Hope’s favourite season is Spring, when the skies turn from grey to blue, and the clouds change from the colour of smoke to the pure white shade of snow. She loves to hear the birds start to sing and to see the leaves and buds grow on the trees. She delights in the smell of cherry blossoms.
Spring may be her favourite, but she’s always there on the cold, gusty nights when the snowdrifts swell to waist height, and you can’t see out your front window. She’ll take your hand, rest her head on your shoulder, and remind you that the nice weather will come again.
—–CAITLYN
Patience
Patience is quiet and calm. She does not complain about anything, not even pain. Some people say she is a virtue, and deserves to be handled with care. There are no short cuts on her walk home, for she always takes the longest route possible. Patience enjoys sitting under the big, old maple tree in her small back yard, watching the painted leaves fall as autumn introduces itself. Every morning and night, she observes the magnificent, golden sun slowly rise and set. Her garden is full of brightly coloured, dilatory flowers. She takes great care in making certain that the grass grows perfectly, with not a blade out of place.
It is often difficult for Patience to make friends, since she tends to be neglected by her peers. In school and at home she has become a topic of much debate. People cannot decide whether to embrace or ignore her. My mother says she is important, though I cannot understand why. She teaches and lives with her mentally challenged younger sister. Most people call her sister a bother, but she takes the time to give her sibling the attention she requires and deserves. She has a kind, gentle heart.
Rather than using e-mail and instant messaging, Patience writes extensive letters to her family members that live far away. She hardly ever gets a letter back, but she continues to send them. She loves reading long, drawn out novels, historical documents, and books that are so large they barely fit in her slender hands. She reads them all hours of the night. Patience never eats at fast food restaurants, where the meal is practically ready before it is ordered. She prefers extravagant, fancy restaurants that take hours to cook the meal to perfection. As I grow older and wiser, along with my colleagues, we will discover for ourselves that Patience is very important to have around.
—– JULIA
FEAR
Fear is pale. She sweats profusely and trembles every second. Her eyes are dark, and always wide open. Above are her brows, drawn together, and her mouth forms a straight line. She constantly breathes quickly so that her chest moves rapidly. When she walks into the room there are high-pitched screams. Some gasp, and others cry. When she attempts to make conversation you become speechless and when you open your mouth, all you seem to do it stutter. You shouldn’t let her get too close though. She smells horrible. It’s like thick smoke, and it’s also rotten and musty. Try not to run, because she’ll grab you in a second. Her hands are sweaty and the rest of her body is clammy. She has been known to cause pain to others, which is why people are so scared. She is tense, but also very shaky. Her skin is slimy, but also very picky in spots. Everything around her just feels damp. The taste just might be the worst. It is bitter, sour and acidic. She leaves your mouth so dry that it feels like there are hundreds of needles moving inside. It is very unpleasant.
People usually try to avoid her, and some deny that she is even there. You must have great courage to be able to face her head on. Not many people can say that they can do that. There are even some who live in terror, for they know the worst can happen. When people are home alone, there is a spider, they are separated, there are strangers or when they are losing control- there fear is. There are so many causes for her to just show up. The most common is pain, or threat of pain. She is around so much people concentrate on the worst. The secret to getting rid of her is identifying why she is there, and not denial. Face her head on if you can, and she just might go away. But remember to take small steps, motivate yourself, think positive and recognize reality. With this advice she is sure to never bother you again.
——- Rachelle
LOVE
Love is beautiful. Her golden hair flows around her and her sapphire eyes only speak the truth. She sings melodious songs that light up a dark sky. Her voice carries throughout the Heavens and can be heard by everyone. Her perfume smells of roses and her eyes are enchanting. Love is patient. She doesn’t tap her foot when waiting for you by the front door. Her wide smile greets you when you enter.
Many people mistake Lust for Love. But when you get a close up look at them you can surly tell them apart. For Love always carries a crimson handbag and Lust is never without someone else.
Someone once told me that Love was never born. That she was only a fantasy fairytale. But when I met her for myself, her hug filled me with warmth and her voice filled me with song. And she was my best friend and she will never fade from my heart.
—--REBECCA
DEPRESSION
Depression is desperate, cold and alone. He sees everything in monochrome – blacks and grays. But no white. He does not like much and that which he does is moldy, damp and rough. He sits around at night with his pet, Oscar the Ostracized turtle.
Everyone who has met depression ends up shunning him. They believe Depression only likes to talk about sad things, like funerals and empty peanut butter jars. He is frail, has a hoarse voice, and is completely lifeless. What they do not realize is that Depression offers another perspective and insight about life. He shows others the dimmer, fainter parts.
But, even though I understand Depression, I still deal with it like I do a headache – I go to sleep.
—— Shivan
Skepticism
Skepticism likes to keep his distance. He stalks around the edges of a crowd and then slips quietly into it. He reasons with you and turns you against ideas with ease. Skepticism has cold hands and even colder feet.
Skepticism lives alone in a simple, barren apartment. No pictures disguise the walls. Skepticism stays up late, watching the minutes tick by on the clock. He hates infomercials and used car salesmen. Skepticism sleeps on a hard, single bed.
You will most often find skepticism eavesdropping on a conversation. He sits off to the side and drums his fingers on the table, his nails clicking on the hard surface. Skepticism raises one eyebrow and arranges a sneer on his face. Like an overbearing parent he protects, but then smothers. I have learned to listen to Skepticism with caution.
—–DORA
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