Author: spectrum

Prompt: Write from the perspective of a bus driver

“I will not kill the children… I will not kill the children,” I whispered under my breath.  The thirty-seven children who rode my bus each day filled my life with joy, but I swear to G-d if they bring food on Ms. Twinkster again, I will strangle them.  I walked to the back of my bus and saw litter everywhere.  I picked one piece of paper and read aloud.  Slowly, with a stutter in my voice I read:

The school bus slowly left the school parking lot following its brethren.  Their drivers screaming in pain as they were drown down to hell.  An elderly woman collapsed into a heap.  The Union looked forward into the masses and growled, “We need another now,” his voices wranging in unison.  “Find me another driver.”  The drivers yelped with glee.  The hunt has begun.

I looked at the top for a name.  I found one.  I waltzed to the front, picked up my mic, and sinisterly whispered, “I have found our new driver.”  I closed my door, and started the bus.  In a low whistle, I sang, “The wheels on the bus go round and round.”

Prompt: Write about a bus driver in both the 3rd and 1st person

“Shit!”
The bus swerved across two lanes and almost hit the median as the wheels skidded across the ice.  “none of you heard that!” he shouted back to the forty pairs of staring eyes.  Winter was always the worst.  Javier had spent five years driving the buses for Grisholm Elementary and the winters never got easier.  At least he got snow days.  Of course, the superintendent was erratic about them–6 inches of snow was usually a guarantee, but icy roads were about fifty/fifty.  Javier Ground his teeth and got the bus back on track.  Fuck the superintendent and his arbitrary decisions.  One of these days he was gonna end up on the news, apologizing to the community for the deaths of forty children and a bus driver.  The next stop flew by, and the next one.  Three more and Javier could take a break from the hellish roads.  The children behind him had already forgotten the severity of the driving conditions and resumed their gum-popping and squealing.

***

I cleared my throat into the microphone.  These things were always awkward.  It was unfortunate, truly, but the speeches were always worse than the incident.  “Javier Thompson was a colorful character, always cheering up the staff with noontime lunch deliveries and keeping the kids on his bus entertained with his wit and character.”  It wasn’t a total lie.  He had brought lunch twice, though he had charged us all for it both times.  Colorful was certainly a good adjective for Javier, based on what the kids said about him.  I have no idea who in the crowd were relatives and who were parents, but all the faces stared at me, waiting for a resolution, the answers that no one has.

Prompt: Write about the worst phone call you ever had to make

I knew there was no putting it off any longer.  The kitchen was spotless.  The dishes were all emptied from the sink.  The trash was taken out.  All of the questionable food in my fridge was unceremoniously dumped.  The floor was swept and mopped.  The cabinets were dusted.  It would have taken an electron microscope to see a single iota of dust anywhere, save for the letter folded neatly on the table.  The letter I had been waiting two agonizing weeks for.  It’s a cruel thing that doctors do, making someone wait so long as their lives hang in the balance.  Forcing them to replay every bad choice they’ve ever made.  They certainly don’t see it that way, since they’re so used to the specter of death hanging over their heads.  Well, I think I speak for all patients when I say that I am not used to it.  But really, there’s no use in being angry at the doctor, he didn’t make me sick.  I wish that I was more careful.  I wish that I didn’t have to put her through this.  Why did she pick me of everyone else out there?  She could have loved someone better, more responsible, cleaner.  Instead, all she has is me and my envelope.  And pretty soon, once I finally call her, she’ll have an envelope of her own.  I hope hers bears good news.

Take a look at any issue of Spectrum. I’m serious. (They’re online now and everything.)

From carefully captured photographs and meticulously crafted poems, to intricately selected fonts and thoughtfully designed covers, we work hard to present our readers with the best issue possible each semester.

Like any collaboration, there are many steps along the way until we get it just right; every issue is heavy with dedication, consideration, compromise and heart. But then the release party comes, we finally get to see our efforts come to life, turn the glossy pages of our issue and smell its newly published perfume.

Suddenly it all becomes worth it.

As a magazine, we pride ourselves on the finished product. It’s our legacy and something we hope our community will hold onto for years to come.

But don’t get it twisted: we’re also a lot of fun.

So, to help us celebrate our not-so-refined side, we present to you the Spectrum blog. We’ll be posting writing exercises from our general meetings, reviewing art exhibits we see on our many museum trips, and posting about whatever other artistic inspiration we come across.

We welcome your involvement and suggestions and hope you will help this to be a collection even more eclectic than what fills the pages of our beloved magazines. Be spontaneous, don’t worry about a typo or two (as long as its nothing too heinous), and send us your ideas.

Not feeling moved yet? Why not take 10-minute study (or procrastination) break for a quick free write? We’d love to see what you come up with.