• High school senior Carolyn Langreder carried a pencil, a Pentec .7mm mechanical pencil with a grey shaft and a red-orange clip, as well as a set of brightly coloured Prismacolour pens, as well as a few erasers, one aptly named MOO, as well as a moldable eraser that had been given to her as a gift by her sister. What she carried she treasured, often refusing to let go of a single artifact. She also carried the necessities, a few band-aids, a packet of triple antibiotic ointment, her school ID, first aide certification, library card, four house keys, and two guitar picks as well as a miniature container of Altoids. Also carried were four unevenly tied pieces of cut yarn that had been given to her by a friend, an over-sized key ring and a tube of unused Maybelene lipstick. She carried uncertainty.
    Her uncertainty was triggered mostly by the war that would be raged at home every night, the war that would never seem to stop, a battle of turf that seemed to dwarf all otherworldly issues. Her mother and stepfather argued on an almost constant basis, usually about nothing, but it bothered her nonetheless.
    She carried a cell phone, no, I should correct myself, she carried a lifeline, a Tracfone that was to be used in emergencies. She carried a set of overly gaudy rings that were heavier than anything else she possessed; she also carried a few character-shaped key chains from two of her top two-hundred favourite shows, one of Aya Natsume from Tengo Tenge and one of Syaoran Li from Tsubasa: Reservoir Chronicles. She carried several Pokemon charms as well, a Chatot, Mantyke and a Pikachu. She carries guilt.
    The guilt she had stemmed mostly from her childhood and the absence of her memories. It was also a huge player in why she was a one wolf for such a long time, and outcast if you will. She carried it for a long time, and it would never leave her because she had left her nearest and dearest friends behind her as she left the only home that she remembered to live in a more crowded, more accepting place. She felt guilty for bringing despair amongst her family, blaming herself for everything she had done, stealing, fighting, and acting like a boy.
    She carried a photograph of a friend, several receipts, a lanyard with a matching key chain, a stick of plum-coloured Clinique eyeliner, and she carried a burning passion. Her passion could melt the hearts of those who sought such a refuge, she was a haven for people who needed to relax and smile. Her passion was to make people happy.
    One could say that her passion came from her first love, even before that love was realized she tried to please that other person so much that it almost hurt. She would go to extreme lengths in order to make that person smile, sometimes sacrificing her time for things that served no purpose. That person had been her first friend since she was seven, a five-year gap between having friends, and a person can forget how to act around them. Eventually she began to develop her talents and become a hero of sorts to the outcasts, dressing so far out of the ordinary in order to divert the attention of the people who hurt others intentionally, she had been brave.
    What she carried was a small black purse, carried around her hips so that she could caner and not let loose the things she loved the most. She carried her Prismas in a Volcom pencil case, yet she didn’t know what Volcom is or what they mean to others. What she carries is her heart, chained to her fingers and through her art she tells her story to all those willing to read it.