The Last Day in September This work is considered exceptional by our editorial staff.

October 12, 2009
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Trudging home from school, limited time with work to be done.
Weekends are frustration, homework versus party.

Party always wins.
Weekends: unsatisfactory reminders of

Friday night.
Big night
Dig out your old, midnight blue jeans; try to relocate that lost pair of eggplant gloves.
Those eggplant gloves. They were always the best when it came to protecting your hands from the unfamiliar chill of wind. Those gloves were autumn.
Oh well, just wear those. Who cares, I know, hurry up, where are your shoes, out the door, let’s go. Now. Bye, mom, love you. Slam

The scratching sound of rakes against dried leaves appropriately accompany distant marching bands. The chill in the air is a painful reference to how much those gloves are missed. Announcers say names, quick game with unnecessarily loud cheers.

The smell of burning wood and 3 day old newspaper captivates everything.

“I hate white rabbits.”
Sticky marshmallow fingers that smell of ash even after being washed multiple times.
A goodnight kiss with Chapstick lips seals the night forever.

Another hectic, tiring, aching day in the life of every teenager.


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