LITERATURE FROM THE WELL

 

BRADBURY STREET
By Callie Melton

Bradbury St.

204 Bradbury St.
He’s 13 years old
New in town
He meets some new friends
Copies their frowns
He sneaks in with them
Pretending to know 
What he should do
And where he should go
He watches them dance
Punching the air
Jumping and kicking
With demonic flair
He thinks they look weird
Crazy and strange
With faces so cold
And hearts full of rage
Yet, he decides
If he wants to fit in
He should do as they do
Let anger come in

206 Bradbury St.

She was so skinny
Some would say too much
But she thought she was fat
So she stopped eating lunch
Soon it progressed 
And she began to take pills
That made her throw up
And gave her the chills
She began to get smaller
 And thinner each day
No one found out
Til she fainted away
They rushed her to the hospital
Just in time
To save her life
But not her mind
She still thought she was fat
And tried not to eat
So they had to force her
To keep her heartbeat
She’d never be the same
That, they all knew
She was sick and depressed
There was nothing else they could do

208 Bradbury St.

Why did this happen?
He wanted to know
She was his sister 
Too young to go
She died in a car crash
At only nine
IT WASN’T FAIR
Why did she die?
He was angry at God
He had thought God was kind
But that was all wrong
It was just a big lie
He decided right then
That God wasn’t there
He started dressing in black
And dyed his hair
He hated all those
Who believed God was real
Who worshipped and loved
And prayed for their meals
He got a few earrings 
And angry tattoos
He made his heart cold
And forgot what was true

210 Bradbury St.

She’s only twelve
And yet she’s there
Making out with some guy
With long dark hair
Her face is caked 
Her clothes short and tight
She’s at this guy’s house
To spend the night
Her parents don’t know
Why would they care
They always ignore her
Like she’s not even there
But this guy loves her
She knows it, she’s sure
So she let him have all of her
So she could feel secure

212 Bradbury St.

He hated his life 
He didn’t feel loved
No one talked to him
They pushed and they shoved
They humiliated him
By playing tricks
And calling him names 
Like “son-of-a-witch”
His parents were almost
Just as bad
They yelled and screamed
It made him so sad
He decided one night
That his life was worth nothing
He thought if he died
He’d be remembered for something
And so he pulled a gun
Out from under his bed
He closed his eyes tight
And held it up to his head

214 Bradbury St.

She sat by her bed
And whispered a prayer
Asking God to use her
Anytime, anywhere
She wanted to go 
To some far off land
A communist country 
Where God was banned
She didn’t realize 
The land she should seek
Was there all around her
On Bradbury street

The Beautiful Reality of Evil 

Do you think Satan is beautiful? 

I bet he is. I bet he is so beautiful that he causes even men to stumble. I think he is so beautiful that you can desperately want him, but at the same time you know it would be devastating to have him. Isn't that a scary thought? To think that evil is beautiful. To think that we lust after evil.

We usually don't think of it that way. We think of it as a dead roach or a rotten apple. Unappealing. Revolting, even. But what if it isn't? What if it is more like Jessica Simpson or Brad Pitt? Appealing. Beautiful. Hott. Sexy. Gorgeous. Seductive.

I think it makes more sense that way. I mean if evil is ugly then why would we so often give in to it? You see, it must be beautiful or we would not even be tempted by it. That gives me goose bumps. Does it you? It should. Because that means that without Christ we would fall so deep into evil that we would never be able to come back out. And I assure you...once you get to know it...once you get inside it...once it gets inside you...Evil is not so beautiful...not beautiful at all.

Callie Melton
August 5 2005 

 

i found a chair...

so, yesterday i'm driving through my neighborhood and i see a set of chairs on the side of the road...they were reddish velvet with wooden legs and no arms, yeah, no arms!  so anyway, i'm thinking that's a pretty cool set of chairs and apparently these people don't want them, but why?--kinda sad.  but as i got closer i saw that one of the chairs had a hole where the butt sits and all the stuffing was hanging from the chair...but there wasn't anything wrong with his twin brother!  What could've happened to merit this treatment to the other chair? 

i wonder if the owners began talking about throwing away the broken chair and his twin brother overheard, so in a braveheart-like attempt to remain loyal to his poor defected counter part he raised his leg (since he has no arms) and screamed "not without me!" in that mel gibson "you.can't.take.my.freedom" voice.  the owners, startled by this unusual outburst of loyalty and a little freaked out by their screaming chair, nodded in concession and took them both out to the sidewalk to wait for our trash men. 

as they stand, back to back, shivering in the cold, waiting and contemplating their impending doom, i drove by.  he seemed to beckon me as if to say, "won't you take us home and nurse my brother back to health?" touched by their sad story and alarmed that i could get all this information in passing by; i couldn't agree to such a task...unfortunately, despite their brave efforts, they are being crushed in the trash truck as i type, on their way to the heap.  much like unwanted puppies that are sent to the pound.

Meg Sherman
May 16 2006