AIDAN'S STORY
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The students were asked to write stories and poems inspired by the photographs that they took during the workshop. Each student chose a poem or story related to a photograph made during the workshop sessions for display here. Their chosen photos, printed large, will also be displayed the during the month of May, 2008, at the Addison Woolley Gallery in Portland, Maine, along with the poems and stories chosen. The gallery is at 87 Market St., in Portland's Old Port (on Post Office Park).

 

    I took the elevator up to floor five and walked down the creaky hallway to my apartment. I never locked my door so I just strolled right in. I looked around my cramped one-room apartment. It was messy, but it was still a place to call my own. I was still in high school but had my own place because I left my single mother and two younger sisters due to a fight with my mom about going to a party where some idiots were drinking underage. For the record I never touched the stuff. When I was 9, my alcoholic dad was killed in a drive-by shooting when my mom was pregnant with my youngest sister. Naturally alcohol has no appeal to me. Like I said before, my place was a mess, my clothes thrown around, stuff with inch tall dust on it and for no reason, a tank full of gasoline. My days were usually the same: get up, take the bus to school, take the bus to my job at a pizzeria, work until 5:00, take the bus home with a pizza, do my homework, go on the computer, watch TV, and then go to sleep. On this particular day, I went to the computer and accidentally knocked the tank of gasoline onto my floor.

      I grabbed a towel off a table and began to wipe up the floor. After that I threw the towel on the pearly white fire escape. Then I went on with my mind-numbingly routine life. A few days later I missed my bus ride home and had to walk. When I was a block from my house a teenage girl with a cigarette in her mouth, offered me a smoke. As much as I regret it now, I accepted and became hooked.

     
Weeks later I was home watching TV with a cigarette in my mouth. I glanced at the clock and noticed it was 12:54. Most nights I fall asleep around 11:30. I decided to call it a night. I flicked away my cigarette butt and turned off my TV. I was asleep in minutes. I awoke at 3:16 to the smell of smoke, my apartment was on fire! I ran across my room and grabbed my backpack, which had my wallet and my cell phone. I dashed towards my fire escape, got out, and began to scream bloody murder. I noticed that my left slipper was actually on fire. I tossed it aside...right onto the gasoline-soaked towel!! I stretched for the slipper but my hand just fell short. FLOOM!!! I was too late and now I'm gone.

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