Picture quick write
By Morgan Herman
Our “house,” if you can call it one, is made completely of salvaged doors and old tin roofing. My family is very poor and my father is dead (he died in a war). Well not dead, just missing in action. I didn’t know him very well. I still wish he could be here with me and help us. I only have one picture of him and it’s faded and brown with age and handling. I don’t go to school and I don’t talk much and I can’t write well. I steal to get food and sleep on an old red cushion that’s been worn brown from dirt and old age. I have a little brother, John, and he’s 8 years old. I’m Joseph and I’m 14. We try to help as much as we can, so we wake up at dawn every day to go salvage things from the dump, which is a mile or two from our “house.” You’d be surprised what people throw away. My brother and I only really have one talent: we fix things and we make things or rebuild them. We have one of the bigger houses because of that, and we even have a washer that my brother and I worked on for months. When we aren’t building things, we swim in a small, polluted lake about a mile away. We are both excellent swimmers and love the water. It’s really our only past time. I wish I could go to school but only rich kids go to school around here. My mom makes $40 a week and we add maybe 12 to 15 dollars more. I haven’t had a good life but my mom always tries to stay positive.
Murder quick write
He sat by the lake on the back of his small red truck, thinking about what he had done. No one would have guessed what this man had done. As he sat there he thought of that night, the blood, the screaming “no.” He thought to himself, “I won’t think of that.” Then he stood up and went back to his truck and drove back to his house. No one saw him ever again.