Create-a-Portfolio

1.  Description Not Using a Word

An aching numbness fills my soul and images slowly flicker through my mind.  I remember all the times that have passed.  Laughter breaks through my thoughts as an unwanted intruder and then fades into the background.  The bright blue sky darkens to gray and rain drops fall on my face.  I taste salt and absentmindedly note that I am crying.  Inside my heart are a dull ache and a chasm of nothing.  The trees whisper and people reach out awkwardly to pat my back.  Soon they turn away and are back to laughing, talking, and smiling.  I watch birds flutter away, reminding me that I am glued to the ground.  If I am honest, I might even be sinking.  Walking down the hall, I stop at a beaten, brown locker.  I slowly turn the combination, barely getting my fingers to move.  I am glad I have a good memory, because the numbers are blurry from tears.  I open my locker and find myself face-to-face with my best friend.  Her face is frozen into a smile and the photograph is wrinkled and creased.  I caress my fingers over a particularly ugly fold and stare blankly at the note resting beside it:  Bring flowers to the cemetery.

2.  I Will Rescue Them Flash

I will rescue them.  The kids who spend their days tracing symbols, watching the effects race along their walls.  Kids too powerful to be released from this prison.  It is under the form of reformation and education, but everyone knows what it really is.  Everyone sits quietly  in their domes of ice, air, plants, rock, whatever their element and symbol creates.  A girl with sapphire blue eyes, traces her symbol of flowing swirls around her in intricate patterns.  Ice flows from her to create a sea green and pale blue sphere surrounding her.  A black-haired boy closes his eyes and traces a finger in seemingly random patterns, the most elaborate design in this palace of powerful weavers.  Air and mist swirl as he sits on top of his thick blanket of clouds.  A dark-skinned girl with forests growing at her command, a blond boy with lava sliding around his hands.  I envy that kid, he gets to play with squishy warm fire whenever he wants.  All this being said, it is still a cage.  They are all still cages.  I pace my empty white dome.  Nothing exists in it, literally.  I have been in here for years after the Reckoning.  After they decided I was too powerful to be let roam free.

A bell chimes overhead announcing that the prisoners are to be permitted to eat food.  Kids file out of their respective domes, laughter and chatter fills the air, but I keep my expression neutral and cool.  They may have forgotten where we are, but I haven’t.  I never will.  I grab a plate and walk toward the ‘normal’ food isle.  Everyone else gets to eat lava rocks, liquefied wind, or mushrooms, I settle for a hamburger and fries.  I walk calmly back to my deserted table.  No one dares sit next to me.  Part of me wants to think it’s because I have a reputation, but the other part knows that half of the people that tried to sit next to me would accidentally destroy the wooden table and plastic chairs with their element.

I am an outcast here and always will be.  I am known as the only ‘no talent’ in the entire place.  I used to hate the nickname/label, but have long lost caring for it.  It’s like being called a unicorn.  Offensive if you think it means something, but if it’s simply supposed to mean they think you’re a unicorn, the joke’s on them.  I have many talents, I play the piano, I can draw to some extent, and am not bad at math.  If they are referring to my apparently not having an element, well, they are simply wrong.

One of the wardens – or teachers, to those who’ve forgotten they’re in a prison – sat next to me.  The teacher wore the same expression they all give me, pity, understanding, and slight curiosity.  They all seem to think I care about sitting alone, not having friends to talk to, and being a social and literal outcast of the prison.  Behind their masks of understanding and caring, I can see their fear and wonder.  They know I was sent here for a reason, that I have an unspeakably powerful symbol or I wouldn’t be here, and it unnerves them that not a trace of it has been seen.  Letters have been written to relatives and close friends, but no answers have been sent back.  The ‘school’ never managed to find out if my family simply didn’t know or if they simply weren’t giving answers to them.  It became significantly harder to bully them out of answers when every one of them vanished out of existence.  No one knows where they went, how they left, or supposedly, why.  I almost laugh at their vain searches.  If my family and friends don’t want to be found, they won’t be.

 “Nolan Mint, isn’t it?”  A woman asked with bright curiosity.  “It’s nice to meet you.”  I look up in half-curiosity.  I would have been more curious if the school didn’t get new students and teachers all the time.  The warden who had originally sat next to me cringed at the use of my false name.  ‘Nolan Mint’ is the name that was created for me personally by the other prisoners here.  Mostly because it sounds eerily close to no element.  The teachers try not to use it, because it technically just another one of the nicknames that bullies gave me.  But when no other name is put forth, they’re forced to.  I give the new teacher a nod and turn back to my fries.  The woman looks offended, but is given a warning look from the warden next to me stopped her.  He, like the rest of the teachers, had learned that that was about as good a greeting as they would get from me.

3.  Ode to Eyes

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.  A sentence that is true no matter how you look at it.  Eyes are like the sky, their color ever shifting depending on moods, lights, and surroundings.  Feet are also like eyes, but eyes are not like feet.  Feet betray our emotions in the speed we walk, the steps we take forward or back, and the extra motions used in anger or impatience.  Eyes also betray us by being windows to our souls.  The darker the night becomes, the clearer the view gets.  Silhouettes, shadows, and outlines versus hard glints of anger, shimmers of sadness, or sparkles of laughter.  Eyes are magnifying glasses.  The vision is clear in the center, blurry on the edges, and only focuses on what we want to see.  Eyes are the first detail people see when they meet and often the last detail they see when they leave.  Beauty is literally in the eye of the beholder.

4.  Times Like These Ballad

I am a piano; everything is black and white, wrong notes vibrate in my ear long after they were played.

I'm a cat looking out the window, hoping for things that aren't, not seeing the things that are.

I am a swing; occasionally falling back, but always reaching forward.

I am a pencil; working hard, but slowly being blunted by my efforts.

Refrain:

I must continue working towards the bright stars in the night.

Otherwise, the darkness will dread and will bright fright.

If I continue working, I might find I am as bright - 

As the little, twinkling, stars giving out their light.

I am a television; my mind never staying still, flashing in ever blinking channels.

I am a book looking for things to fill my chapter and never truly ending.

I am a computer:  useful, sometimes slow working, and fully of many things that distract me.

I am a clarinet; my fingerings are simple, but the more people learn, the more complicated I get.

Refrain

I am a car; doing my best to help people, but am always cold in winter and sometimes out of gas.

I am a smile; good at brightening peoples' day, but filled with teeth when I'm angry.

I am a couch; the longer you know me, the more fun I become.

I am a radio; full of both good and bad things to say, but usuually worth listening to.

Refrain

I am a drawing the longer you look the better I become and the more flaws are revealed.

I am a tree, striving to grow and reaching for light.

I am the sky; often disregarded when sunny, but noticeably gloomy.

I am a laugh:  sometimes loud and cheerful, sometimes soft and bright, sometimes awkward and out of place.

Refrain

5.  Autobiographical Letter

To whom it may concern:

            I am looking for a job.  I have been ever since my village was destroyed.  I can remember the day like it was yesterday.  Oh wait, it was.  The bright blue sky alongside the turquoise scales of the dragon.  The burning sun matching the brilliant inferno of the dragon’s mouth.  I remember screaming as I ran out of my burning hut, which I had just paid off by the way, and was on my merry way to the next town.  I remember the pearl colored daggers edging the ruby colored mouth and the silver scythes on the ends of its paws.  The scythes, of course, paled in comparison to yours, but were spectacular all the same.  Smoke cloaked the village until it looked like night, causing shadows and silhouettes to stream through the hazy air.  I’m sure you can imagine it, considering night is your favorite time of day.  Sparks sprung up and danced through the air like the villagers on a feast day and fireballs exploded into dazzling arrays of beauty and terror.

            As I was traveling on my way to the next town, clothes singed and blackened with soot, I realized something very important:  how much I wanted to be your apprentice.  My family would disapprove, of course, but they’re out of the picture now.  I decided that I would much rather be causing death than experiencing it.  So what do you say, Death?

With deepest regard,

Your Potential Apprentice

6.  The Hidden Cages

We survive in a world of bubbles.  No one will look and see the truth.

Even though the truth is an open book and blunt as a missing tooth.

Bubbles are unnerving as blades, though they seem to be hidden from view.

There are all types of bubbles with different shades, different sizes too.

Bubbles that shimmer with happiness or seem to glow with pride,

Bubbles that boil and fill with rage, bubbles a mile wide.

  There are three main types of bubbles (circle, triangular, square).

And each have their unique troubles, so watch and be prepared.

Triangles are the most outgoing and pop other bubbles with ease.

But when plans to pop them start brewing, no one will end up pleased.

For those who even think to dare will find them deceptively hard.

It would be better to approach a square, then to brave a triangle’s heart.

Triangles are the dragon’s lair, full of large and beautiful jewels,

But those who enter without a care will quickly lose the duel.

The squares are considered normal, though bubbles should be nothing of the sort,

They are often burst without quarrel, though not all go without retort.

Squares are the valiant ninjas, who seem to escape all notice.

Their invisibility causes cringes, but they bravely hold their protest.

Squares often go overlooked, because they aren’t shy or loud,

But popping one keeps weekends booked and the feat should make us proud.

Circles are the quiet ones and are masters of disguise.

Those who can somehow seek them out should earn some kind of prize.

Circles tend to stick close to the wall and might as well be the bricks.

They are hard to spot at all and shyness is their trick.

Circles are the hardest to pop and all should be wary who try.

For their bubbles are made of iron and stop anyone who will pry.

All the bubbles need finding and breaking out of their shells.

Though the popping will cause some whining, all should leave their cells.

If we pop our bubbles of isolation, I think that we will see,

From the peaks of bright emerald land to shining sapphire sea,

Nations will turn to cheerfulness, instead of overwhelming sad,

People will begin to smile and the feeling will be glad.

  

7.  I Carve the Future

The Tetrarchs – From corner of façade of the Cathedral of St. Mark, Venice.  Perhaps made in Egypt and moved to Constantinople after 330 CE.  Christian crusaders looted Constantinople in 1204 CE and installed it in its current location.

My hand tool cuts into the metal.  Inch by inch, line by line, my creations come to life.  Four officers in shining armor and cloaks stand together.  Each has his own highly decorated sheathe and sword, pieces of silver glittering within intricate cases of wood and shimmering with gemstones.  I stare as the real things stroll about.  Two are not of our army, but considering this is a diplomatic mission to stop a war, perhaps that’s a good thing.  A treaty has been arranged and I watch my commander and his second-in-command embrace.  The representatives of the other army do the same.  I know I am too old for name calling, but all I can think is ‘copycats.’  Each pair has its back turned to the other, but each hand is locked onto the hilt of a blade.  A dagger rests at my waist, waiting for scarlet to ting its bright silver surface.  Our army’s second-in-command shifts on his false leg, earned in a past battle, and prepares for the worst.  Every second that ticks by darkens the atmosphere and twists it into something violent and mysterious, perhaps foreshadowing the unavoidable, even if it has been postponed for now.  I carve the last line, mouths drop into deeper frowns, knuckles turn white on the hilts…

8.  Unknown

Everyone stares at their feet as they walk.  Eyes glance up, almost meet, and then plummet back to the floor.  It takes a moment for me to realize that I am doing the same.  A surge of defiance bolts through me and I rip my eyes off the carpet.  My eyes study each person's face, daring them to meet my gaze.  Suddenly, someone takes my challenge and for a second I am faced with two spheres of melted sky.  In an instant, my eyes are back on the floor, but this time I known that I've broken the barrier.  I can almost imagine glass shattering in ting, glinting fragments as two people recognize each other’s existence.  Two more have left the isolated worlds they once lived in.  I look up again with a smile, but sadness causes the smile to falter.  Everyone else is still staring at their feet.  None have understood the thrill of meeting people's eyes.  Nobody knows how to break through.

9.  Derivative Art

Melinda had decided.  She needed to join the football team.  Her dad had been a famous football player back in the day, but his days on the field were over.  Unfortunately, her father's rival had challenged him to a football match, team against team.  Melinda's dad had hurt his back during a football game and the problem had gotten worse with age.  However, there were no other representatives from the Farson family that could play.  Either her father risked hurting his back again or he forfeited the match and was mercilessly mocked by his rival.  Melinda sneaked throughout the house and found a pair of scissors and her dad's old shoulder pads.  After docking her hair, putting on the shoulder pads, and slipping on a uniform, Melinda raced off to the field where the football practice was taking place.  Now to make the team.

10.  Serenity of a Rose

I whisper the serenity of a rose.  Its soft petals are a velvet red and the sunshine brushes shades of pink into the flowers.  They sway peacefully under the willow, gently blowing in the currents of the wind.  The dew falls onto the flowers like rain onto a face.  Tears of light drop to the warm earth and the quiet laughter rustles from the roses' dark green leaves.  Laughter that seems very real when one's finger is pricked by the sharp, cruel, thorns.