[stylist] Hood exercise

[Judith Bron]

Bridget, please forgive me, but what exercise?  Judith
----- Original Message ----- 
From: "Bridgit Pollpeter" <bpollpeter at hotmail.com>
To: <stylist at nfbnet.org>
Sent: Wednesday, January 05, 2011 9:14 PM
Subject: [stylist] Hood exercise


> Here is an attempt at the exercise I prompted.
>
>
>
> Bridgit
>
>
>
> Kimberly sat tapping her finger nails on the side of her laptop.  Her
> stomach grumbled while she tried to concentrate on the hand-out Mr.
> Hansen had distributed to the class.  Papers rustled on nearby desk, and
> pens scratched across fellow students papers.  The clock on the wall
> tick-tocked as she struggled to keep her eyes opened.  Flipping the top
> of her Braille watch up, she checked the time .  She kept popping her
> eyes open and jamming them shut in an attempt to wake herself up.
>
>
>
> "Miss Michaels, are you okay?"
>
>
>
> Kimberly blinked in Mr. Hansen's direction.  Blushing, she played with
> the ear bud cord dangling from her laptop.  "No, sorry."
>
>
>
> Mr. Hansen chuckled.  "This is what happens when they assign classes
> before lunch."
>
>
>
> Kimberly smiled and returned to the assignment.  Placing her ear bud in
> her ear again, she tried to pay attention to the droning electronic
> voice of JAW's.
>
>
>
> Voices punctured the silence shouting in the distance.  Kimberly tilted
> her head trying to make sounds out.  A metallic bang bellowed through
> the empty halls.  She froze, fingers paused above her keyboard.  A
> buzzing surrounded the room as classmates whispered together.  She heard
> the click of the door as it opened.  The muffled shouting formed into
> words.
>
>
>
> "Get back in your rooms!" a disembodied voice yelled.
>
>
>
> The door slammed shut as people rushed down the hall.  The phone by Mr.
> Hansen's desk rang.  His voice quavered as he answered the call.
>
>
>
> Students abandoned the whispering.  Zippers clinked on bookbags, books
> and papers swooshed off of desks.  Keys clacked furiously as students
> sent text messages.  Kimberly, trying to catch her breath, gripped her
> white cane.
>
>
>
> "Kids, we need to stay put-someone in the school is firing shots."
>
>
>
> The tension that had been bubbling on the surface now erupted filling
> the room with commotion.  Kimberly clutched the sides of her desk.  She
> tasted vanilla and cherries as she licked her lips.
>
>
>
> "Calm down-we need to stay calm," Mr. Hansen shouted.
>
>
>
> Kimberly slid down in her chair.  Closing her eyes, she slipped the hood
> of her sweat shirt over her head.  Shrouded by her oversized hoodie, a
> tear trailed down her cheek while she steadied her breathing.
>
>
>
>
>
> Sam eyed the chocolate layered cake tempting him from the corner of his
> desk.  He shuffled numerous reports stacked in front of him.  Checking
> paper reports to electronic ones, he looked up when a knock rapped on
> his door.
>
>
>
> "Hey, Detective Holms-great party.  Ready to retire?"
>
>
>
> "After forty years, I guess it's about time I concentrated on other
> things.  Maybe I'll do some traveling."
>
>
>
> "Headed out, just poppin' in to say good-bye."
>
>
>
> "Hey Stanton, want some cake?"  Sam pushed the cake forward.
>
>
>
> Stanton smiled.  "Already had two pieces-thanks though."
>
>
>
> Sam grunted.  "Sheri has me on a diet."
>
>
>
> "Good luck with that."  Stanton laughed as he walked down the hall.
>
>
>
> Sam rubbed his eyes as he turned back to his reports.  Ready to leave,
> He stood and stretched as the phone rang.
>
>
>
> "Holmes."  His face hardened as he sat back down.  After a minute, he
> sat the phone back in its cradle.  Walking to the door, he shouted out,
> "We have a code red!"
>
>
>
> He slumped back in his chair.  Leaning forward, he held his head in his
> hands.  He turned his eyes up as an officer entered.
>
>
>
> "Code red, sir?"
>
>
>
> Sam sighed.  "A shooting happened out at Southwest high school.  They
> think a student was the shooter."
>
>
>
> "I'll send the APB out, sir."
>
>
>
> "When will these hoodlums learn?"  Sam picked up the phone to call his
> wife.  His last day of work would be a full day.
>
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