Page 107 - 1967

SENIOR PROSE FOOTPRINTS OF FEAR
It was a warm summer evening - one of those tranquil times when all nature seems asleep. The breeze was still, not a leaf rustled on its branch. The grass beneath his feet was still. The only movement was that caused by the steps as he walked across an empty meadow. It was not the kind of night when strange events occur.
For no apparent reason he swiftly turned around. His own quick reaction startled him for his heart beat fast. It was as if some mysterious force had compeUed him to move, had forced him to turn. He did not really expect to see anything behind him, yet he had a weird feeling that he was being followed. With a shrug of his shoulders he resumed his walk undisturbed by this strange occurrence.
By this time night had fallen and a slight wind had risen. It blew in gusts, cooling his face and messing his hair. Itwas welcomed after the intense heat of the day. Suddenly the wind felt cold. Shivers ran downhis spine as if someone's icy hands had unexpectedly been placed on his back. Again he turned, for that acute feeling of being watched and followed had returned. Again he was not surprised to see only the narrow path he had been following stretched out across the bare meadow. Yet the cold feeling still lingered and he felt unseen eyes watching his every move.
The feeling increased and panic seized him. He ran like a man possessed. He stumbled and fell, something cold brushed his cheek, he scrambled to his feet and ran again. The cold sweat streamed from his face, and mingled with the rain that had begun to fall. When he reached home, he appeared to have seen a ghost, yet he had seen nothing.
The next day, aroused by curiosity and wonder, he returned to the meadow. It was a simple task to find the path he had followed, and the marks where he had fallen. The footprints were clearly outlined in the soft ground. Two sets walking out and two sets madly running back, yet he had been alone.
The mind can play strange tricks on man. Was this one of them.
.. DISCOVERY
"What is wrong with the world today?'' This question has been asked by millions of people during all stages of the earth's history. Yet, I am compelled to ask it again, for I feel that it is very relevant to our own day and age.
There is nothing wrong with our world. In fact, it is a truly wonderful place in which to live. The problem is our total unawareness of the 'miracles' which are happening around us. As we draw nearer and nearer to the moment when one of our fellow men will set foot on a distant planet, are we excited, jubilant, or over-awed? No. Instead, we give one minute coverage to the latest space development on the hourly newscast. Are we overjoyed, yet humbly thankful when a medical scientist after years of research, discovers a wonder cure for a dread disease? We simply comment to our friends, "My, it's wonderful what scientists can do nowadays." This praise comes straight from the lips, not the heart.
However, what really worries me about man's indifference, is this: if we cannot appreciate the dazzling glories of OJ.Ir age, w111 we ever remember the simple beauty and exquisiteness of a spring flower, the soaring freedom of a summer-blue sky, or the majestic voice of a roll of thunder? Yet, these are the things which can take the routine dullness out of life, if we will only take the time to discover them.
Thus, if we can replace this constant, restless search for the new and dramatic with a deep appreciation for the miracles of today and the simple but complex beauties of nature, 1t could be possible to eliminate man's instinct for the most dramatic diver- sion-- war.
"'"'
Sue Smith
SECOND- SENIOR PROSE
103
FIRST - SENIOR PROSE
Judy MacNicol