Words of Art

                                            Poem by Christina Watson


          Stepping into the ballroom, my dress twirls around my feet, mingling with the floor.  Walking gracefully through the throng of chattering people his serene expression faltered only long enough for me to notice.  I approach the hosts, Mr. and Mrs. Tompson, the prime example of high class snobbery, and give them a deep curtsy.  We swap idol, polite banter as I see him slowly make his way towards me.  I excuse myself from their exulted presents so I can slip away.  My height has always been a gift and I use it to my advantage.  Wandering into the mingling people I'm enveloped and lost to my pursuer. 
    I'll have to leave soon, I can't spend the entire night ducking behind people so I'm not seen.  I chatter for a few minutes with one group then float to another, seeming to be the perfect child for any lord to have all the while watching, hiding, scheming.  The music begins and everyone begins to dance around me, the perfect cover to leave.
    Someone taps me on my shoulder, I turn ready to tell whoever it is that I'm not interested in dancing with them.  My heart pounds, I start to perspire, it's him.  His hand moves forward and grapples at my arm, ripping the sleeve to my dress.  I run.  I flee out of the ballroom, out of the Tompson's house, through the carriages and into the silent streets.  I must hide, I must get home. 
    My shoes slap loudly on the moist cobble streets as I bustle down them terrified.  I hear new footsteps, coming fast behind me.  His deep voice resonates as he orders me to stop.  I walk faster, almost running, still his footsteps draw closer.  I run.
    I run for my safety, my sanity, and for my life.  He begins to run,  I can't let him catch me but I know I cannot outrun him.  My heart races as I streak down the cobble stone street.  Alleyways, houses, shops... they all blur past me.


    This is the beginning of my story you can read more next week.
                                            Story by Heather Leach



Note:  If you would like to submit any school appropriate creative writing or art piece you are more than welcome to.  Either send it via the Letter page or bring it into Mr. Beach's room or give it to Heather Leach.