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Article posted June 1, 2012 at 04:02 AM GMT0 •
comment • Reads 518
Missing, Pressumed Dead.
May Freewrite
There was once a girl named Caroline. Seventeen years old and in her junior year of high school, she was excited for school to end. The end of the year was but four days away, and she was overflowing with energy for the start of summer and for her senior year that was so close in her future. She lived in a small town, where you could walk just about anywhere, and it was here she could be found on this bright, sunny day, four days before the end of school. One of the last days of school had just ended, and she was walking home, keeping to the sidewalks. Caroline lived on the edge of town, so a fair portion of her walk home, she walked alone. As she walked, sometimes dancing down the sidewalk, she didn’t realize, never being one to pay close attention to her surroundings, that a small car was following her slowly down the street. She still hadn’t realized this, when all of a sudden it stopped, the car still running, and a man stepped out.
He ran up behind her and tackled her, pulling her to the ground and covering her mouth. Caroline was stunned, stricken with panic, frozen with fear. She could do nothing, paralyzed with shock as she was. Then her instincts kicked in and she started to kick and squirm, dropping her bag and attempting to yell. The man had clamped her mouth pretty tight however, and she made no more noise than a muffled grunt. He dragged her into his car, forced a wad of cloth into her mouth, and slammed her onto the floor in the back of his car. He threw a large blanket over her body, hiding her. The man then proceeded to drive on calmly; a fairly short time did he drive. Caroline could tell that he wasn’t taking her much farther than the town limits. She wondered what he would do with her; if she would live to see anyone else again. He then stopped the car, got out, opened the backseat door, and yanked her out of the vehicle, still keeping her head covered. She felt a sharp pain to the back of her head, and then everything went black.
Caroline was missing for days. Search parties were sent out; friends were questioned, attempts were made to seek out witnesses, everything possible was done to at least find out what had happened to her, but no one knew. Time went on, years passed, and Caroline became old news, just another faceless kid on the long list of missing children in the country. She became nothing more than a statistic, remembered most only by her parents and other family.
No one knew, that just outside of that small town, a short walk into a small area of woods, a hole had been dug, and in it, laid the body of Caroline, seventeen years old forever. Although she was presumed dead, her body was never found, even though her remains deteriorated not even a mile from her town.
Missing children are a serious issue. Everything possible should be done to find them. Should you ever see a poster, news article, or any such thing alerting the public to a disappeared child, give it more than a passing thought of pity. What if that child was you?
Article posted June 1, 2012 at 04:02 AM GMT0 •
comment • Reads 518
Article posted May 16, 2012 at 05:16 PM GMT0 •
comment (3) • Reads 239
Dear fresh freshman;
Congradulations, you're in ninth grade. High school is generally portrayed in two very different ways. The first makes high school seem like one of the worst experiences you have endured so far, and that you will be constantly counting down the days of the years you have left. The second makes high school seem like a wonderful and dandy place where all you will have the best days of your life. On average, it’s a bit of both, but mostly you’re just living through it. If you never do your school work and basically act like a jerk, you will not have a good time at all. If you do your work and are nice enough to most everyone, you will not have so bad a time.
Classes aren’t as bad as they sound. This advice applies to all of them; do the work, pay sufficient attention, and refrain from being annoying and irrelevant. If you’re respectable to the teachers, they’ll be nice to you. In Civics, and probably any class, don’t attempt to listen to your ipod or other music device while the teacher is talking. Not only is that extremely obnoxious, but you will be called out on it. One of the biggest fabrications they will ever tell you in high school is that you will have enough time to get to all your classes punctually. You don’t. This is a horrible lie. So you will be required to haul it down the hallway; especially for English and Health. Don’t be late for English.
The best thing about being a freshman is that you are no longer in junior high. Nothing else surpasses this fact. However, don’t get a swollen head about it. You’re still at the bottom of the totem poll, so to speak. Don’t be offended, everyone starts there. Seniority and respect can only be gained through experience and time. Be a commendable person.
Sincerely,
Kelly
Article posted May 16, 2012 at 05:16 PM GMT0 •
comment (3) • Reads 239
Article posted May 9, 2012 at 05:22 PM GMT0 •
comment (2) • Reads 205
Singing In My Sleep
Sing It Out blog
Just about everyone is forced to read that well known classic Romeo & Juliet in high school English. Many have also heard references to those famous characters in multiple songs. One song that I’ve heard such an allusion is in the song “Singing in My Sleep” by Semisonic.
Specifically, it is Juliet that is being referred to in this song. The lyrics say, “I’ve been living in your cassette/ it’s the modern equivalent/ singing up to a Capulet/ on a balcony in your mind.” The author of this song, Dan Wilson, guitarist and songwriter of Semisonic, is not the first to make such allusions to the famous tale of Romeo & Juliet. He, like most all others, uses the reference to tell a story of love. This is not quite fully correct depiction.
I think this song by Semisonic, while a good song, is an inaccurate description of the real story of Romeo and Juliet. This song paints a picture of a modern teenage romance, with no tragic twists, which is very different from the real story. The song starts out sounding very similar to the story of Romeo & Juliet, but it pretty much then stops there. It is only similar to the beginning, when Romeo and Juliet are convinced they’ll live happily ever after with their new married-life that isn’t so different from their old unmarried lives. The song says nothing of any real problems, tragedy, or, most importantly, death. A lot of Shakespeare’s tragedy plays are characterized by the quantity of death in them. The song mentions nothing of any of those.
In conclusion, though “Singing In My Sleep,” by Semisonic is a wonderful song, it’s allusion to the famous story of Romeo & Juliet is not a very accurate depiction.
Article posted May 9, 2012 at 05:22 PM GMT0 •
comment (2) • Reads 205
Article posted April 13, 2012 at 03:01 AM GMT0 •
comment (5) • Reads 702
Stereotypes Do No Justice.
April Freewrite
The two boys came thundering down the stairs, laughing and talking. One of them, the one who lived in the house they were in, grabbed a set of car keys off the kitchen counter and started out the door. His mother, who was in the laundry room folding clothes, came out holding a half-folded shirt and shouted
“Wait!”
The two stopped in their tracks.
“Yes?” the son inquired.
“Where are you boys off to?” his mother asked, attempting to make it sound like a casual question.
“We’re going over to Ben’s for the day, he just opened his pool,” he answered with a patient tone.
“How long will you be gone? Will his mother be there? How long does it take you to get to Ben’s? What roads are you going to take? How many guys will be there? Will there be any girls there? Are they going to feed you? When will you get home? Are you-”
“Mom,” he cut her off, “we’ll be fine. I’ll drive safe and have dinner over there. It’s just gonna be me and the guys. If anything happens, I’ll call you.”
His mother didn’t look altogether reassured, but she let them leave. Once in the car, the boy’s friend turned to him and said,
“Why does she always seem to think you drive like we're holding up a bank? Or that we’re going to do something horrible, like murder the elderly couple down the street?"
The son replied,
"Because that's what teenagers do, right? They also carve swastikas into their arms, steal prescription drugs from old people, and have drug addictions. I need to institute a policy where she stops watching 60 Minutes and pretty much all public service announcements."
His friend snorted and agreed.
"I don't think they realize we're not all the same," he said.
Don’t base your judgments on the general image created by society’s stereotypes.
Article posted April 13, 2012 at 03:01 AM GMT0 •
comment (5) • Reads 702
Article posted March 24, 2012 at 08:48 PM GMT0 •
comment (6) • Reads 725
Little Elves Don't Actually Exist, So Why Write About Them?
March Freewrite
There was once a happy little elf who liked to sing and dance. He lived in a hollow tree with all his animal friends. Every day was a happy one filled with merriment and fun. He never had any concerns, nothing but joy. One day, a shy young badger moved into the hollow tree. He was new, and very self-conscious, so he kept to himself and didn’t interact much. The little elf did not like to see the poor badger alone, so he invited him to join in his games and happiness. The badger agreed, and made many new friends. Everyone had the best day of their lives. And the little elf-
“No, no, no. That’s ridiculous. No one would ever read such an awful story. Terrible.”
The man pulled the piece of paper out from his typewriter, crunched the story into a tight ball, and threw it in the direction of the waste basket. It missed and landed on the floor next to the bin. Sighing, he stood up, kicked his chair aside, and strode over to where his paper lay on the floor. Picking it up, he pulled a lighter out of his pocket, lit it on fire, and dropped it. He watched as the flame devoured the paper, leaving a small pile of smoldering ashes in the basket.
He then put on his jacket, laced up his work boots, and went to pick up his daughter for the weekend from his ex-wife's house.
Article posted March 24, 2012 at 08:48 PM GMT0 •
comment (6) • Reads 725
Article posted March 2, 2012 at 02:58 AM GMT0 •
comment (3) • Reads 550
Music: There Is A Song For Everything
Representin'
Your body hunched around its shape, you have absolutely no control over your facial expressions as you play the notes and chords of your very soul. Fingers dancing along the frets of the neck, the rhythm pours out your fingertips and into the instrument you’re holding. The different types of guitars represent different kinds of styles.
The 6-string electric guitar represents a wilder, louder style, with much improvisation and raw feeling. It usually draws the most attention.
The 6-string acoustic guitar embodies a more original side, filled with more slow and bluesy music to mix in with wonderful harmonies of two acoustics combined.
The bass guitar symbolizes a deeper kind of sound that seems to make the organs inside your very ribcage thrum with the bass line. Without the bass, every composition would seem a little shallower, emptier, as if it was missing something very important, which it would be; the bass is like the framework of a song, everything is built on top of it. The bass seems to complete everything. Not many people usually hear or pay special attention to the bass line, but at the same time if it wasn’t there, you can be sure you’d notice the difference. Bass makes everything better.
The 8-string guitar represents sophistication, a high level of success, for you need great skill to be able to master it. Not any guitar-playing Joe from off the street can pick one up and play a respectable riff.
The 12-string guitar represents teamwork, doing things better with others, togetherness. The twelve strings are merely two sets of the same six strings, and when played, sounds like two guitars. That too requires skill to master, but when it is mastered it’s a wonderful sound.
The many different types of guitars are a good representation of the varying types of style. They are also wonderful tools in creating music. Those who create music by playing instruments such as guitars tend to understand the powerful allure of music better than others, the way it ensnares and encompasses the very concept of emotion, but that is not always true. Anyone can love music with a passion to match the up-close glare of the sun.
Article posted March 2, 2012 at 02:58 AM GMT0 •
comment (3) • Reads 550
Article posted February 14, 2012 at 07:55 PM GMT0 •
comment (3) • Reads 491
The Ocean Can Be Friend Or Reaper
February Freewrite
There was once a girl who lived on the ocean shore. As she had grown up, the ocean had been her favorite friend; she went out on the beach every day, sometimes swimming, sometimes walking, and sometimes just sitting in the sand, listening to the ocean breathe. She swam very often; so often, that her natural hair color was bleached by the sun, and her skin was permanently salt-water scented. During the summer, she was out on the beach every day, from dawn until dusk and often later.
It was on one of these summer days that she was swimming, far out in the ocean, floating on the backs of the waves. She was out much farther than she had ever been before, but that had never worried her. She just continued swimming, treading water, observing the other-worldly landscape beneath the surface. However, she noticed the current changing; it was getting a little stronger than she was used to. Still she was unconcerned, for it wasn’t anything she couldn’t handle.
The current kept gaining more strength, steadily pushing her farther out to sea. When she noticed what was happening, she began to get a little worried. The waves were rougher out here, the flux of the ocean much stronger and wilder; she was having trouble keeping her head above the tumbling sea surf. She realized where she was; she was stuck in the rip tide. The only way to escape it would be to swim diagonally towards the beach. Although she could only see a small strip of land that was the shore, she began to swim, gaining little progress, her already-tired limbs getting quite heavy.
All of sudden, a very large wave rose up from the water and came crashing down, straight onto the girl. It felt like a hundred hands were pushing her down, forcing her deep under the water. She managed to kick her way back to the surface, but more waves had formed by then. They kept coming, crashing down upon her head, as though the ocean was determined to keep her under. She finally lost all strength to fight it. Her whole body was cold, her lungs were filled with salt water, and the tide was dragging her under.
Right there in the rip tide of the ocean, in the arms of her “favorite friend,” she drowned, her body sinking below the surface, coming to rest on the ocean floor. It was never found.
Article posted February 14, 2012 at 07:55 PM GMT0 •
comment (3) • Reads 491
Article posted February 10, 2012 at 09:15 PM GMT0 •
comment (4) • Reads 715
Feminists would not like the Red Hot Chili Peppers. I am not a feminist.
Construction Theory
Feminists would frown upon the song “She Looks To Me” by Red Hot Chili Peppers because it implies that women aren’t as strong as men and the mentioned woman in the song supposedly needs a man to look up to.
In the song, the opinion that men are more enduring is projected; one verse of the lyrics says “who’s going to take you home when things aren’t so bright? She looks to me.” This verse, and almost all others in the song, implies that every woman needs a man to protect her when things get hard to handle.
Also in the song is the implied surmise that women need a man to idolize. The lyrics of the song say, “She’s searching for another light, she looks to me.” Feminists would most definitely criticize this, for it suggests that women are inferior to men; that women should look up to men.
Although it is, in my opinion, a wonderful piece of music by a magnificent band that has been making music for nigh on thirty years, feminists would not appreciate it so much because it generally implies that men are superior to women.
Article posted February 10, 2012 at 09:15 PM GMT0 •
comment (4) • Reads 715
Article posted February 1, 2012 at 04:08 AM GMT0 •
comment (5) • Reads 661
The Melodies of Crime (Folsom Prison Blues)
January Freespeak
It was a bright sunny day in the park. Children laughed and ran, playing their own made-up games, while protective adults smiled and watched them, picnicking beneath the shade of the leafy trees. A man walked along the sidewalk, a heavy guitar case in his hand, observing the children and enjoying the lovely day. This man loved music, thought that every minute of every day should be filled with it. So he decided he’d play his instrument, thinking maybe some people might get enjoyment out of it. He sat down on the grass, pulled out his acoustic guitar, and began to play. He wove wondrous melodies of music; the very trees seemed to wave in delight from it. Everyone in the park seemed to enjoy it as well, smiling at him in approval. That is, until a policeman appeared. He seemed angry, yelling about how the music man was disturbing the peace with his unnecessary noise. The policeman grabbed for the guitar, trying to take it away. This angered the music man. This was his instrument, the one thing he could speak with in a language understood by all, that which he expressed his every emotion and thought. No words could replace the music he made with his guitar. The fact that some unknowing policeman was trying to take this away from the man made him incredibly angry. He refused to give up his guitar. Next thing he knew, the music man was sitting in court, being charged with assaulting an officer. He hadn’t meant to hurt anyone, but they said he had broken the policeman’s nose. The man told everyone that he could never hurt someone like that, that he couldn’t even recall throwing a punch, but no one listened. The music man received a sentence of three years in federal prison.
Article posted January 1, 2012 at 09:23 PM GMT0 •
comment (5) • Reads 632
In Part III of Something Wicked This Way Comes by Ray Bradbury, Will and Mr. Halloway are running through the darkened carnival, not a single light shining save for the moon, looking for Jim. During their frantic search they come across two of the carnivals freaks, standing in the darkness watching, waiting. Instead of attempting to capture the two, like they expect, the freaks stay where they are, hiding, making no move towards them. Will wonders at this, and Mr. Halloway says they must be scared.
Why are the carnival freaks scared of Will and Mr. Halloway?
Article posted January 1, 2012 at 09:23 PM GMT0 •
comment (5) • Reads 632
Article posted December 16, 2011 at 03:53 PM GMT0 •
comment (7) • Reads 823
A Lion's Life Lesson
December Freewrite
There was once a small lion cub, very young, who loved to explore. He would run everywhere, exploring grasslands, forests, ponds, everything. He would climb the trees, jumping from branch to branch, to lie on the topmost branch and observe the land rolled out beneath him like a map. He would run through the tall grass as fast as he could go, scaring dozens of small animals but enjoying it anyway. On his journeys and adventures he would meet many new animals, ones he knew of and ones he had never seen before. One day he came across a quite peculiar animal, it was almost like a giraffe, except with a shorter neck, a longer back, no horns, a wider nose, and black and white strips all over its body. Being a very curious lion, he walked up to the strange animal and asked its name and species. The strange little thing snorted in fear and tried to gallop away, though it tripped over its own long wobbly legs and landed sprawled in the dirt.
The lion cub laughed, and said, “You’re a silly creature! I just want to know your name and such; I’ve never seen one like you before!”
The animal slowly, tremblingly, stood up, and in a shaky voice said, “You promise you won’t eat me?”
The lion laughed again, “Eat you! Why would I do that? My mother always told me not to put strange things in my mouth!”
“Alright,” the creature said, not sounding entirely convinced but going on anyway, “I am a zebra. I was only born a few days ago, so I can’t run too wonderfully yet. And you would eat me because you are my natural predator.”
“A zebra, you say?” Said the lion thoughtfully, but his expression changed to horrified shock as the rest of what the zebra said processed in his mind. “Natural enemies? No! Why can’t we just be friends, like in those cliché children’s movies where the two most unlikely animals become the very best of friends? We could do that!”
“What’s a ‘movie’?” The zebra asked, but before either one could say anything else, a much bigger zebra came running towards them, the young zebra’s mother it seemed to be. She snorted and whinnied and made all sorts of fearful noises, and pulled her child away, not wanting him to perhaps be the young lion cub’s lunch. The little zebra gave the lion an apologetic look and galloped away with his mother. The lion, very confused, sat down in the dirt, wondering why the world was as it was, why a lion and a zebra couldn’t be friends.
As if guessing his question, a wise old bird sitting in a nearby tree sung out an answer in a croaky old voice, “You cannot be friends because most everyone judges everyone by appearance! You’re forever doomed to be perceived as a mindless meat-eating machine!”
The lion looked shocked at first, then, realizing the bird was right, began to cry, for the world truly was a horrible place, full of wrongful judging and stereotyping.
Article posted December 16, 2011 at 03:53 PM GMT0 •
comment (7) • Reads 823
Article posted December 8, 2011 at 04:08 PM GMT0 •
comment (2) • Reads 1355
Part II
In Something Wicked This Way Comes by Ray Bradbury, Jim and Will have angered the people of the carnival. So, the carnies make plans to come after them, sending the Dust Witch to find where they live. She does find them; she descends upon Jim's house and marks the roof with silver paint. The boys wash it off, then go back in their rooms and wait. She senses that they have removed the mark, and comes back; this time Will is waiting for her. He entices her back, then leads her to an abandoned house in town to fight her off. During this event, Will does not wake up Jim. He does not alert him like usual, for the two always go out at night together, but Will fights the Witch on his own.
Why does he do this? Why does Will refrain from waking Jim that night for the battle?
Article posted December 8, 2011 at 04:08 PM GMT0 •
comment (2) • Reads 1355
Article posted December 7, 2011 at 06:21 PM GMT0 •
comment • Reads 110
Extra Credit
Kelly
Miss Transue
CP English
24 October 2011
Your Promises Sound Like Lies
It’s that feeling, the one that we’ve all felt where you know in your gut that something is wrong. Imagine waking up, feeling that universal feeling, then realizing your spouse is gone. You don’t know where or why, but you have to assume they’re dead. Recently I was privileged to read “The Djinn Who Lived Between Night and Day,” where a similar situation happened to an unnamed man. His children had died the night before, and he woke up the next morning to find his wife was gone. The theme of “The Djinn Who Lived Between Night and Day” is that sometimes, lies are better than the truth. This theme is portrayed when the Djinns Tayab and Al-faq appears and lies to the wife, the husband, and the villagers. Despite these benefits many still believe the lies were wrong.
The first victim of Tayab’s lies was the wife. The story starts out with the seven children of a married couple dying. The woman, whose name is not given, nearly goes mad with grief. As it is said in the story; “I heard shrieks more terrible than all the rest. There a woman was tearing at her clothes, pulling out her hair. Her husband tried to hold her hands at her sides. He was crying, too, but not like her. His face was wet, but he was silent. Her arms and his were bloodied where she had scratched them. And her keening! Oh, I have seldom heard grief like hers” (Djinn 1). A genie named Tayab decides to take advantage of her grief, and goes to her in the middle of night as she lays awake in bed and tells her that if she follows his instructions, he will bring her children back to life. His instructions were: “Get up. Go out. Walk west. Go until you can go no farther. I will give you a sign that your children have returned, but you must stay there by the sea, alone, with nothing. You must never speak again. You must never seek your children, for if you find one then all seven must die” (Djinn 2). They were cruel commands, nevertheless though the woman followed them. Tayab lied to her, made her believe her children were alive, and although it was false, it made her happy. Though she could never go anywhere else or speak again, she was content because she believed her children were brought back from the dead. So even though lies are thought wrong, the woman lived a happier life living in her ignorance.
A similar thing happened to the woman’s husband, this time from a genie named Al-faq. He gave the man the same instructions, except the direction in which to walk. Al-faq told the man: “Get up. Walk south. Walk until you can go no farther. I will give you a sign that your wife and children have returned to life, but you must stay there by the sea, alone, with nothing. You must never speak again. You must never seek the ones you love, for if you find one, then all eight must die” (Djinn 4). Once again, though the man had everything taken from him, he was happier believing in a lie than knowing the truth, for it says in the passage: “The man nodded again and smiled wearily. He made a gesture of gratitude, of blessing” (Djinn 4). Though it left him with nothing, the man was serene believing in the lies rather than knowing his loved ones were actually dead.
Finally, the villagers are deceived and in some way lied to as well. The man and woman are living by two different oceans, silent and alone but satisfied thinking their family is alive, even if they can’t be with them. The people in the nearest village by both oceans believe they are holy people, and care for them because of this belief. As stated about the woman in the story, “Villagers by the sea found her. They bring her food. They think she is a holy woman.” The same thing happened to the man. The two are, of course, not holy people, but the villagers still care for them because they believe they are saintly. Though it is a lie, it is a good thing, because it is keeping the man and woman alive. Had the villagers not believed this fabrication, the couple would both be dead. It was lies that kept them alive and happy, rather than living unhappily in the reality of their situations.
Despite all the positive reasons why the lie was beneficial, some might say that the lies also took everything from them. For the man and woman, they both lived in caves by the sea, with nothing but the clothes on their backs, and they cannot speak ever again. However, anyone could have everything they’ve ever wanted and not be fully satisfied. Material possessions are not always necessary for happiness. In the passage the genie even admitted his lie, telling the woman to go home, but she refused. She was happier being alone in a cave by the sea with nothing, believing her children alive, rather than living in a house with more luxurious things, knowing her children were dead.
Do you have someone you love or like very much; a boyfriend or girlfriend, maybe a spouse? Not knowing the outcome either way, would you rather think them dead or alive? In his case, the man chose to believe the lie told to him that his wife was alive, for he was happier thinking so. Lies are not always good, but they are not always bad either. In this situation, lies were a very good thing. Lies can sometimes be beneficial, such as in “The Djinn Who Lived Between Night and Day,” when the two Djinns lie to the wife, the husband, and the villagers.
Article posted November 21, 2011 at 09:36 PM GMT0 •
comment (2) • Reads 1523
In Something Wicked This Way Comes by Ray Bradbury, Jim and Will see their 7th grade school teacher, Miss Foley at the carnival. They talk, and she says she is going to go into the Mirror Maze. When she suggests it, Will immediately speaks against it, although she goes in anyway. She comes out a changed woman, afraid of and weighed down from what she saw in the maze. What happened to Miss Foley in the Mirror Maze, what did she see?
Article posted November 21, 2011 at 09:36 PM GMT0 •
comment (2) • Reads 1523
Article posted November 21, 2011 at 06:27 PM GMT0 •
comment (3) • Reads 1311
Mouthful Of Mouse
3rd time's a charm
Dramatic:
There was once an old cat, heavy in weight, lazy in activity. He only moved to get food, change sleeping positions, and swat at a young mouse that always taunted him. He used to chase the mouse all over the place in his younger days, but now he was older and obese, he no longer had the energy to perform such tasks. So, instead, he would sleep in the sun, and when the mouse scampered around in front of him, he would take a swipe or two then let it be.
It was a very sunny day as the cat lay on the carpet, sunbathing himself in the afternoon shine. As usual, the mouse ran out from his hidey hole and danced in front of the cat, trying to get him to move, but the cat refused. He didn’t even move a leg. So, the mouse climbed on the cat’s nose and danced in front of his closed eyes. The cat remained stationary. The mouse repeated the activity for a few minutes until, suddenly, the cat jerked his head, sent the mouse flying into the air, opened his jaws, and in one gulp, swallowed the mouse whole. As the mouse parts digested in his belly, the cat went back to sleep.
Limited:
There was once an old cat, heavy in weight, lazy in activity. He only moved to get food, change sleeping positions, and swat at a young mouse that always taunted him. Of exercising, he thought little. Of the mouse, he had once had flaming contempt and raging hatred, but now he didn’t care much, and any attempts at the mouse were half-hearted. He used to chase the mouse all over the place in his younger days, but now he was older and obese, he no longer had the energy nor motive to perform such tasks. So, instead, he would sleep in the sun, dreaming of food, and when the mouse scampered around in front of him, he would take a swipe or two then let it be.
It was a very sunny day as the cat lay on the carpet, sunbathing himself in the afternoon shine, fantasizing of swelled rivers teaming with fish. As usual, the mouse ran out from his hidey hole and danced in front of the cat, trying to get him to move, but the cat refused. He didn’t even move a leg. He didn’t care about the mouse at all, only focusing on breathing. So, the mouse climbed on the cat’s nose and danced in front of his closed eyes. The cat remained stationary, hardly even noticing the mouse’s insubstantial weight. The mouse repeated the activity for a few minutes until, suddenly, the cat jerked his head, sent the mouse flying into the air, opened his jaws, and in one gulp, swallowed the mouse whole. As the mouse parts digested in his belly, the cat went back to sleep, feeling a deep sense of satisfaction. Purring deep in his throat, the cat knew he had won.
Omniscient:
There was once an old cat, heavy in weight, lazy in activity. He only moved to get food, change sleeping positions, and swat at a young mouse that always taunted him. Of exercising, he thought little. Of the mouse, he had once had flaming contempt and raging hatred, but now he didn’t care much, and any attempts at the mouse were half-hearted. Of the cat, the mouse thought he was much too lazy, and needed the mouse to trick him into exercise. The mouse thought it was great fun tantalizing that cat, although he found it increasingly hard to provoke a reaction out of the cat. The cat used to chase the mouse all over the place in his younger days, which the mouse had enjoyed, but now the cat was older and obese, he no longer had the energy nor the motive to perform such tasks. So, instead, he would sleep in the sun, dreaming of food, and when the mouse scampered around in front of him, hoping to get the cat on his feet, the cat would take a swipe or two then let it be.
It was a very sunny day as the cat lay on the carpet, sunbathing himself in the afternoon shine, fantasizing of swelled rivers teaming with fish. As usual, the mouse ran out from his hidey hole and danced in front of the cat, in hopes of getting him to move, but the cat refused. He didn’t even move a leg. He didn’t care about the mouse at all, only focusing on breathing. So, the mouse climbed on the cat’s nose and, feeling daring, danced in front of his closed eyes. The cat remained stationary, hardly even noticing the mouse’s insubstantial weight. The mouse’s frustration grew; he repeated the activity for a few minutes until, suddenly, the cat jerked his head, sent the mouse flying into the air, opened his jaws, and in one gulp, swallowed the mouse whole. In the spilt second before he fell into the cat’s wide-open maw, the mouse let loose a tiny, high-pitched mouse scream, flailing his limbs, he saw his life flash before his eyes and felt an intense fear course through his body. Then, he descended down the cat’s esophagus. As the mouse parts digested in his belly, the cat went back to sleep, feeling a deep sense of satisfaction. Purring deep in his throat, the cat knew he had won.
Article posted November 21, 2011 at 06:27 PM GMT0 •
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Article posted November 15, 2011 at 07:14 PM GMT0 •
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The Monster Of Grief
November Freewrite
The girl trudged down the field path, her heart heavy in her chest, her shoulders bent forward, her entire upper body caved in on itself, crumpled from depression, as sobs of deep grief wracked her body. Her friend, her best friend, the one whom she had shared everything with, her every thought, every time, good and bad, was gone. He had joined the Air Force. She hadn’t liked the decision from the start, but she had supported him anyway. He had seemed so excited to be doing some good for the country.
In a moment of weakness she had asked him,
“why? Why do you want to join up and leave me here? We always go on adventures together, and now you’re going on this adventure alone.”
He had replied,
“Because someone has to. Someone has to fight. And this is more of a duty, for the strong. I don’t want you to come along, only because I don’t want you hurt. I’m doing this to protect you and others I love.”
“That someone doesn’t have to be you,”she had said, trying to hide her panic.
“But it does,” his voice was gentle, an attempt at comforting;
“I’m strong enough to do this, so I must.”
A month later, he was gone, off to boot camp. Another month passed, and he was overseas. With her best friend an ocean away, this had taken a terrible toll on the girl. She ate less, slept less, didn’t often laugh like she used to, and constantly worried. Though they wrote each other letters every day, anxiety gnawed at her insides like a poison.
Then, the news came. The letter she had been dreading since the day he signed up.
“We are very sorry to inform you,” it began. She could barely bring herself to read the rest. He was dead, killed when an enemy plane had blown up his aircraft. They could not locate his body from the explosion, but there was no chance of his survival.
She collapsed right where she stood, sobbing, wailing her grief for all the world to hear. All she could feel was the newly-ripped black hole inside her, where her soul used to be. He was gone, as was a big part of her. Neither would ever return. She dropped the letter, and ran; through the house, out the door, across the road, past fields and woods. She had run many miles before she could go no longer, and slowed to a walk. Trudging now, she stopped. Her knees gave out, and she fell, lying on that field path. Looking up at the darkening sky, she closed her eyes and wept.
Article posted November 15, 2011 at 07:14 PM GMT0 •
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Article posted October 19, 2011 at 06:20 PM GMT0 •
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There's Always A Kidnapper Waiting To Strike
October Freewrite
All Hallows Eve, the night when the line between the spirit world and the real world is thinnest. Ghosts, ghouls, spirits, and all sorts of monsters are free to roam the human world. There was a small child, a boy named Matt, who had just turned seven. His parents had never let him go trick-or-treating in his previous years, saying he was too young to do such things, but this year would be different. This year he was old enough to go out, not even with his parents, but with a group of his friends from school. And so he set out on October 31st, dressed as a lion, with his friends. All was going fine; they were hitting up all the houses on that side of their small town, when Matt got separated. They had run through some tall bushes and he had taken a wrong turn, come out somewhere else, on a street he didn’t know. At first he was unconcerned, thinking he’d find his friends soon, but as he wandered farther and farther down the street, he began to grow worried. There were no lights on, no other people in sight, nothing made a sound. Little Matt didn’t notice a large white van slowing creeping down the street behind him, its headlights off. By now the poor child was very afraid, panicking as he sat down underneath a large oak tree. In his fearful state he again failed to notice the white van, whose door was now silently opening as a man dressed in black stepped out.
The man walked over to Matt, grabbed him by the arm, and pulled him up to stand. Matt screamed. “Hush now, boy!” The dark man growled, “You’ve been wandering down my street long enough, you obviously don’t know where you are. Now come on, son, get in the van, I’m taking you to your home. You’ve had enough trick-or-treating for one night.” And with that, he buckled Matt into his van and dropped him off at his house, where Matt’s parents thanked the man with relief for bringing their only son home safe.
Meanwhile, no one noticed the second white van, the one that had been following Matt the whole time. Matt didn’t notice the whole night he was trick-or-treating, the man didn’t notice when he was coming to Matt’s rescue, and Matt’s parents didn’t notice when they were hugging their son, thankful he was home safe; but it was there. From inside the white van, it’s headlights off, a man and women sat in the front. “We were so close,” the man growled, cursing the dark man who had unknowingly helped Matt escape their clutches. “I know,” the women murmured consolingly. “Don’t worry; we’ll get him next year.” The kidnappers drove away, the rope, duct tape, and extra body bags bouncing in the back of the van.
Article posted October 19, 2011 at 06:20 PM GMT0 •
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Article posted October 14, 2011 at 07:09 PM GMT0 •
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Education Shackles and Growth Hormones for Grass
Pay Attention to Me!
You walk into class on a Monday morning, tired and unwilling to don on the shackles of education. You sit down at your desk, and watch through bleary eyes as forty other students file into the room. You live in a big city; trouble at your school is all too common; children bringing knives, selling drugs, starting fights, even a school shooting; it’s basically an everyday thing. Some kids are smart and do their work; others are dropouts waiting to happen. I think all teachers should be considered heroes because they educate children, influence the leaders of tomorrow, and risk their lives every day for the sake of knowledge.
Have you ever gone outside, plopped down in the grass, and just lay on the lawn, enjoying the feel of the green grass against your skin? Most all of us have. However, did you know there is greener, better grass? It’s on the other side. The grass is greener on the other side, because the other side gets more water, is in a warmer climate, and is treated with better growth hormones.
Article posted October 14, 2011 at 07:09 PM GMT0 •
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Article posted October 5, 2011 at 07:33 PM GMT0 •
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It Could Be A Kidnapping Plot
Djinn Theme
Theme: Don’t believe everything you’re told.
Story Application: In the story “The Djinn Who Lived Between Night and Day,” Tayab lies and tells a woman, whose children have all died of a disease, that he can bring them back to life if she obeys his instructions. He tells her to walk west as far as she can to the ocean shore, to stay there forever more, and never talk again. In her time of emotional weakness, she believes Tayab and does everything he says. When she completes his instructions, he reveals that he is a genie and did not actually bring her children back to life, yet she still believes that her children are alive and keeps following his instructions, not talking or going home.
Real Life Application: You shouldn’t always believe everything you’re told because, like in the story, it could be a lie. For example, if a random stranger pulls up in a van, tells you he lost his puppy and requests that you help him find it, he is most likely lying and acting upon a plot to kidnap you. In such cases, you should turn around and run very fast in the opposite direction. So in real life, like in the story, not everyone always tells the truth.
Article posted October 5, 2011 at 07:33 PM GMT0 •
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Article posted September 21, 2011 at 06:18 PM GMT0 •
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The Purple Coffin
September Freewrite
Have you ever been to a viewing, or a funeral, perhaps? I’m sure you have. Most have attended at least one of them throughout their lives. I’ve had the misfortune to have attended a few, but probably the most forlorn viewing I’ve ever experienced was the one I went to on a Tuesday night about two weeks ago. It was that of a former student and friend, she was just fifteen years old; much too young to die. As I walked into the funeral home, gloom was heavy upon the room. There were many depressing factors, such as the slide show of pictures of her past, and the sad music which inspires people to cry themselves to sleep. Maybe the most horrible thing was the sight of her grandparents, huddling together in the corner, looking like the very picture of despair. The lost look on their faces, implying they would never again find happiness in the world, was worse than tears. They didn’t talk much; their grief looked far beyond the help of condolences. The flower arrangements, though brightly colored, only seemed to bring out the death in the room.
As I walked through the line of family members, I noticed their eyes, determinedly trying to avoid looking at the closed casket a few feet away. They were at least more successful than everyone else in the room; all eyes were inevitably drawn to it. There was a sizeable crowd, but they all spoke in low voices, mentally acknowledging the loss of life that haunted the room. The silence that shrouded the casket area was the loudest thing in the proximity. Throughout the whole desolate event, I couldn’t help but think; at least her coffin was purple, like she wanted.
Article posted September 21, 2011 at 06:18 PM GMT0 •
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Article posted September 15, 2011 at 07:09 PM GMT0 •
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A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words
A Visual Representation of Me
My name is Kelly, and I had to decorate my binder for English. For this visual representation, I had to have four pictures and a quote. My first picture was of an acoustic guitar in a jar, with the caption “Sound captured,” to represent my personality. I chose this picture because I play guitar; music is the most important thing to me. My second picture, representing something I like, was of an album cover from the band Jack’s Mannequin. I like this band and listen to them often. For my third picture, I used one of Sam I Am holding a plate of green eggs and ham, from the book Green Eggs and Ham by Dr. Seuss. This was a positive memory of my life as a reader, because my mother read this book to me many times, among others by Dr. Seuss. For the fourth picture, which could be anything and represent anything, was a close-up of a green leaf. I chose it because there is much beauty in nature which must be preserved, and trees are very important. For the last thing, my quote, I chose song lyrics from the song "Dashboard" by the band Modest Mouse; "The dashboard melted but we still have the radio." I chose this quote because, first off, I love that song and the band. Also because I think it's a good sentence to live by, for it states that despite any misfortune that may befall you, there will still be something to live for and be happy about. In a more literal sense, it also states that when all else fails, music will always be there, for there is a song for almost every feeling you could ever feel if you can find the right song. That is my binder, thank you for reading this.
Article posted September 15, 2011 at 07:09 PM GMT0 •
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