The old coaches quit.

The old coaches said we weren't worth it.

The old coaches accused us of being the problem.

But that didn't stop us from bonding.

A year before the competition, we were already focused on the prize.

It was our turn.

The new coaches told us it was impossible.

The new coaches told us to cool it, to not try so hard.

The new coaches told us that it had never been done, so it couldn't happen.

But that didn't stop us from believing.

While our competition dozed, we dreamt of success.

We knew how this was going to end.

The town thought that we would lose.

The town thought that our team had already lost our chance.

The town thought that our team was too small, that we were too inept.

But that didn't stop us from hoping.

While our competition partied, we planned our path.

We wrote down our goal in big letters for everyone to see.

They tried to silence us.

They tried to beat us down until we surrendered.

They tried to talk us out of our "unrealistic" goal of being state champions.

But that didn't stop us from trying.

While our competition rested, we persisted unceasingly.

We knew that perseverance and determination alone were omnipotent.

No matter what happened off the field, on the field, we trusted each other completely.

No matter what happened off the field, on the field, we were like sisters.

No matter what people told us would happen, we began to win.

But that didn't stop us from having fun.

While our competition worried, we worked harder.

We didn't stress because we knew it would pay off.

Then everyone else realized we could win.

Then everyone else realized what we were worth.

Then everyone else realized they were in the presence of champions.

But that didn't stop us from working.

While our competition remained, we transformed.

After all, this was our Cinderella Story.

Everyone finally caught on.

Everyone finally believed what we already knew.

Everyone finally saw in us what we knew was there the whole time.

But that didn't stop us from playing.

While our competition complained, we enjoyed the present.

Our parents knew it all along.

The bleachers roared with their cheers.

The bleachers roared with their praise, with astonishment.

The bleachers roared so loud that we couldn't hear our own voices.

But that didn't stop us from cheering.

While our competition watched, we emerged...

Victorious.

The true story of the 2009 Arizona Softball 3A Regional and State Champions, Blue Ridge High School (first time in school history).

All of a sudden, a single footstep creaked on the outside of the closet door. Panic filled my chest.

Mustering up every single ounce of courage that I possessed, I grabbed the door handle of the closet. One. Two. THREE. I flung the door open and sprinted toward the staircase that would take me downstairs. I grabbed the banister, using it as my anchor as my body flung around and took the sharp left. What the hell?! Where is Tanner?! The fresh image of his bloody, mutilated body at the bottom of the stairs was seared into my memory. So where was he?

But there was no time. I ran past the spot where his body should have been and toward the front door. Slamming into it, I grabbed the handle and pulled but the damn thing wouldn’t budge. I turned around frantically, looking for another way out.

A little boy was standing right in front of me.

I shrieked. This was it. I was going to die. This... was... wait. The little boy made no move toward me. He looked as surprised as I was. “Why are you here?” he asked. I couldn’t answer. I couldn’t even move. “I... I...” was all I could stammer. “Leave my family alone,” he said. Then he ran.

Confusion replaced my panic. What? I looked around the room, looking for the man who had killed Tanner right in front of me. All I saw were papers strewn about the room. Were those there before? I walked forward toward the desk. A paper with a government seal lay on top. I picked it up.

My blood ran cold. I dropped the paper as I let out a scream that shook me to my core.

It was a death certificate.

It was mine.

I remember sitting on the floor of my bedroom, sobbing into my hands, as I thought about the state of the world. It horrified me. I was fifteen, and the world that I thought I knew was on fire. Death tolls racked up into the hundreds as Hurricane Katrina ripped through New Orleans. Serial killers and rapists were a constant story on the news my parents watched at night. War was ever-present. It seemed that everywhere I turned, there was sorrow, despair, death, and wickedness.

My world, which had once only consisted of my family, my schoolmates, and my community, was beginning to expand as I tried to wrap my mind around the state of humanity. As I thought deeply about death, destruction, and evil for the first time in my young life, my mind turned to the daunting task of someday trying to raise children in this wicked world. My sobs shook my body with heart-shattering grief, knowing that I could only fail. How would I ever be able to guide them, when I was just as lost? How could I teach them how to be upstanding citizens in a world where wickedness is praised and virtue is a weakness? How could I possibly raise a child in some not-so-distant future, in a near-apocalyptic world that would no doubt be even more overwhelmingly evil than it already was?

Through my soul-wracking sobs of despair, I heard the doorbell ring. I ignored it, until my parents called out my name. Timidly (and with a tear-stained face), I came out of my room and went to the front door. Standing in our doorway was our neighbors, an elderly couple. The woman held out a single white lily. She explained that she felt a strong urge to pick this lily and deliver it to me, specifically. My mouth gaped open. That white lily was an answer to an un-voiced prayer. During my time of despair and hopelessness, someone was listening. That white lily, in my mind, sent one clear message, a message that I had been desperate to hear and one that I have never forgotten: There is still good in the world. Don’t give up hope.

I am a daughter-of-the-wind. The sky is my home; the clouds are my refuge.

The wind, though frigid and piercing to land-walker-two-legs, is my catalyst. The frosty invisible force shifts gloriously upwards, catching my outstretched leather limbs, and I begin to climb. One pump, two pumps, three pumps, soar. The sky becomes closer than it has ever been. Up, up, and up. Higher. Until I finally pierce through the clouds and the two-leg-tent-city below is masked by damp-white-floating-water all around me. I look upward and my eyes close as I continue to climb, reveling in the triumphant feeling that pulses through my body, searing every fiber of my illustrious being with that which I have craved for so long.

Freedom.

I am Queen-of-the-air. She-Who-Will-Not-Be-Restrained. With my Rider on my back and the wind under my wings,

I am unstoppable.

Written as a homage to Christopher Paolini’s Inheritance series.

I want to write and create, but I can't think of

I'm trying to think of something to say that's from the depths of my soul, but

I have so much inside me, but it won't

I feel like I have so much to offer the world, and yet

Ideas buzz in my head like bees in a hive, but I can't

Why am I like this?