http://slow.writerscafe.org/La%20Escritora The original writings of author Escritora en-us Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org 1776067584 WritersCafe.org RSS Generator 15 A short skit about pride http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/La-Escritora/1066112/ Unedited. Help requested. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/La-Escritora/1064474/ In the middle of her monologue for acting class, I find out I'm in love with Irving Church.She's doing a monologue from one of John Green's books: Paper Towns. I can only gaze upon her with wonder from the far left of the classroom as she brings Margo Roth Spiegelman to life.“Here's what's not.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/La-Escritora/1059623/ Dallas’s Carolla pulls up into my driveway, and I rush out into the snow to climb in.“Hey,” he says.I nod expressionlessly to him.Dallas isn’t phased at the hostility at all. He’s been used to the behavior ever since we were in middle school (when we found out his name .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/La-Escritora/1059622/ I’ve recently barged my way into Roger Costello's life.Roger, one of ‘those guys’, from school. He plays hockey, and, of course, has his hockey friends, but through mutual friends, he mixes with the basketball, football, and lacrosse players, and together form a big mass of sporty .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/La-Escritora/1059619/ I couldn’t imagine a more crippling ailment for a child.The first time the disorder grabbed me in its oppressive jaws was at the tender age of five. We had just moved from an apartment into a real house with a big, green backyard, where all our toys were set up. I had just eaten lunch, and Mom.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/La-Escritora/1059618/ I tap the toes of my black Chucks on the linoleum floor and stare at Virginia Young from across the classroom. Today she’s wearing a sky blue sundress with cherry blossoms in the print. They’re spaghetti strapped, so I can see her tan, kissable shoulders. She looks up from writing down t.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/La-Escritora/1059617/ A storm of people swarmed the front desk, desperately clawing and shoving their way towards the receptionist. Some were parents, carrying pale, thin children on their shoulders, others clung to loved one’s wheelchairs, trying to bust the bulky contraption through the crowd.They were all scream.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/La-Escritora/1059616/ I rest my hands on my chin and look down at the scattered papers on my desk. One of them includes a sloppy list, which I go through in my head.Ultima Teen? No.Tyranno-Sam? No.The Great Dane? Definitely not.My left hand is stained with pencil from drawing all those sketches, none of which seem to eve.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/La-Escritora/1059614/ I grew up not knowing that I was the person everyone was trying to get me to fear.It started with the Boys Beware videos, played over and over again in classrooms before  the smiles of both the naive hitchhiker and the pedophile were burned into our brains. Then when you got older the grown ups.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/La-Escritora/1059612/ A One Act Play http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/La-Escritora/1059609/ A Monologue http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/La-Escritora/1059607/ It was such a normal day. August, it was, hot and humid like most days in the summer were. Otto came to visit me on the West side, like he did all the time. Mother offered him tea, plain, as he always drank it, and we sat in the yard in the shade of my house's shadow for a long time. The street.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/La-Escritora/1059606/ I shuffled into the back of the small church. I'm alone, as always. Little children sit on their mother's laps, distracted by small toys. I can't help but stare.After the message we are called up to the front, and I stare at the pastor. He's gray haired and fat, but his skin has a youthful shine. He.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/La-Escritora/1059605/ Her books were all in order, her perfume and lotion were placed neatly in separate pouches, her tampons and other secretive things were stored away in their little discreet pouch. It was as if I never touched it.Then I heard the steady, low beat of footsteps getting louder as they came down the stai.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/La-Escritora/1059604/ When I was a little girl, I used to love sleepovers. The best part of it was when all us girls would squeeze into one bed and curl up together. I forgot the faces and the names, but I can remember that warmth of slumbering girls on either side of me, and the rhythm of a slow, soft heartbeat inside s.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/La-Escritora/1059603/ At the beginning of the week, I really didn't expect myself to be standing on the ledge of a building, clutching the flagstaff on Friday afternoon.I don't know how long I've been up to, but its been long enough for the police to come, followed by them a sizable crowd of panicked onlookers. I'd like .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/La-Escritora/1059602/ Tonight I did the riskiest, most regrettable thing I've ever done.Chaz's head rests on my chest. His warm breath comes in short, tired spurts. As I listen to him, I begin to wonder how, in such a short time, my world has changed so drastically because of this man curled up next to me.We hadn’t.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/La-Escritora/1059600/ A One Act Play http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/La-Escritora/1059598/ "I don't like your country."This is the first thing Sina Apulu said to me. I had asked her how she thought of America, since she was now my FOSI (Friends Of Student Immigrants) partner."Oh," I say quietly, because what do you say to that? I always thought of immigrants as being a little bit more che.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/La-Escritora/1059597/ A One Act Play http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/La-Escritora/1059596/ My dearest Katherine Dawson,Do you remember eating half of Momma's cherry pie? It was right after you moved in, I brought it over as a welcoming gift. I'd give you a thousand cherry pies right now for you to eat your heart out if you were still here. I know you remember, when our families had d.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/La-Escritora/1059595/ The two most terrifying words in the whole wide world are "Exposure" and "Therapy".It used to be easy and almost enjoyable to see a doctor. I'd just sit on my little plastic laden chair and talk to my therapist, Dr. Cross (or Chubs McGee, as Mom called him), in the comfort and safety of my little of.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/La-Escritora/1059593/ I'm Johnny. I am 6 feet tall, so I am a big boy. My eyes are green. My hair is brown. I live in a house in Nebraska, and I can't talk.That's why Amy and Julie take care of me. They're my house mothers.For most of my life I lived with Amy and Julie in a house. I like them. They are very nice peo.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/La-Escritora/1059590/ I hear the locker room go quiet except for Mr. T’s footsteps. Each step produces a low, slow sound whose mere echo demanded loyal, undivided attention. When it all goes quiet, he’s ready to give his speech on how he’s raised us as men, and we need to go out and be fearless, be ruth.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/La-Escritora/1059587/ It's odd how tragic events can start with something as innocent as a block party."How are you liking the new house?" Mrs. Stein asked eagerly, dodging a few kids with sparklers."Its perfect," I answered, "I'm sure Virginia will love it.""Virginia?" she asked."Our other roommate," I said. "That'.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/La-Escritora/1059585/ A One Act Play http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/La-Escritora/1059584/ Enoch and Claire, they aren’t at all what I’m used to. Sure, they act like Michael Cera’s awkward little b*****d children, but they give me the respect I deserve.“Take a seat,” Enoch tells me politely. He presents me with an ugly green couch. “Sorry, Dad doesn&rsq.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/La-Escritora/1059582/ "Lets stop for a second, Cecil, I need a rest."My hands are achin' from pulling on this tarp for so long. My clothes are sticky, and my hair falls out in front a' my face, all crazy from the summer humidity. This is one of my less glamorous times."No you don't. Keep moving, we're almost there," Ceci.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/La-Escritora/1059578/ I wake up to Maurice shaking me."Kaz," she says, "Kaz, wake up!"I moan and get up. My throat is dry. As soon as I move my mouth, my lips crack."Ow," I say."Sorry," she says, "Dylan's the only person I know who has fans blowing all the time. And you're the only person I know who falls asleep in my tw.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/La-Escritora/1059575/ As I hide the little handgun in my messenger bag, my hands tremble. After one last quick glance around the apartment, I decide everything is okay. I scribble a note and put it on the fridge with one of my little alphabet magnets for the cops to find, then step onto the welcome met, lock the door, pu.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/La-Escritora/1059565/ Artists. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/La-Escritora/1059564/ Sabrina Richards sits up in the bed beside me."Whoa, Bruno," she says, "man, that was sure something. You sure it was your first time?""Yeah," I say, my head halfway swallowed by her pillow.I hear her reach over and pick up her pocketknife off her nightstand.As I turn over, she's reaching towards th.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/La-Escritora/1059557/ I unlatch the giant tour bus window and pull it open. The country air whips through my blond hair. I sigh. There's something about the deserts of Nevada that made me feel so happy. I smile at the blazing sun above us. We drive down the cracked road."You know," I say to Lucas,, "My dad always had gre.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/La-Escritora/1059554/ At 10:45 at night, I got in the shower to begin my before-bed routine.After teeth brushing and acne treatment, I walked into my bedroom in my pair of clean briefs in search of neatly folded pajamas from my closet. It was then I spotted a pair of dark brown eyes staring at me through my window. I let.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/La-Escritora/1059550/ She climbs on the bus, and I've saved a spot for her. She climbs right in."Hey, sexy," Nora says as she climbs into the bus seat next  to me. I smile. I smile because I know I'm not sexy. Even Nora said I'm not sexy. She thinks I'm cute, and cuteness apparently last longer than sexiness. I told.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/La-Escritora/1059521/ The alarm clock went off beside the bed, Eli pulled the white, fluffy covers off of him and fumbled for the snooze button. He propped himself on his elbows and groaned. Monday.He glanced over at the red numbers on the digital clock, then rolled his eyes,  he threw his head back on the pill.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/La-Escritora/1059519/ A One Act http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/La-Escritora/1059518/ A piece on anxiety http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/La-Escritora/1059513/ "A friend in need is a friend to be avoided." - Lord SamuelCollege life is said to be the best time in a person's life. Those memories of beautiful relationships, tremendous lessons, and wild parties are supposed to last forever. Anything like that, though, is not even as close to memorable as .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/La-Escritora/1059485/ Two best friends meet after a long time, but with upsetting results. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/La-Escritora/1059482/ "Marriage is between a man and a woman!"I stare at the TV screen. The followers cheered. "This behavior is despicable," he says, his dark eyes glaring out into the crowd, his jaw set tight and confident, "so will we allow the government to legally allow it, to treat it as an equivalent to the s.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/La-Escritora/1059480/ Ivan always follows the rules... http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/La-Escritora/1059479/ Please note: Originally written June 27th, 2010 http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/La-Escritora/1059326/ A fictional letter. Orignally written June 17th, 2010 http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/La-Escritora/1059325/ Please note: Originally written April 7th, 2010 http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/La-Escritora/1059322/ Potamophobia is the fear of rivers. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/La-Escritora/1059321/