Salem Witch Trials: "witchever" the verdict, you're doomed.

Witchcraft is scary business. During the Salem Witch Trials, did you know there were a total of 24 people killed for being accused of witchcraft? Recently, I visited a website that actually took me through, step by step, to see what it would have been like to have been accused of witchcraft during the Salem Witch Trial. It was absolutely insane. It started out of no where. People started acting strange. Then, the people of the city blamed ME for the reason some were acting so preposterously. They thought I was a witch! People of my own neighborhood, my friends, and even my family turned against me. Was I a witch? I had never remembered of turning my soul over to the devil. Never have I wanted to, or never will I.
As soon as the trial began, the girls of the town that started this nonsense started going crazy. If I clenched my fists, they acted as if I was strangling them. If I bit my lip, their lips flowed with blood. Their legs would even go crazy when I would simply move them. I had seen witchcraft before, and I knew for a fact I was not a witch. How could they be accusing me of this? One girl even started FLYING. She stated that my specter was making her act in such ways. I turned my head, and when I looked back there was a girl with a knife in her back claiming that I had done this horrible thing; even though a little boy was standing right before us telling the judge he gave the girls the knife a few days back. This was absolutely insane.
They asked. Did I tell a lie and live? Or tell the truth and die? I spoke the truth. “I am not a witch.”
I was proven guilty and had to be put into jail. I knew the consequences. The next morning I would be hanged. I would be hanged for something I had absolutely nothing to do with. Witchcraft is a horrible thing. But, I was kind of glad to get out of all that mess. After all, I’m in a better place now.

Before following along this internet story, I had no idea about the Salem Witch Trails. Sure, I believe in the devil and demons. I know that the devil and his workers can do some pretty rotten things in this world. I didn’t, however, know that 24 real, actual people were killed for being accused of witchcraft. Harmless people like you and me. The treatment of these people wasn’t fair at all. It was basically like the person being trialed didn’t even have a chance. The judge before you even walked in what the choice was going to be. Although there were 24 horrible deaths in Salem, the town finally got cleaned up. Witchcraft and other things of that sort were hardly talked about since then. Even though I underwent that horrifying experience, I can’t even imagine if I were to be accused in my actual life now. Would I lie to live? Or tell the truth and die? What would you do?

English 11. [part one]

So far in English 11 with Mrs. Huff, I've REALLY enjoyed the writing assignments she's given us. I also like that our vocabulary tests accumulate, so we get a better knowledge of the word week after week. I have really expanded my reading life, seeing that we have to have 6 books read for each nine weeks. I really like it a lot, and the fact that it will be raising my ACT score isn't so bad either:). I really enjoy the way Mrs. Huff teaches, making every activity full of fun. I know kids do not normally like school, and for the most part I don't, but Mrs. Huff's class is definitely my favorite segment for "B" days.

Shoes lace; lives race.

My entire life, I have been bombarded with coaches. T-ball, softball, volleyball, and basketball: I've endured them all. But, through thick and thin, Coach Hardin is my biggest trophy. My favorite. My idol. My hero. My friend. My coach.
It's crystal clear in my mind. As I walk into chemistry, Blake Carter and Kevin Frisbee attack me. "Are you okay?" I quickly hear Kevin mutter. "What? Yeah. I'm fine, why?" Kevin and Blake usually joke with me about stupid information that I have learned to ignore. But as they stand there, staring blankly into each other's faces, I know I am missing some huge gossip. "What are you guys up to? What's going on, Kev?" He deeply inhales a gigantic breath. "It's Coach Hardin; he's leaving." It is almost immediate. As soon as those five short words tumble from his lips, tears fill my eyes; escaping my eye sockets, dripping onto my cheeks, streaking my make-up, and staining my clothes. "He's...leaving? Wh—what do you mean?" Blake and Kevin try to comfort me with a hug as I dodge them, and sprint to the bathroom. As I attempt to reconstruct my face by smearing the remains of my make-up onto my bare skin, I keep convincing myself this is only a dream. Tears Race.
I finally stop crying, until I see Marci, one of my best friends and team mate.
Apparently while I was painfully enduring another filling at the dentist, Coach Hardin and his wife, Mary-Katherine, bought lunch for the entire 2007-2008 Lady Pioneer basketball team; my team. During this luncheon, he confessed to my team his decision of leaving.
She is the first of my friends I see since the news. "Where were ya, kid?" She asks meekly. My eyes leak like a broken pipe as she holds me in her unusually muscled arms. "I know, Kam. I know." My heart is broken.

Only a few short months before, we were practicing. From 1:30 to 3:00, practice was lax. Coach Hardin had decided to end practice early and call a short meeting in our locker room. His "before Christmas break speech" was going as planned: run a plentiful amount, try to get off your butt a couple of minutes out of the day to shoot some hoops, don't indulge yourself in too much of grandma's pie, and have a wonderful holiday. Then, out of nowhere, he begins preaching on how one of our Lady Pioneers needed to get her act together. How he "never thought this young lady would ever disappoint him."
Previously in the year, Coach was having a rough day and took his anger out on us. He apparently saw me and my current flame kiss before I entered the gym for practice and told me, “to be more passionate about basketball than my love life."
"I've had problems with this young lady before, but she obviously took my command as a joke." My mind quickly hit the rewind button. Last few minutes before practice, last few minutes before practice... he kissed me today. Shoot. My head creeps up from my thinking position only to find him staring straight at me. Shivers slowly sneak down my spine, as my hands perspire. "Someone on this team has failed their drug test, and I think it's only fair to vote and see if this person should remain a part of our team, or hit the streets." Wheeeww. I am relieved! Never have I ever been tempted to try a drug, so I know for sure I am in the clear.
But, I, along with two other teammates of min, was tested only the week before. I don't know about the other girls, but I had my mind set on who this "druggie" was. She was new to the team, and kind of had a tough look to her. She was the only girl that the word "drugs" could even come close to describing.Yet suddenly, I hear a sigh and look only to see my coach's head drooping with shame. "Kam, come up here." I am awestruck. My mind is so jumbled. I don't know what to think. "Wha—what?"
"Come here."
Tears begin to fill my eyes as I try to convince myself this wasn't happening at all. As I stumble up to my idol, my hero, words begin to spill from my mouth like vomit. "How can this be? I don't do drugs, Coach Hardin. You know this." His disapproving stare pierces me. "I thought I knew that, Kam." His hands on my shoulders feel like 100 pound weights. As he spins me around to face my team, I see everyone’s reaction: mouths wide open, hands to each other's ears, whispering like middle school girls, and eyes as wide as a deer in headlights. "Everyone..." I cannot believe this is happening to me—my heart races. "...wish Kam a happy 16th birthday!"
Kaylin, my best friend, bursts with laughter, while the remainder of the team stares at her blankly. Turning around to face my coach, he holds a white box that, when opened display rows of cupcakes spelling out, Happy Birthday, Kam! "Your mom wanted you to have a surprise party", he chuckles with a smirk. And as I wipe tears away, a smile creeps across my face. "You scared me to death, you know."
"Haha. I know." He beams.
"I'm going to hurt you!" I say with an enormous grin, while I slyly grab a cupcake. I was literally scared for my life.

A few games after we returned from winter break, we played horribly. The game the night before didn't go so well. Actually, the game the night before didn't go well at all. It was like the entire team, yes, even the bench warmers, had given up. But never again would that happen, never again.
"Get on the line." A common quote by Coach Hardin himself has never roared so loud, or sounded so terrifying. Sophomores, juniors, and seniors shuffle our way to the base line, a place we had grown extremely familiar with. I know it. He knows it. They know it. Practice is going to be complete hell. But in our situation, it seems if hell is an understatement. As be begins to pick and chew at us, as if he were a T-REX and we were merely a piece of meat, I can feel my face fleshing with fear as beads of sweat fall from my forehead, slowly reaching the bottom of my jaw line.
Before making us run line drill after line drill, sprint after sprint, and a few 15-11-7-3's, he says something directed completely towards me, and almost forces me burst into tears. As he proceeded to preach and preach on how horrible some of our attitudes were, he stares at me and says, "Kam, why do you play basketball?" Before my brain could try to congregate the correct answer, my mouth blurts, "Because I love it. I love the game." "Did you hear that, everyone? Kam plays because she loves this game. She works her tail end off every day in practice. Even though she doesn't play varsity, you don't ever see her slacking off. The moment she steps foot in this gym, she works her butt off." Inside, I smile from ear to ear, massively hoping I'm not showing any emotion on the outer part of my body. He notices my work.
After he finishes up, we run. And run. And run. Sweat pours off of my arms, legs, and face, dripping to the ends of my hair. Sweat races. By the end of this dreadful practice, my legs feel like freshly churned butter. My quad muscles ache. I know from here on out, Coach Hardin knows how hard I work and how passionate I am for this game. There is no letting up; no, not now.
Now, as I start my junior year in high school, I begin to wonder, am I racing by my life? It seems as if I only met Coach Hardin the other day. I only have the rest of this year and the next before I enter the "real" world, a place not defined by lunch trays and hall passes and basketball coaches who care enough to impact lives. Am I ready? Life sprints harder than any line drill I’ve ever ran. Sometimes, more than anything, I live for that moment of clarity that can only come from the intensity of a basketball game with my team sweating in the center of it. Now, as the final buzzer of high school inches closer by the day, I can’t help but wonder: Me? A college student? Wow! Life races.

Shooter.

Our entire book is back to back commentary between Cameron Porter and multiple reporters. Apparently, Cameron’s best friend, Leonardo, died somehow. We still have NO clue how this happened. But—Cameron is questioned numerous times by a series of interviewers. In one of these interviews, the reporter asks Cameron questions he was uncomfortable with answering. Some of the actions Cameron participated with Leonardo, he felt guilty for but had to confess. This reminded me of a time this summer I did some things I felt guilty for and had to confess to my parents. Fortunately, they understood, but taught me to try and avoid actions that later in life that were not smart, and would haunt me.

Money, money falling all around me.

Every year beofre school, my mom, sister, and I go school clothes shopping; And every year I come home with an entire new wardrobe to model for my firneds, teachers, and enemies. Although I return with plentiful amounts of clothes, my selfish heart still finds a way to get upset for not buying "that one cute pair of shoes", or "that T-shirt that was only fifteen dollars and one fo a kind". As I read Nickel and Dimed, I found myself as a very greedy young lady, who, like many children in this century, are taking money for granted.
In Nickel and Dimed, a journalist goes undercover to discover how American families are able to live off of only a minimum wage salary. Taking no one only one, but two jobs, she discovers many families find it hard to even munch on a decent meal for supper, let alone go school shopping for unneeded materials. My brain was forced to ponder, "How many people living in Batesville, Arkansas are living simliar lives to the ones this undercover journalish was discovering?" I realized very soon no one should judge anyone because their livign conditions could be far from the ones you and I may be involved with. Teenagers should not take advantage of their livign situations.
The next time you happen upon a shopping spree, or even eat dinner for that matter, be thankful for the jobs you parents uphold. When you think you might have things a little rough, look around you and remember how lucky you are.