Writings on the Web

<body topmargin=0 leftmargin=0 marginheight=0 marginwidth=0> <table cellpadding=0 cellspacing=0 border=0><tr> <td valign="top" height=90 BGCOLOR="#000000" TEXT="#F7F7FF" bgproperties="fixed" background="21d005a0dvldtc.jpg"> <div> <FONT SIZE="5" COLOR="#FFCC00" FACE="Arial" ><B>PT3 Readers are Leaders</B></FONT><FONT SIZE="1" COLOR="#0099FF" FACE="Arial" > </FONT> <FONT SIZE="1" COLOR="#FF3300" FACE="Arial" ><B> </B></FONT><B>|</B><B>     </B><A HREF="index.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="PT3 Readers are Leaders"><U><B>home</B></U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="home.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Reading Room"><U>Reading Room</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id2.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Web Sites about Books"><U>Web Sites about Books</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id33.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Web Reading"><U>Web Reading</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id3.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Authors"><U>Authors</U></A>   |   <B>Writings on the Web</B>   |   <A HREF="id34.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE=" Writings on the Web"><U> Writings on the Web</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id36.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Recommended Reading for students"><U>Recommended Reading for students</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id6.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Contact Us"><U>Contact Us</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id101.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Multicultural authors"><U>Multicultural authors</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id104.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Multicultural Booklist"><U>Multicultural Booklist</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id105.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE=" Naomi Nye "><U> Naomi Nye </U></A>   |   <A HREF="id106.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Esmeralda Santiago"><U>Esmeralda Santiago</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id107.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Maya Angelou"><U>Maya Angelou</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id108.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Michael Dorris"><U>Michael Dorris</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id109.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Rosa Guy"><U>Rosa Guy</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id110.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="_"><U>--Type Title Here--</U></A></div> <div> </div> </td> </tr><tr> <td valign="top" height=390 BGCOLOR="#FFCC00" TEXT="#080000"> <div> Writings on the Web</div> <bR> <div> HOMEBOYS AND HOMEGIRLS</div> <bR> <div> My homeboys are tight;</div> <div> they like to fight.</div> <div> They can play ball </div> <div> all night long.</div> <div> The sorry people </div> <div> that play ball</div> <div> don't need to play at all.</div> <div> My homeboys have a lot of game. </div> <div> Some are players; some are not.</div> <div> They put some girls on the spot.</div> <div> My homegirls are fine, </div> <div> but they don't look better than mine.</div> <div> They don't act like 304s</div> <div> and are sweeter than Cherrios.</div> <bR> <div> <I>Rashad Dulaney</I></div> <div> <I>Southwest Middle School</I></div> <div> <I>03-20-00</I></div> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <div> <I>MEETING DEATH IN A DREAM</I></div> <bR> <div> What's wrong? Oh, no.</div> <bR> <div> I sure am accident prone.</div> <bR> <div> Break and stake, I wreck around.</div> <bR> <div> I go away with no sound.</div> <bR> <div> Running fast, I hit the breaks, slow down.</div> <bR> <div> Don't hit the wake in the water.</div> <bR> <div> I go swimming in nasty brown scum and limbs.</div> <bR> <div> I jump out and see the reaper.</div> <bR> <div> He leaves me alone; my life grows deeper.</div> <bR> <div> I feel water.  I think it's light.</div> <bR> <div> I go to sleep and wake up and write.</div> <bR> <div> <I>John Allbritton </I></div> <div> <I>04-04-00</I></div> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <DIV ALIGN="LEFT"></DIV> <div> <I>THE SECRET GRAVEYARD AND THE MYSTERIES BEHIND IT</I></div> <div> <I>by John Allbritton</I></div> <bR> <div> <I>     </I>There is a place in Little Rock, Arkansas that's fairly easy to find, but if you don't know what you're going when you hit the first sharp corner, you pass right on by it.  </div> <div>      You see, this happened when I was in the fifth grade.  I met a kid named Dustin Pace and his little sister.  I don't recall her name.  Me and Dustin were friends for a year or two.  During that time we rode bikes, played ball, and messed with stuff.</div> <div>      But our favorite thing to do was playing in the creek down the street from my grandparent's house.  Every day after school I would meet him at the bridge.  We would talk for a while, and he'd go home.</div> <div>      One day a girl, Jessica, told me about the graveyard, and I said to her, "Well, my grandpa told me about it when I was little.  Do you want to go look for it?"</div> <div>      "No, what you think, I'm stupid?" she said.</div> <div>      "No.  I just asked.  I'll see if it's all right, Boodles."  That was her nickname.  She hated it.</div> <div>      So I went up to Dustin's.  I said, "Let's go, man."</div> <div>      "Where?"</div> <div>      "To look for the graveyard."</div> <div>      "Forget that, man."</div> <div>      "Come on, chicken."</div> <div>      "All right."</div> <div>      I told him the story about the woods where it is.  It is where you would least expect it to be.  Some young boys back in the 20s went back there looking for the red fern in the graveyard.</div> <div>      They heard a noise when they found it and pulled up the red fern.  They were walking out and heard a rumble.  It was cloudy, so they thought it was thunder.</div> <div>      One boy just fell screaming, bleeding everywhere.  His friends stopped to see what was wrong.  The hearse was on him.  It was clear.  You couldn't see it.  They couldn't move him for two days.  The graveyard does weird things.</div> <div>      The graveyard is old and no longer taken care of.  The last burial was in '72, but my dad watched one in the '60s.  The graveyard is in a small valley.  He was at the top of the hill watching.  He was nine or ten.  He hasn't been close to it since.  </div> <div>      But me and Dustin went to look for it.  We followed the old map my grandpa made from the 20s.  We only saw one gravestone that time. We saw the old hearse way back in the woods.  It had no glass and flat tires.  It was from the 20s.  It would not have moved, but we saw it rolling.  We ran like hell.  We didn't have the guts to go back for about three weeks.</div> <div>      The next time we went we were scared, but we found the graveyard.  The hearse was gone.  The headstones were gone.  The coffins had collapsed except for two.  There was a red fern growing on someone's face over their grave.</div> <div>      The cemetery is about two acres but hard to see.  There is a poem a crazy kid obsessed with death made up.</div> <bR> <div>      <I>The headstones are gone except for a few.</I></div> <div> <I>     The coffins have collapsed except for two.</I></div> <div> <I>     Come at night; we will kill you.</I></div> <div> <I>     The last burial was in '72.</I></div> <div> <I>     Make me happy; come to lose.</I></div> <bR> <div>      The last time I went was about two weeks ago with my friends, Johnny, Zack, and Taylor.  We went to find something that was back there.  It was a bone with a memory carved in it.  We found it with a tree growing into it.  It says:  MCMXCIX IS WHEN YOU'LL BE HEXED.</div> <div>      We got scared and realized it has passed.  Nothing's happened.  We hope that last forever and ever.  Forget the past.</div> </td> </tr></table></body>