The Ink Slingers 2015-2016

I have always been passionate about writing, which led me to publish books since I was 8 years old. You can find more about my writing activities in my other post.
In freshmen year of high school in Busan Foreign School, I created a Creative Writing Club. The club’s goal was to produce an end product of a collective published book with a few of our best writings pieces. I loved working with the club members and sharing ideas with them. I think the club enabled all of us to tap into the creative inside us, because we were free to write about anything. After all, that was the purpose of creating this club — to help students realize their potential and talents in writing in other means than school assignments.
As a founder and editor, I am really proud of our club’s accomplishments. The following is a brief introduction of our club, our advisor (Ms. Leland)’s note, and the table of contents that are the first few pages of our booklet. Also included are my writing pieces in the book.
You can buy this book in Amazon.

Writing Club

BFS Writing Club 2015-2016 The Ink Slingers

Advisor: Meghan Leland

President: Chaeree Oh

Founder/Editor: Min Jeong

Members: Anastasia Kim, Brian Cho, Brian Yang, Chaeree Oh, Esther Yang, Haram Choi, Lily Suchyta, Mary Fox, Min Jeong, Jade Shon, Steven Choi

Advisor’s note

We write for many reasons, for many occasions, and for many different audiences. These young writers did not need my help with any of the aforementioned because reasons, occasions, and audiences are abundant. What a writer needs—what each young writer tucked in these pages needs—is a space to create.

When I was asked to advise Ink Slingers, I hesitated. I said that I wasn’t able to commit. I was told not to worry—all they needed was a space to work. Every Monday, students came to my room to read each other’s work and to write. They set their own deadlines, goals, and expectations. Together they fostered a love and reverence for the craft of writing. They gently encouraged each other, working together to bring about their goal: a publication of their work.

The book in your hands was created purely by the writers represented in its pages. These young writers are driven and passionate. So much so that they didn’t need my help—they only needed my room.

Meghan Leland

English and Language Arts Teacher

 Table of Contents

Such Day………………………………………………………………..……..….…#8
A Christmas Gift I Will Never Forget ..……………………………………..….#12
Beloved…………………………………………………………..………………….#17
House of the Enchanted ……………………………………..……………………#18
Hello ……………………………………………………………….………………..#26
Spiders……………………………………………………………..………..………#33
Darker Yet Darker ……………………………………….….……………………..#35
Delilah ………………..……………………………………..………………………#36
Breaking my ankle………………………………………….…….…………….…#38
There was a girl……………………………………………………….………….…#41
Two-timer……………………………………………………….………….………#43
Spider Society…………………………………………………………………..……#45
Having Siblings are Not the Best Thing ………………………………….….….#49
Entry 1……….……….….…………………………………………………….………#50
The Secret of a Masterpiece ………….…………………………………………….#52
Marathon.…………………………..………………………………………….……..#56
Countless days. Countless hours. Countless minutes. How can time go so slow? ……#57
Knight……………………….………..……………………………………………….#64
Winter Break……………….……….………………………………………..………#66
My Own…..…………………..…..……………………………………..……………#67
You’re you……..…………….…..…………………………………………………..#68
Aunt Rosie……………………………………………………………………………..#77
Fear……..……………………..….….……………………………………..…………#82
I remember Still…………..………..………………………………………….…….#84
I think I’m different from my friends…………………………………………….#86
Reaction to Present!…………………………………………………………………#87
Book of END………….……….………..………………………………………….…#89

 

My Works

Beloved

Woe am I for my love cannot expand,

Lest my heart betray me and turn crippled.

The passion is ablaze out of reach from my hand,

But oh, it weeps- my fondness is wrinkled.

I durst not tell, for he would turn away;

And should my desire o’ercome misery,

And plead I would that he stay,

That he lose lost wit, sense, and memory.

Thus I love in silence, cloaked in dark shadow,

And stifle my devotion, so I try.

I pray, he never question, in sorrow

For some deep reason, where they latent lie.

Delilah

Lora and I laid down on my bed like every other day. I listened to the heavy thud of rain outside as I traced my eyes around the silver-linings of clouds painted on the pale blue ceiling.

It was Lora who broke the silence. “So how do you feel?”

“Feel about what?”

“The last day of school, Charlie. The last day of school.” I was almost sure she sighed.

I waited a few seconds before moving onto the next cloud, thinking about the question. “I guess it was okay. Kinda sucks.”

“That we’re seniors next year?”

I turned my body around to face her. She seemed to be beaming even with her eyes closed. I’ve been nothing more than friends with this girl for over 10 years, but I have to admit it: her soft, plump face is adorable. She’s the kind of gorgeous girl who is hard to stop looking at. Since she had her eyes closed and couldn’t see me staring at her face, I decided to think up a unique name the shade of her face. Delilah? Yes, Delilah was perfect. A name with a tint of shea butter and a soft intangible shade of coral pink.

Suddenly her eyes opened, catching me off guard.

“Charlie, you’re not-”

“Yeah, that we’re seniors next year.” I lay back down on my back, tracing all over again from Cloud 1. It didn’t hit me that today had been the last day as a high school student. You could pick any day in the calendar, and Lora and I would be lying down side by side on my bed for a couple of minutes, just like today. It didn’t feel real that everything would completely change in a matter of few months.

“But Charlie, isn’t it so weird? I remember my first day in school. How can twelve years pass by in a flash? Listen to this: Time flashes by my very eyes and I am simultaneously living in that time! Crazy, huh?”

I nodded, thinking about what happened a few days ago.

I was walking home from school taking real slow steps, just taking in what was happening around me. I watched the leaves tickle each other in the wind, I watched people grinning down at their tiny phones in their hands. I just watched things happen. As I crossed the street, I watched a boy who resembled me in so many ways: Tall, wearing a backpack, listening to music from his earphones, looking beyond and filling the empty distances with his eyes. Then I realized that I would most likely never see that boy again, and that even if we are similar in so many ways, we would lead very different lives. We have a different past, present, and future. It was so surreal at the moment. My eyes followed him longingly as he took a diverted route.

“Yeah, it’s crazy,” I finally replied. “The same seconds passing by everyone’s lives, but how differently everyone experiences it. And how quickly it passes by. How can something that goes so quickly affect you so much?”

Lora smiled, satisfied at my consent, then closed her eyes. I followed.

For a while, seconds seemed to have forgotten to tick by.

Entry 1

I am not allowed to write. However, I have collected pieces of paper, and I will keep this book hidden underneath my monitor. Hopefully there are no cameras around here used for covert surveillance.

To give a brief introduction about myself, I was promoted a Controller from Practitioner a few days ago, and have been tagged with number 2000.

It is an entirely different world here. A different world from what I had experienced as a Character. This is a white world– everything is illuminating amd piercing your eyes. The floor consists of transparent, white glass, and there are billows of condensed clouds below. White tables cover the floor row after row, with white chairs accompanying them. There is a white screen on each of the desks, and Controllers like me sitting on each of the chairs, facing the monitor. That is what I am doing right now: sitting upright in my white chair and facing the monitor, only straining my eyes downwards to write on this paper.

Controllers control the Characters inside the monitor. This is difficult to grasp since it means that a Controller had controlled me when I was a Character, before my soul was transferred into this white body. Sometimes it makes me ponder why we cannot transfer souls into bodies that are not controlled to create a civilization that way. However, this is a violating thought. I must do minimal thinking, as I learned from Teachers.

Speaking of Teachers. . . there are different sections of this world in which there are Practitioners, Technicians, Inventors, and Teachers. Practitioners receive a final training of controlling Characters before being converted into Controllers. The Technicians make sure monitors are secure and at optimum condition. Inventors create the characters in the game, and prepare the dead characters’ souls to be transferred to Practitioner bodies. Teachers, who are usually retired Controllers, lecture freshmen Controllers about the rules, system, and the characters.

Recently, character Christina Jewels was created, and Controller #2121 took charge of her. Unfortunately, a code was entered incorrectly by an Inventor while creating Christina, and the character could hear her Controller’s voice in her head. I know that Christina was shocked and frightened at first, since my Character was Christina’s closest friend and Christina told my Character about it. Then after 1 character calendar year, Christina became used to the Controller’s voice, and even started communicating with Controller #2121. Soon after, what everyone was concerned about happened- The Controller had shared information about the Second World.

From then on, everything went downhill. It’s quite pitiful, really. Controller #2121 was forced to put an end to Christina’s life, so the Controller set the Character’s house on fire.

Today, Controller #2121 was exterminated. As his soul was painfully excreted from the body, he gave a piercing scream that echoed throughout the halls, accompanied by a shrill cry: “A life of lies!”

Oh dear, I see a Teacher walking towards my direction. I will write more tomorrow.

My Own

I have fled from this gloomy world,

into the deepest depths of my mind.

I have plunged into this vast ocean,

traveling deep into its suffocating abyss.

The world is a roaring, blazing fire,

always the same, yet never as it was

long ago when I first came here.

The currents of time shift it like clay.

Here, I wander the streets of lost cities.

They are my cities, my creations.

I soar above the highest mountain peaks,

Until I dance away into the distant stars.

This is my favorite sanctuary.

Peaceful parting roads and trails.

A quiet palace to retreat to in chaos.

No one can ever follow me. Not here.

I remember still

I remember still.

Paint squirts from both sides, left and right.

Colors piling on top of each other.

A jumble of black, brown and yellow.

Brown, brown everywhere when I tugged my ears down

White, white and yellow when I pulled my ears up.

I remember still.

Someone screaming “Didi! Didi!”

She sounded so close yet far away.

I tried to push my way out, out from the jumble of colors.

But the colors only became a mixture, solidifying

into a wall around me.

I remember still.

I cried out in frustration, only giving space

for the paint to fill into my nose and mouth.

The white and brown collapsed.

When I opened my eyes I saw I had become-

A part of the thick layer of brown.

I remember still.

My body held down by the wall of colors.

“Didi, apologize to me now. Are you sorry?”

I stared at the wall.

“Didi, please.”

The colors let go.

“Yes, yes,” I said softly, crying.

I remember still.

“I love you, Didi. I know it’s hard, sweetie.”

I watched the colors try to rearrange themselves.

“Look at me, Didi. Please.”

Was it only me seeing this?

I still remember.

“It’s okay. You are so much more than what others call you- ‘Autistic.’”

The colors stumbled to their positions.

Finally, I saw the sparkling cobalt circles surrounded

by a light pink hue, embedded into my mother’s face.

I told them:

“I love you too.”

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