Students from Dawson Zimmerman’s Creative Writing Class wrote several works . Here are some examples of their masterpieces.
Senior Sophie Parsonnet:
When I was in my youth. Full of bright ideas and witty remarks that my parents now look back on and laugh at. I was a handful as a child, and quite possibly now as well, although my parents have found other ways to discipline me other than spanking me and putting me in time out, both of which I used to mock them by smiling and laughing at them while they tried their best to show their authority over me. A prime example of my rebellion and disobedience. One story, I may say, shows my… artistic side as I had woken up from my daily nap and had stumbled out of bed, fully aware of the feces residing in my diaper. Making my way out of my crib, I took the liberty of making my own arts and crafts project upon my walls with the self-made brown paint that I clued in on earlier. To my parent’s surprise, I had painted my walls a new shade of brown that had not been there before my nap. Taking my guilty, childlike body, I was once again taken to my corner to sit and think about what I had done while my parents gloomily wiped my fecal matter off of the once blue walls as my younger, more perfect of a child sister watched from aside, gleaming, as my parents praised her for being the better and more practical of a youngling. Sitting in my stench and filth, I look behind me, anger in my eyes as I had not understood the matter of the problem to see my parents disheveled looks on their faces. Unfazed and unapologetic, my head swivels around as I look upon the one part of the wall that had not been marked.”
Some students have very creative stories, while still wanting to be anonymous which gives the readers a mysterious after taste.
Senior: Anonymous:
“A ruby red wooden robot, nothing spectacular and nothing special, yet my eyes can’t stray from its gleaming red shine. My hands can’t stop tracing its cracked gloss exterior and feeling the exposed wood. I can’t stop sniffing the robot longing for the smell of old plastic. I can’t stop playing with it. It may not be the time or place, but I don’t care. This small red 5-inch-tall action figure has my full attention. The seat of my pants drenched with the mildew of the morning and sprinkled with dirt. Bugs find their home in my threads and pockets, yet I’m oblivious. We have conquered the world together, and now we’re on a new conquest. Leaping across dirt hills and over the long thin trees, we quickly move through the greenery searching for the next nation of diabolical insects bold enough to cross our path. I control his every movement moving his old rigid arms and legs slowly crushing the bodies of ants and then moving towards the stiff grey plateau to find more worthy opponents. From the cracks of the plateau, I grab the legendary grass blade sword in a triumphant fashion. Squeezing the hilt, I lift it to the sky letting the sun reflect off its blade. When the time comes, we fly off into the sunset moving past the clouds and the atmosphere at inconceivable speeds finally stopping to take in the large, infinite star glittered black canvas. I wish this was forever. Yet as always, the tempestuous storms of time bring me back down crashing into reality. I raise my head and across the yard, a young man holding his mother’s hand firmly is staring at me with a gleam of wonder in his blue eyes. I see in him the same beautiful curiosity I had when my mom first bought this toy for me. I sit trying to return to my zone, but finally I give in to his stare. Finally, I place my childhood on the table—For Sale.”
These students have worked hard all year to come up with amazing pieces of literature. There are many talented writers at Wesleyan.
