Potts of Gold and Buckets of Sand
Here is a story I wrote in eighth grade. Will post the second part later...
“Ms. Potts! Ms. Imogene Potts! IMOGENE POTTS!” woman in a white uniform calls.
“Oh, sorry! I was looking at this picture,” I reply. I’m Imogene Potts, an aspiring artist and astounding genius. Well, at least that’s what my friends here at Sanctum Hospital say.
“Right this way,” the Violet, the nurse, says as she leads me into a room.
“Vie (my nickname for her), I know my way around here. You don’t have to tell me this every single time I come here,” I tell her gently as I set up my easel. She can be pretty touchy.
“I know, but you know how much I love my job,” she replies.
“Well, you know how much I love mine,” I grin as I open the other door. The next room is filled with children on beds. Some are just here for today, while others are the residents of this hospital. I come here every two weeks to talk and to help them to tap into their artistic abilities. It’s fun and I like working with kids. They enjoy my visits and I enjoy sharing with others what I love to do.
“Hi, everyone!” I wave to the children.
“Hi!” they all greet back. The sound echoes through the halls as though it is the only sound you can hear.
“What do you guys want to do today?” I ask them as I hand out pencils and paper.
“Let’s talk about the ocean!” one of the kids suggests.
“Yeah!” everyone agrees.
“All right, that’s what we’ll do today. Can anyone tell me what you can find in the ocean or on the beach?” I ask them. I point to all of the kids and they give me an answer. Everyone says his or her answer until one is left.
“So, Will, what can you find in the ocean?” I ask the boy on the wheelchair. This is the first time I’ve seen this kid, but he has on a nametag on his shirt. He has jet-black hair and his eyes are alert. You can tell even with his thick glasses on. I also notice that he’s hooked onto an IV.
“I don’t know,” he retorts, “I really don’t.” One of the kids gasps and Violet tells them to stop it. I told you she’s touchy.
“I’ve never been to the ocean,” he sighs heavily.
“Well, it’s okay…” I start to tell him.
“I won’t get to anyway. You know that we’re all just going to rot in this place and wait until the doctor says that there’s no hope for you. You can’t do anything except wait! That’s all you do! You’re wasting your time here!” he yells. His eyes are full of rage and frustration. You can hear his breathing and the beating of his heart.
“Will! Stop that!” Violet comes over and wheels the boy away. He tries to resist, but then he has to follow. A bunch of doctors from the other end of the hall follow him, as the doors swing shut.
“Teacher,” one of the children tugs on the edge of my smock, “can we go back to the fishies now?
“Ms. Potts! Ms. Imogene Potts! IMOGENE POTTS!” woman in a white uniform calls.
“Oh, sorry! I was looking at this picture,” I reply. I’m Imogene Potts, an aspiring artist and astounding genius. Well, at least that’s what my friends here at Sanctum Hospital say.
“Right this way,” the Violet, the nurse, says as she leads me into a room.
“Vie (my nickname for her), I know my way around here. You don’t have to tell me this every single time I come here,” I tell her gently as I set up my easel. She can be pretty touchy.
“I know, but you know how much I love my job,” she replies.
“Well, you know how much I love mine,” I grin as I open the other door. The next room is filled with children on beds. Some are just here for today, while others are the residents of this hospital. I come here every two weeks to talk and to help them to tap into their artistic abilities. It’s fun and I like working with kids. They enjoy my visits and I enjoy sharing with others what I love to do.
“Hi, everyone!” I wave to the children.
“Hi!” they all greet back. The sound echoes through the halls as though it is the only sound you can hear.
“What do you guys want to do today?” I ask them as I hand out pencils and paper.
“Let’s talk about the ocean!” one of the kids suggests.
“Yeah!” everyone agrees.
“All right, that’s what we’ll do today. Can anyone tell me what you can find in the ocean or on the beach?” I ask them. I point to all of the kids and they give me an answer. Everyone says his or her answer until one is left.
“So, Will, what can you find in the ocean?” I ask the boy on the wheelchair. This is the first time I’ve seen this kid, but he has on a nametag on his shirt. He has jet-black hair and his eyes are alert. You can tell even with his thick glasses on. I also notice that he’s hooked onto an IV.
“I don’t know,” he retorts, “I really don’t.” One of the kids gasps and Violet tells them to stop it. I told you she’s touchy.
“I’ve never been to the ocean,” he sighs heavily.
“Well, it’s okay…” I start to tell him.
“I won’t get to anyway. You know that we’re all just going to rot in this place and wait until the doctor says that there’s no hope for you. You can’t do anything except wait! That’s all you do! You’re wasting your time here!” he yells. His eyes are full of rage and frustration. You can hear his breathing and the beating of his heart.
“Will! Stop that!” Violet comes over and wheels the boy away. He tries to resist, but then he has to follow. A bunch of doctors from the other end of the hall follow him, as the doors swing shut.
“Teacher,” one of the children tugs on the edge of my smock, “can we go back to the fishies now?