| 
  • If you are citizen of an European Union member nation, you may not use this service unless you are at least 16 years old.

  • Files spread between Dropbox, Google Drive, Gmail, Slack, and more? Dokkio, a new product from the PBworks team, integrates and organizes them for you. Try it for free today.

View
 

Bridget Daugherty~ December 2018

Page history last edited by michianawriterscenter@... 1 year, 3 months ago

Featured AuthorBridget Daugherty

 

 

 

 


 

 

 

 

 

Meet Bridget ...

Bridget Daugherty is a 9th grader at Saint Joseph High School who has attended Michiana Writers's Center's summer camp for 3 summers. She thoroughly enjoys this writing camp and views it as a great opportunity for young writers. Bridget also partakes in other activities. She plays soccer for Jr. Irish Soccer Club. Bridget has also played the piano since she was seven years old, after her brothers started at the same age.

Lastly, you can see that Bridget likes to write darker fictions and realistic fictions, as evidenced in the pieces she has chosen to share.

 

 

 

Blinded by Love

By Bridget Daugherty

     The palm tree swayed gently with the breeze. He looked over at his wife and thought about how happy he was. Finally married. She insisted their honeymoon be in Sandals, Jamaica, and he was fine with that. She wasn’t going to pay for it, of course. That was for him to do. He loved her so much, even though she wouldn’t let him kiss her. He may have lost all his friends for her, but it’s fine. They all warned him about her, but he couldn’t see why.

     “She only wants your money!” they’d yell.

     “She doesn’t love you!” they’d insist. 

     But he didn’t get it. Of course, she loved him. Why would she marry him otherwise? He looked over at her and sighed, content with his choices. He couldn’t stop thinking about how beautiful she was.

     She looked back at him and looked quickly, clearly… disgusted?

     Impossible.

 

   

~Bridget Daugherty~

 

Nostalgia

By Bridget Daugherty

I think sometimes that we would’ve been close. Every memory I have of you on and off that vast green golf course I relish and cling to. I remember your hands and how gentle they were, or how they would

quiver slightly. Every memory with you in it is as vivid as what I can see in front of me. I think about often how much I miss you, but is it possible to miss you if I barely saw you when I could and can’t see you today? But I think it’s possible, because I do. I visualize you most clearly in my thoughts with your white visor. I wish I could visit you today and hug you and tell you about everything in my life, like what I’m proudest of. I somewhat remember all your cats and how they cuddled with each other, but I most distinctly remember Fritzy, and how that orange cat was the most doglike cat I’ve ever seen, with his never-ending energy and constant begging us to play. You would be so happy to have us hugging you today. I picture you vividly standing at the counter making root beer floats, the sugary aroma overwhelming my senses; those things were perfectly crafted by you with the coat of foam sitting perfectly on top of the sweet root beer and creamy vanilla ice cream. Your house always smelled like vanilla and catnip, like the kind that covered those little purple mice that you always gave to the cats. To my four-year-old self, your house was as big as the moon, but as I’ve grown, it’s become more comforting and easier to see you in it. You were the best. Every memory surrounding you in my mind is coated in a nice thick layer of nostalgia.

 

Comments (0)

You don't have permission to comment on this page.