostly to himself. "It wasn't. It's not. He's dead." His voice cracked painfully on the last syllable. "I hate him. I hate him." That wasn't true, but Arashi was angry.

"He didn't want you to worry," ventured Tora softly. Arashi felt the familiar enmity that her father, Mano, had survived, and his hadn't boiling in him.

"Well, that's easy for you to say, isn't it?" he snarled. "Your dad is alive!"

Tora's eyes were chips of ice. They were the only sign of anger in her otherwise neutral expression. "You know what?" she said flatly, sliding off the bed, "Jacen deserves more respect than you're giving him."

"Go away, Tora," he ordered, falling back on the sheets even as she shut the door. An immense wave of guilt rose up in him, making his eyes water. I'm so sorry, Dad...

WA 2 draft 2

Arashi sat on his bed. The wooly blanket underneath his uncovered hands itched and felt much too rough to ever sleep on. And yet night after night he felt comfort under these coarse layers of fabric. The light was too bright. It was too warm. He knew he was being hypersensitive, but today was the ninth anniversary of the day his father, Jacen, had not come back from war. In the pockmarked off-white wall he saw his father's dancing hazel eyes. His voice, Don't be in such a hurry to grow up, little Arashi. You'll be a man soon enough.

Yeah, well, too late for that, Dad, he thought bitterly, feeling the stubble on his chin - he had quit shaving a month ago. He lay on his back and squinted at the window. The weather had been unfailingly cheery all week - an ironic counterpart to his grim mood. There was a stained-glass boat dangling in the window. His father had taught him how to sail a fishing vessel before he died. He had stuck with the hobby even after he and Tora, his cousin, had left their home country to settle in the Land of Fire.

The door creaked open. Only one person came into his room without knocking.

"Tora?"

He listened to her shut the door and come over to his bed, blocking the sparkly sunlight. Her face was concerned.

He sat up and regarded his cousin. Her shaggy black hair - almost identical in texture to his - framed her dark golden face and fell in an unruly ponytail down her back. She had a slightly more angular jawbone than him, a narrower nose, and darker skin. Arashi touched the indent of his nose and brow. "Look." He reached over to the table and picked up a necklace. It was made from a cord of leather that was strung through two wolves' teeth. He slipped it on. "This was my dad's."

Tora nodded mutely. Sometimes she could say more with her silences than by talking.

"Why did he tell me it was going to be okay?" Arashi whispered, mostly to himself. "It wasn't. It's not. He's dead." His voice cracked painfully on the last syllable. "I hate him. I hate him."

"He didn't want you to worry," ventured Tora softly. Arashi felt the familiar anger that her father - Mano - had survived, and his hadn't boiling in him.

"Well, that's easy for you to say, isn't it?" he spat. "Your father is alive."

Tora's eyes were chips of ice. "You know what?" she said flatly, getting up, "Jacen deserves more respect than you give him."

"Go away, Tora," he ordered, falling back onto the sheets even as she shut the door. An immense wave of guilt rose up in him, making his eyes water. Dad... I'm so sorry.

WA 2 draft 1

Arashi sat on his bed. The wooly blanket underneath his uncovered hands itched and felt much to rough to ever sleep on. And yet night after night he found comfort under these coarse layers of fabric. He was feeling extreme physical hypersensitivity on this day. The reason? Today was the ninth anniversary of the day his father did not return from the war with the Village of the Mountains. He gazed at the pockmarked off-white wall and saw his father's dancing hazel eyes. He studied the chestnut wardrobe and his father's lighthearted smile His voice, Don't be in such a hurry to grow up, Arashi-kun. You'll be a man soon enough.

Yeah, well, too late for that, Dad, Arashi thought bitterly, feeling the rough stubble on his chin. He had decided to quit shaving about a month earlier. He lay back on his bed, squinting through the bright light that streamed through his window. The weather had been unfailingly sunny and warm all week, an ironic counterpart for his grim mood. Dangling from the ceiling was a wooden boat that his father had carved for him as a third-birthday gift. His father had shown him how to sail a fishing vessel. He had stayed devoted to the practice even after he and Tora had left the Snow Country to settle in the Fire Country. 

The door creaked open. Only one person came into his room without knocking. 

"Tora?"

"Hey." He listened to her shut the door and then his light was blocked out as she appeared over his face, her brows drawn in concern. 

He sat up and regarded his cousin. Her shaggy black hair - almost identical in texture to his - framed her dark golden skin and fell down her back in an unruly ponytail. She had a slightly more defined jawbone than him, a narrower nose, and very defined eyebrows. Arashi touched the indent of his nose and his forehead. "Look." He reached over to the night stand and picked up a necklace that was sitting on it. It was made from a leather cord, on which was strung a pair of wolf fangs with holes cut into the roots. She nodded.

He slipped it over his head. "This was... my dad's."

"I know."

"Why did he tell me that it was going to be okay?" he whispered, more to himself. He looked down at his hands, rough and scarred from years of fighting and training. "Why did he promise me that? He was wrong."

"You know he was just telling you that so you wouldn't worry about him," offered Tora gently. Arashi felt the old enmity that her father had survived and his hadn't returning. "Easy for you to say!" he snapped. "Your father is alive!" 

Tora's eyes were chips of ice. They always became like this when he yelled at her. "I think Jacen deserved more respect than you're giving him," she said flatly, getting up to leave.

He didn't need any of her wisdom right now. "Just leave me alone, Tora," he rasped, feeling tears sting his eyes. He heard her shut the door behind her. He lay back on the bed and let angry tears course down his face. Why, Dad?

When I was about thirteen years old, I went to my cousin Becky's wedding with my dad. The wedding took place in October 2006. When I was first asked, I didn't want to go. Then I thought it might be fun, and so at the last second, I said yes and packed my bags. 

I'm so glad I did. I've never had more fun at a wedding. My cousin Becky was the second cousin in my family to get married. When it was time for her to walk down the aisle, the atmosphere of the room became decidedly somber. The reason was because a few months earlier, her father had left her mom and the family unexpectedly. We never really learned why. I know that it was really hard on my grandparents and dad, to say nothing of poor Becky and her brothers. Her grandfather was the one to walk her down the aisle. I felt sad for Becky because I know she wanted her dad to be there, but I was also very happy when she reached the altar and the vows were said.

The highlight of the evening was definitely dancing with my dad. It started when I went out to dance to a few songs with my dad, who was my dad, who was my "date" for the evening. After a while, the music became more energetic and more people came out onto the dance floor. And soon I found myself in a circle of family members, dancing like a lunatic, laughing, and wishing I could've been allowed to wear my sneakers. 

Normally when I dance I do it behind closed doors, by myself, and if someone comes in I stop. But being out there, surrounded by people I loved, something happened. I think a combination of excitement and happiness caused me to drop my inhibitions and shyness for one night and just enjoy myself. For once, I wasn't sitting at a table wanting to go home like I often am at parties. I was trying to coax my cousin Laura into dancing. I was doing the conga with my uncles. I was watching my hyperactive second cousin run around on the dance floor in her little white-and-red dress. I even took off my shoes and danced barefoot at one point.

I think that being happy can sometimes override every other emotion in your mind, such as the fear of looking foolish and embarrassment at having to wear the stupid pink sweater my mom picked out for me. It even overrode the sadness I felt for Becky in her father's absence. But that's just fine. It's nice to simply be blissfully, innocently joyful sometimes. 

WA 1 draft 2

When I was about thirteen years old, I went to my cousin Becky's wedding with my dad. The wedding was in October 2006. At first, I hadn't really wanted to go. Then I decided - at virtually the last second - that it might be fun, so I changed my mind and packed my bags. 

I'm so glad I decided to go. I've never had more fun at a wedding. My cousin Becky was the second cousin in my family to get married. When it was time to walk her down the aisle, I remember how everyone got all quiet and solemn. The reason was because a few months earlier, her dad had unexpectedly broken up with her mother and left the family. We never really knew why. It was really hard on my dad and grandparents, to say nothing of poor Becky and her brothers. So, her grandfather walked her down the aisle instead. I felt bad for Becky because I knew she wanted her dad to be there, but when she got to the alter and vows were said, we all cheered because we were very happy for her. 

Still, the highlight of the evening was dancing at the wedding reception. It started when I went out to dance to a few slow songs with my dad, who was my "date" for the evening. After a while, the music became more energetic and more people came out onto the dance floor. And soon I found myself in a circle of family members, dancing like a lunatic, laughing, and wishing I could've been allowed to wear my sneakers.

Normally when I dance I do it behind closed doors, by myself, and if someone comes in I stop. But being out there, surrounded by people I loved, something happened. I think a combination of happiness and excitement caused me to drop my inhibitions and shyness for one night and just enjoy myself. For once, I wasn't sitting at a table wishing to go home like I often am at long parties. I was trying to coax my cousin Laura into dancing. I was doing the conga with my grandpa and uncles. I was watching my second cousin run around the floor in her little white-and-red dress. I even took of my shoes and danced barefoot at one point.

I think that being happy can sometimes override every other emotion in your mind, such as the  fear of looking foolish and embarrassment at having to wear the stupid pink sweater my mom picked out for me. It even blocked out the sadness I felt for Becky for her dad's absence. But that's okay. It's nice just to be blissfully, innocently joyful sometimes.

WA 1

One of my most recent memories of a really fun experience was in 8th grade when I went to my cousin's wedding with my dad. It was in October 2006. Originally, I hadn't wanted to go, but at the last minute I changed my mind. 

I'm so glad I did. It was the most fun at a wedding I've ever had. My cousin Becky was the second cousin in my family to get married. When it was time to walk her down the aisle, I remember how everyone got all quiet and solemn. The reason was because her father had left a few months ago, unexpectedly. It was really hard on my dad and my grandparents, to say nothing of poor Becky and her brothers. I didn't really understand what had happened at the time, but I felt really bad for Becky since her parents had been together since I could remember. Still, when she got to the alter and the vows were said, everyone cheered, because we were all really happy for her.

But the highlight of the evening was dancing at the reception. It is difficult for me to explain what happened, but this is how I can describe it best. It started when I went out to dance to a few slow songs with my dad, who was my "date" for the evening. After a while, the music became more energetic and more people came onto the dance floor. And soon I found myself in a circle of family members, dancing like a lunatic, laughing, and wishing I could've worn my sneakers.

Normally when I dance I do it by myself, behind closed doors, and if someone comes in I stop. But being out there, surrounding by people I lived, something happened. I think a combination of happiness and excitement caused me to drop my shyness and inhibitions for one night and just enjoy myself. For once, I wasn't sitting at a table waiting to go home like I often am at a party. I was trying to coax my cousin Laura into dancing. I was doing the conga with my grandfather. I was watching my second cousin run around like floor in her little white-and-red dress. I even took off my shoes and danced barefoot at one point. 

I guess that being happy can override every other emotion in your mind sometimes, because I think that's what happened to me. But that's fine. It's nice not to worry about how you look to other people sometimes.

Testing test first post...