Fantasy study

The following is simply a study on a fantasy magic system, and characters. Maybe more will come in the future.


Kadwin checked her saddlebag, blindly reaching--hoping--for any fruit left. None. The trees here were barren, not at all like home. She turned back towards the fire, a small rabbit was roasting, she could smell it, her stomach growled at the thought of food--the first all day--but she made herself walk dignified towards it. He was watching. He still hadn't given her his name, but she didn't need, or even want, it. His deep-red coat almost blended in to the shadows, his hood still covered his face. His face, she shivered at the thought of it, The one glance she had gotten was enough--his eyes were dead, as if he no longer cared about life. She walked next to him, sat down on the rocky ground and adjusted her skirts. He had his sword in hand, one palm lightly holding it at the hilt, the other at the blade. Its double-edge gleamed in the firelight, an inscription ran down the blade in some language she did not recognize. The guard depicted an eagle in flight, wing-tips stretched towards the point, the two-handed grip was covered in black leather, the pommel was a ruby gripped between the eagle's talons. It was a beautiful weapon, but Kadwin much preferred her bow.


With a start, he stood. He was easily the tallest man she had ever seen, taller than any horse, even if one measured it to the tip of its ears, except, maybe his own. She looked around for what had startled him, then she heard it. A scream, a bloodcurdling, fear inducing, scream. It was followed by countless others. His sword was in one hand, his other was stretched out towards the fire. It blew towards him, into his open palm, and disappeared. He thrust his hood back, and she saw his face again. It would have been a handsome face, were it not for the dead eyes, the three parallel scars that ran down his face from each one, it was horrifying to look at.

"Grab your bow, and stay put," he growled.

"What are those things?" she said in return.

"Bes'trolls, maybe a Shade. Keep your eyes open, the Shadow moves tonight." Kadwin was sure that she blinked, he was right in front of her for one second, then five feet away the next. And again, ten feet, fifteen, she lost him in the trees. She hurried to her bow, and waited.

Choices...

My laptop just died on me, along with all the chapters I have worked on for my book. I have that at least backed-up, but now I must make the choice of whether I should go through the effort of moving my book to a new computer, or simply start over. At current, my literary genre of choice is epic fantasy, so writing sci-fi is a lot harder.

After two Months...

My parents took me out of catholic school and enrolled me in an internet school. The catholic school wasn't accredited and I'd already taken half the classes anyway so it was a waste of time. I'm kinda mad because those are the same reasons that I gave to not go in the first place, but whatever...

Going down to Panama

...If only in my dreams tonight...

What Keeps me Writing pt. 2

I am what I write. I write what I am.

Writing is not simply putting pen to paper, it is more. When I write, I do not simply etch my pen to whatever pops into my head. No, I sit there ready while faceless shadows creep up and tell me their story. They slowly become people, wondrous, terrible, people. The Brutes, Judas, Ephiliates, Benedict Arnolds. The Hercules, Ceasars, Aragorns, knights in shining armor. The Achilles, the Romeos, Odesyus. They whisper in one ear, dictating their tales. In the other, Shakespeare, Tolkien, Carrol, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, guide my mind, my hand, my pen.

These people, the shadows, and the grand Authors, they strike when least expected, but when they do, it is wonderful. When they leave, they leave a void that aches to be filled. It must be filled. And so I must write. They return when I do, They return to their grandeur, to their prime.

They live in the pen, the ink, the page. They live forever, if but I only give them a chance. And so I write.

And I will write. Until I can no longer feel the pen. Until I no longer hear the click of the keyboard. Until I can no longer smell the crispness of a new book. Until I can no longer see the pages, the letters. I will write. I will write so that I can live forever, to join the ranks of great authors, writers, poets. I will write

One of my favorite quotes ever:

"There is one rule, above all others, for being a man. Whatever comes, face it on your feet."
— Robert Jordan (The Great Hunt)

Bicentenario

Tonight is the 200th anniversary of Mexican Independence. There's a big party going on practically right outside our hotel, but my family is boring and think it will be more fun to stay inside and watch the tube. Oh well, At least I might be able to see some fireworks.

The Nacho Cheese is a Lie

And so are sombreros.

I've been in Mexico for almost two whole days and I have yet to see any form of nacho cheese or sombreros. What the heck is up with the American visualization of Mexicans? 

Oh well.

My new house is pretty awesome. Especially my bedroom. Even though it is about the size of my parent's bathroom, it has some pretty cool features:
 
  1.It is like my own personal Man Cave. It is the only downstairs bedroom.

  2.It is right next to the secretive back staircase.

  3.The AC and Fan actually work, making mine one of the coldest rooms in the house. This is especially important when under the hot Mexican sun.

Remember Me

For any of you who still read the blogs, this is for you:

While the time has come for most of you to say hello, I have come to say goodbye. Chances are we'll never meet again, but for at least once in my life, I hope against probability, pray against logic and try to look beyond the rational. This school has changed me, shaped me into who I am. I will remember each time I passed anyone of you in the hallway, each joke, each time we sat and laughed, I will remember you. So I ask just one thing: Remember me.

I don't know if anyone even checks the blogs anymore, but I pray that, even if you haven't been on blogger since we stopped in English class, even if you never will again, you will feel the urge to look up my blog one last time. this time. I want you to read this heartfelt farewell because I don't want to be the kind of person who fades away and is forgotten, that one kid from eighth grade science, so I ask one thing: Remember me.

Through my years at this school, I have learned friendship, and the very though of leaving any of you, whether we were friends or just acquaintances. Whether you worshiped me or hated me or even simply knew me. The anguish that I feel every time I think of leaving is tearing me apart. I know that I cannot hold on, but I will not let go. So please, do just one thing: Remember me.

It's not the move that I am worried about. I don't mind moving to new places and going on new adventures, its you that I am terrified of leaving. All of you, any friend that I have made here. If I could, I would pick up the school and everyone in it, and take it to Mexico. But I can't so please do one thing: Remember me.

Today I went to Meet the Teacher day, I kept a straight face, but it was simply a dam to hold back the tears, the memories of four years of living here, I looked into everyone's face, knowing that this could be the last time. It was all I could do to hold back the flood of emotion that threatened to burst through my straight face every time I saw a friend, a familiar face, a teacher, a fellow student. with each goodbye I felt my soul being torn to pieces, being ripped by greedy claws, being cut with a dull blade. I couldn't stand it, but I held back every tear, every last one, but behind my emotionless face, everything I have ever done here sloshed around in turmoil and chaos.With each piece of my soul that was torn by this chaos, I felt something die inside. This world is dying to me, and I watch the end through dying eyes. But some memories never die. my memories of all of you will be pushed around and strained to their limits, but they will not be lost. So I beseech you: Remember me.

All is lost again. But I am not giving in. I will move on. I will keep going. I will not bow. I will not break. Every piece of my soul that is torn off will be replaced by many others ready to take in and love a new world. This pain is so familiar and close to the heart, but no matter what, No more, no less: I won't forget you. So Remember me.

Show me where forever ends and I will be there of this wonderful life that I have lived here not forgotten. So Remember me.

Now, there is nothing left to lose but memories. I pray that I won't lose too many. Don't lose any of me. Remember me.

If I have wronged you in any way please forgive me. I have already forgiven and forgotten any thing that any of you have done to me. I don;t want to become nothing but a fleeting memory, so Remember me.

This is my farewell. My last stand.. Remember me.


Some lines were quoted from the Breaking Benjamin songs Hopeless, I Will Not Bow, and Without You

Eighth Grade Graduation Speech

I was asked by Ms. Brown to give a speech at the eighth grade graduation ceremony. I complied and within two days finished this. I'll admit I was nervous, but I used it to my advantage and spoke louder and clearer than normal. Several teachers came up to me afterward and told me that my speech brought tears to their eyes.

For Three years we have called this building home. It has been a haven and a torture cell, but for three years it has been ours. Now we are leaving it. These walls have seen our smiles and our frowns, our tears and our laughter, our heartbreaks, our joyful moments, our anger, our relief. These walls have housed us, They have kept us safe, but alas, these walls must see us go.

I have noticed a change come over us. A month ago, we were counting down until summer, now, with only hours left, I have found that we are dreading leaving. We fear the future. I would instead have us look at the joys of the past.

Most of us came to this building in sixth grade, we were small, inexperienced and afraid, but four teachers took us under their wings: Ms. Royo, Ms. Gaudiano, Ms. Shibuta and Ms. Brown. Then, before we knew it, we were whisked away into a new, exciting world called seventh grade. We saw friends come and go that year, but with the help of our numerous teachers, we pressed onward. Seventh grade ended, and Eighth began. We finally saw the harbor: the end of the Journey that we began in sixth grade. Now, however, we see that this harbor is not our destination, but rather, a port to re-supply for the next leg of our voyage.

Now that we have matured, and seen the rough seas in front of us, those that we have passed seem like a gentle, calm, wondrous passage compared with the uncharted waters of the future. In olden times, when there was little or nothing known about parts of the ocean, mapmakers would label them with the line Here There be Monsters. We know little or nothing about the future, so we too have labeled High school with the term Here There be Monsters. We have no idea what it will be like and so we fear it. But these waters are not truly unknown: Our teachers have passed through before us and they have prepared us to follow in their wake. I would like to thank Ms. Brown for all of her work in not only teaching us, but in making sure we were ready. When we passed her in the beginning of the year, our sails were torn and our rudders were slow to respond to the tiller, but she saw our need and patched our sails. She fixed our rudders and now we are ready to sail onward.

Our other teachers also saw our need and they made sure that our charts were accurate and our instruments precise. We will always remember the help you have given us and we are grateful for it. In seventh and eighth grade, we have had so many teachers, so I am unable to thank you all, but we will always cherish this leg of the journey: For, though we boldly sail into the future, we will always take time to remember the Past. Thank you for your hard work. Thank you for helping us make it.

The Achilles Heels of the Human Soul

Description:
The human soul is the least perfect thing in the universe. For every drop of love, there is an ounce of hate. For every time of peace, there are months of war. For every ray of hope, there is a cloud of despair. Everything good in the world has a nasty side. Whereas Achilles had only one weak spot, we have many.

Synopsis:
These are poems about about war and peace, about hope and despair. These are poems about the soul.

Poetry:

A Poison Tree by William Blake

Love's Philosophy by Percy Bysshe Shelley


Mending Wall by Robert Frost

Peace by Henry Vaughan

Requiesquat by Matthew Arnold

The Fall of Rome by W. H. Auden


The Soul Unto Itself by Emily Dickinson


Why is the Color of Snow? by Brenda Shaughnessy

Falling

The darkness,
creeping in,
leaving me
alone
falling endlessly, rapidly hurtling towards the ground
that I can't see
grasping, clawing at the air,
searching for a way to
slow
my descent.
A surge of light,
of power,
of strength,
I find a handhold, a place to rest.
Holding myself close,
safe at last,
my mind moves on
in its slumber
leaving me
until I can
catch up

Melancholy

My mother sat by the computer, phone in her hand. It was my dad. I knew it
Eavesdropping on her side of the conversation, I heard her say: "Should I tell them?" She didn't speak again, but she nodded her head.
"Love you, bye," she said finally. I waited for her to continue.
After an antagonizing moment, she did.
"Nosotros va a..." she spoke, struggling with her Spanish.
"Can I speak?" We were laughing at her, but she continued, "We're moving."
Hateful tears filled my eyes. We couldn't be... not now, not when I had come to love this place so much.
Overtaken by the lump in my throat, I sat back,
Loving my life, my friends, not wanting to give them up.
Yearning to keep the time I still had.

Return

A Naval Officer stood on the sand
Without grownups, the boys stood beside him
crying, acknowledging the crimes they'd committed
a semi-circle nearly complete
save three:
Simon
Piggy
The boy with the mark on his face

"Nobody killed?" the Officer asked
The savages stood silent: they knew what they'd done
Ralph, the leader, stood alone
wishing he could have done more
The boys wept
for the end of innocence
for the darkness of man's heart
for the fall through the air of the true, wise friend called
Piggy

The Officer's eyes rested
on the trim cruiser in the distance

Without Regard

Noxious scarlet
boiling pink

Plumes exploding
in the awe-inspiring nightfall

Plunging cataclysmically
crevices halting
the steaming hot lava

Erupting without regard
for ice caps
for humanity
for Mother Nature

Anticipation

Anticipation
Wait for days that never come
Freedom seems so close
Seems so very far away
Minutes go by but days never do

DEFEAT

Death's cold embrace looms
Et tu Brute? You were betrayed by those you thought you knew
Friendless
Easily slipping away into nothingness
Any hope of a Last Stand swiftly flees, leaving you without a chance
Tired, you lay down your head for the final blow

FLAME

Freeing faith from the bondage of darkness
Like the last lifeboat off the Titanic
Anchoring just before the storm
Making it through to the end
Entirely safe while you watch the world burn

BALBOA

Brain dead, I hobbled through the door. I was a zombie: no brain functions were working, no thoughts raced through my brain. I vaguely noticed the car, vaguely noticed my siblings. I was a member of the horde of the Morning Undead.

"Almost out of time!" my mom exclaimed, stepping on the gas. Out of another life, I remembered the school clock was minutes behind ours. The car rolled to a stop, I stepped on the wet grass. I waited in the middle school until the bell rang, and then I rushed to the high school. Unfortunately, the AC was cranked up to the max. I was a member of the horde of the Morning Undead.

Lethargically, I picked up my pencil and started the first problem. I shivered, my wet hair freezing to my scalp like a  drip of water on a cold winter day. The weather here is anything but winter. I finished the next problem, I continued to the next. I was a member of the horde of the Morning Undead.

"Borrow me a pencil, will ya?" someone asked, I reached for my spare, still half asleep, and handed it to him. "Lend me a pencil" I muttered, "lend me a pencil."  I sat back up and finished another problem. Almost done. I was a member of the horde of the Morning Undead.

"Only a few minutes to go," I muttered to myself. I finished the last few problems and stuffed my books into my bag, staring at the clock, willing it to change its digital face, anticipating the bell ringing. When it did, I returned to the middle school. I was a member of the horde of the Morning Undead.

As I passed through the door, the second bell rang, but I had a good excuse, so I went to the office for a pass. I coolly stated my name and my next class. I headed up the stairs, my zombie-ism forgotten. I was a member of the horde of the Morning Undead no longer.

POETRY

"Probably, Mom forgot us," I said to my brother as we were waiting for her to pick us up from school, " She's been known to do it before." He agreed, and sat down. we waited for my mom for what  seemed like hours, but must have only been minutes. Finally, my mom pulled up, and we ran to the car. "What are you?" I asked her.

"On Time," She replied as we hopped in, she drove slowly to the house. "Eight minutes late," I informed her. I instantly realized how stupid I sounded. Face-palm, I thought. We pulled into the driveway, and I ran to the door, my heavy bags beating against my legs. I sat down  at the table, finished my history homework, and pulled out my English homework. I had finished half of the Acrostic in class, but I was stuck.

Every time I tried to thin of a paragraph for the letter "O", I came up with nothing. Writing an Acrostic is harder than it looks. I tried again and again, but I kept failing. Eventually I put it down for a few hours, and I tried to finish when I got back.

Try as I might, I couldn't figure out how to continue. I threw solution after solution at the impassable walls of poetry until on finally got through. After fixing up some loose ends, I continued onto the next letter.

Relentlessly, I attacked the next few letters, the words gushing from my hands, my pen flying across the notebook. I could feel the end of the poem approaching, I could sense it, from the words I was writing, from the careful phrases that I chose. I knew that I was almost there. I wrote the last few sentences.


"Yes!" I exclaimed when I was finally finished, I took a look at the poem that I had finished writing. Satisfied, I went on to finish the rest of my homework.

I Wish the Day Were Longer

All today I've been trying to figure out how to make this an epic ending. Unfortunately, I've been in the same predicament as yesterday and epic would not be anything close to relevant.

The month is all done
It has been sliced through and through
The sun coming down
The silence of the evening
I wish the day were longer

Passage of Time

Today was a waste.

All of my good friends aren't out of school, so I had nothing to do. Until I had to get my braces tightened.

On the way to the dentist's, my mom and I dropped my  sister off at her dance lessons. Eying the traffic coming our way, we gulped. At least we had left the house nearly an hour before the appointment. Eventually we broke through.

We still had time, so we headed off to the grocery store so that my mom could run some errands. The traffic was so bad that it took us around twenty minutes for us to reach the store. My baby brother and I sat in the car while my mom went in, I watching videos on my i-pod, he watching his shoes. As soon as Mom came back, we rushed to the dentist's.

Some five minutes after we came into the sterile waiting lounge, they finally called my name. I went trough the thin wooden door. On the other side I saw pictures of people withe impossibly straight-white teeth. I went into the second room on the right and sat down.

Eventually someone came into the room to take off my old wire and bands. Unfortunately, one of my brackets came off in the process. She had me gargle some Listerine and the she left the room. I sat down.

Ten minutes passed. I was still alone, so I took my i-pod out of my pocket and watched some more videos.

Ten more minutes passed. Solitude was beginning to take over.

After another ten minute's time, the orthodontist came into the room. She put on a new bracket, applied new wires and bands to my teeth, and told me to take better care of my teeth.

I brush them twice a day, but apparently that's not good enough.

Do I H ave to do Them All?

" Everyone come here," my mom said, "I'm going to assign chores.

I groaned. I'd known that it would happen, but I still hated it.

"You clean the library," she said to my sister, "You organize the storage room," she said to my brother.

"Uh-oh," I said, knowing that I was next.

"You rip the music from our CDs onto iTunes." We had hundreds of CDs that no one listened to, so we were putting all the music into our computer digitally so that we could sell the useless hard copies.

I walked down to the computer. I briefly glimpsed a giant cardboard box , and I did a double take. It was filled to the brim with CDs.

"Mom," I whined, "do I have to do them all?"

"Just do it for an hour."

Each CD took ten minutes or so until it was done. I had plenty of time to do nothing, but I had to stay on the computer. I spent most of the time researching some products that I was interested in buying. Most noticeably the Kindle 2. It seems Amazon can delete the e-books without permission, so I was a little turned off, but carrying so many books in such little space would be great. Eventually my hour was up, and I got off the computer.

Burstin' Eardrums

Annoying loud sounds
The stupid truck won't shut up
My headache comes back


Today I went to see my mom finish the three-day race. We sat down among the smoking and drinking mass of bodies while we were waiting for her boat to finish. The smell of cigarettes mingled with the stench of beer and I almost gagged. Next to us was parked a pickup with the bed replaced by an inordinate amount of speakers. It was blaring out annoying sounds --I guess they could vaguely fit under the definition of music--at top volume. My eardrums felt as if they would burst, and Friday's headache returned. Eventually I put my i-pod headphones into my ears and turned up the volume so that it masked the sound of the truck. It didn't do much to stop the destruction of my eardrums, but at least it sounded good.

Blare it Away

I hopped out of the car, stuffing my i-pod into my pocket as I did so. We had come to watch my mom finish the race, but I figured that we would have to wait quite a while. I grabbed a free soda and bag of chips as I searched the crowd for friends and acquaintances. I found some of my friends, those whose mothers were paddling with mine in their boat. They were all busy, and I didn't feel like butting in, so I walked away. Besides, there was no shade where they were sitting.

I walked back up the street. I found myself looking at them, three of them, two boys, one girl. I knew them all from school, and I knew one of the boys from church. We talked and joked about random things, and eventually decided that we needed to move somewhere else to get a better, less-crowded, view. We took off up the railroad tracks.

Some guard started yelling at us, so we switched to the road. Eventually we came to a break in the trees. Two rocks were on the other side of the tangle of rocks and vines. on the other side of the rocks lay the lake. We crawled through the brush, they more quickly than I. I had left my sneakers home. It was just easier to wear flip-flops.

We sat on the rocks, watching the first few boats go by. Our eyes were drawn to the smaller docks. "Isn't that your mom?" one asked the other.

"Yup," he pulled out his cell phone and called her, "Mom, we're coming to you."

Five minutes later we were heading to the smaller docks.

We watched maybe five boats go past us when they spotted a friend in an escort boat. They waved him over and we hopped in. We followed the boats as they finished the race, blaring Rocky music in the process. We followed one, two, three boats to the finish line, and we didn't stop for a while. Waves rocked the boat, filling it with water. with a shock, I remembered my i-pod. After a quick check, I assured myself that it was dry and safe.

Eventually We pulled up to the main dock and the four of us got off. Almost instantly after I got back to my dad, I saw my mom's boat.

Only Made it Worse

I felt as if my head were on fire
as if someone had hit the back of my head
with a heavy torch

I felt as if my head were exploding
as if someone had inserted dinamite
into my cranium

I felt as if my head was being constantly knocked on
as if a woodpecker were hanging
from my ear

I tried to contain a scream
a scream that went unheard by everyone
but myself

Every bright light
every loud noise, every sudden movement
only made it worse

I didn't know where it came form
I didn't know how bad
it would get

I go now to lay down and get some rest

Winning Streak

This week I've been extremely lucky. Maybe a four-leaf clover got stuck in my shoe. Maybe I was hit by a radioactive meteorite. Maybe I was hit by a lightning bolt, but for the past few days, I've been on a winning streak.

On Tuesday I won a twenty dollar gift certificate because no one else even tried to compete in the contest. I won by default.

On Wednesday I--or rather my group--won, among other things, a Where's Waldo game at the mall. We had thirty minutes to find four people. We won because the other group (they finished before us) ran to the other end of the mall because none of them were listening when we told them where to meet up.

Today, Thursday, I won a jeopardy game in the morning and a soccer game in the afternoon, both against great odds. I guess I'm just lucky.

They Didn't Tell Us Why

They gave us student IDs today. They told us we needed them. They said they gave us benefits. They said those benefits weren't available here. They gave us student IDs today. They didn't tell us why.

Apparently we could get in cheap to a movie theater, but not here. My mom's student ID got her into the schools basketball games, we don't have those here. They don't sell alcoholic beverages in the cafeteria. Why do we need student ID's?

If you know, please tell me, I can't see the point of wasting ink and paper for a useless card.

The Breath of Life

I picked up a few sticks, about the thickness of my thumb. I gently stacked them on top of each other, pyramid-like, I carefully reached for some more sticks, the thickness of a pencil, and leaned them up against the pyramid. I grabbed some twigs, the thickness of a piece of pencil lead, and added those to the structure. Taking some lint and leaves, I placed them under the lean-to.

I reached for the lighter, placing its small tear-drop of flame next to the lint, watching it spread and hearing the small pops as it consumed the leaves.

I blew gently on the fire, giving it the breath of life, letting it spread to the twigs, the sticks. Tongues of flame licked the larger sticks. The fire crackled like a witch. I felt its warmth overtake me. Closing my eyes, I sat there basking in the comfort. The little flame sat there, a beacon in the night.

If Life Only Gives You Lemons, Your Lemonade Won't Taste so Good

I wrote down a few answers to my English homework. A few questions into it I heard my mom's voice from behind me, "Come taste this lemonade for me, will you?"

"Sure Mom," I walked over to the kitchen and drank a small glass, "too watery." It really was, I could hardly taste any lemons at all.

She added more lemons then offered it to me again, "Too sour," I said, my face puckering. Making lemonade from scratch isn't an easy thing to do, and it takes a lot of guesswork

More sugar was added, I tried again, "Just right." I smiled and drank another glass.

Dinner at Grandma's

I opened the microwave, my mom was on the phone, "What are you having for dinner, Grandma?" My grandma lives extremely far away, several thousand miles, my mom was only interested in comparing our dinner to Grandma's.

I sat down after I had heated my lunch. I had just started eating when my mom handed me the phone, "Hi Grandma."

"Hello."

"Can I come over for dinner?" I asked jokingly.

She laughed.

Haircuts

My parents hate it when my hair gets long, so, while it is annoying, I wasn't surprised when they told me I needed a haircut (they've been telling me that since January).

I really hate haircuts. I have good reason to do so. In sixth grade my nickname was Naked Chicken because of my constant crappy haircuts (My parents told me I looked handsome. I think they should probably get their eyes checked.).

Once I heard my parents telling me I needed a haircut, I was determined to stop them. They always tell me, "The girls will think you are so handsome." Like I said, they need to get their eyes checked. I went to school, asking all the girls whether or not I should get a haircut. Most often, I got this response: "No way! Your hair looks gorgeous when it's long." Take that Mom and Dad.

Today my parents are planning to cut my gorgeous hair. I told them that girls liked my hair long, but my mom replied, "You shouldn't worry about what girls think."

"You always justify cutting my hair because the girls will think its handsome."

She was at a loss for words.

"Besides," I continued, "Dad had a mullet when he was young." If that is not long hair, then I don't know what is.

Once again they were speechless, finally my Dad recovered himself, "Well, you should still get a haircut."

Though his logic has holes in it the size of Jupiter, They're still determined to cut my hair. Oh well.

Update: It isn't a naked chicken, but it sure isn't gorgeously beautiful

Pitter Patter

I heard the footfalls of my little brother behind me, pitter patter pitter patter, I turned around and saw him walking with a metal thing in his mouth. At first I thought it was a spoon. Then I looked closer. It was a pair of scissors.

I jumped up out of my chair, running towards him.When he saw me come after him he sped up. Now he was running with scissors in his mouth. I grabbed the scissors, gently removed them from his mouth, and tore them out of his hand. He started crying, he wasn't hurt, I guess he just liked eating scissors.

Is it Really Worth it?

Today they let us go home early. something about protests (they used the word demonstrations which implies a peaceful protest, but these are anything but peaceful). Of course, they only let us home two hours early, so I could do other homework and still be able to write this at three instead of at five, but is it really worth going to all the trouble of sending us home early?

It might have made sense if they let us home three or four hours early, but instead they sent us home at nearly the end of the day. Chances are, all I would have done was played a game of soccer and finished the last few minutes of The Lord of the Flies. Oh well, it may not be worth it, but I'm home now and I might as well take advantage of it.

Lightsabers and Wooden Spears

Today I watched The Lord of the Flies. The one from the 90's.

It sucked.

The dialogue and acting was terrible, the characters were flat, and the story... not at all enticing. Not at all like the book.

I know that movies never do quite as well as the books, but this one ranks up there in my list of terrible movies. With Harry Potter Six. Scratch that: This movie is worse than Harry Potter Six. At least the acting was believable in Harry Potter.

Maybe its that it was made in the 90's, but the movie was terrible.

One of the worst scenes yet was Simon's death. He comes running along the beach holding a four-foot glow-stick. He looks like a Jedi. The other boys see him, think he's the "monster", they can't say beast like the book, and run at him with their wooden spears. I half expected Simon to jump up into the air, to a few flips, then land on the ground in a sort of crouch, and proceed to cut off all of their heads with his glow-stick/light saber. But no he just stands there. Maybe it was the fact that I expected him to go all Obi-Wan Kenobi, but I think it was because Simon was not characterized well and his death didn't make me feel any sense of sorrow for him.

I'll be content as long as I can re-read the book, and not re-watch the movie.

Let's Sprint This

"Let's sprint this!" my brother took off at a run up the hill.

I followed mumbling the reply to our inside joke, "No one falls behind." We passed the third house on the hill and took a left, cutting through the yard between the third and fourth houses. We ran up the steep hill, leaping over branches and bushes, dashing across the street, and sprinting across the field. A fence loomed over us, and without a doubt, I leaped up, gripping the chain-links in my hands, and putting my toes in the gaps. I was on the other side in seconds. The rest of the field flew by like a day at an amusement park. We were at the playground.

It was 4 o'clock, before any little kids got there. I don't think many mom's would like their five-year-old's to see what we were doing.

I ran up the slide, jumping off the jungle gym when I reached the top. I hit the ground rolling, absorbing the shock. I climbed up the stairs and jumped to the jungle gym opposite me. I hit the wall hard, but I hung on, my hands over the top and my feet in the cracks. I jumped over it, laughing. I spun around a pole, landing on the platform beneath me. spinning, I jumped onto the slide.

I stood up again. climbing onto another slide. I used it as a stepping stool, pulling myself up to the top floor. I jumped across the bridge and pulled myself down the slide.

Eventually we went home. Little kids were starting to show up.

Mad at March Madness

No spring goes by without a March Madness ( The US college basketball tournament). I just completed my bracket. I have no idea about who's good and who's not. I hate basketball, but apparently my extended family loves the sport. So every year we fill out a bracket. Mine is mostly based on the numbers I see on the screen, how many wins, how many losses, etc., but I don't know what most of it means. Last year I did pretty good among my family, but who knows how I'll do this year.

My brother's bracket is just as bad/worse. He chose his winner off of how he thought their mascots would do in a death match (I recommended the idea to him because I read that that is exactly what you are not supposed to do)

We'll see how we do.

Edit: Karma is an evil fiend. My brother did better than I did.

Definitely a Re-read

I personally enjoyed The Lord of the Flies I thought that the characters and plot were deep, interesting, and most importantly, it was captivating and easy to read. None of the events seemed to be "filler" and none of the characters seemed "flat". It was hard to put down. The protagonist, Ralph, the antagonist, Jack, and the other main characters such as Simon, Piggy, Roger, and Samneric are all interesting and they feel like real people. From the amazing beginning to the terrifying end, there was nonstop action and suspense. This book is definitely a re-read.

The boys arrive on the island as the result of a plane crash, or more accurately their plane was attacked. They were leaving England during World War Two, escaping the bombing raids. Their landing on the island is followed by their appointment of Ralph as chief. This appointment is what changes the whole plot. After this moment, the boys take part in a power struggle. this struggle is what makes the book so great: it shows that not everything is fun and games. If the boys survived without any conflict, the novel would be boring. It would be unrealistic. It would not be worth reading. But it does have conflict, and a lot of it.

The book is great. I will read it over and over again

Its Not My Fault

I sat down. My left arm felt as if it were going to explode. The feeling was mirrored in my left foot, and right calf, my back, and my neck. I looked down at my mosquito bites, they were as numerous as the stars. I had about twenty five on just my left arm, over five on my left foot, about the same on the right, three on just the index finger and thumb of my right hand, and probably about twenty or thirty everywhere else. Its not my fault I had them.

It all started Friday night, we were camping at my friend's beach house. Somehow, when we set up the tents, or rather how we organized the people in the tents, two of us didn't fit. So this kid and I slept on a porch. If you asked anyone else, there were hardly any mosquitoes, ask me,however, and I can prove to you that there were. My body is proof.

I look like I'm covered in warts, but look closely and you'll see the red bites that I got when I slept on the porch.

You Guys Were Talking a Lot of Smack

We hopped out of the car. I sprinted ahead to catch up with Hat Boy, Stinky, and Pepperoni Prince. I laughed at their jokes. "I'm gonna just jump off!" exclaimed Stinky, "These cliffs can't compare to those other ones we jumped off--You remember those?--but it would be so much funner if they were!" He doesn't read, so he doesn't get the difference between more fun and funner. I didn't feel like correcting him.

"You sure about that?" asked another voice. I turned around and saw Guitar God walking behind us, "You haven't seen these cliffs." Only he had, the rest of us had spent the night at his beach house, and thought it would be fun to jump off some cliffs and play in a small lake.

We walked in relative silence for a few minutes. "I'm gonna jump off the very highest," said Hat Boy.

"You were scared of jumping at the other cliffs," replied Stinky. We had gone to a small river that had a rock on one side that fell away like a small cliff. We expected this to be something similar. We were wrong.

We turned a corner, now that there was no longer a layer of trees, we could see the cliffs. The ground extended for some twenty meters, then it just disappeared. on the far side of the lake, we could see a fifty-foot tower of stone climbing up to the ground. This was way taller than the puny rock we had called a cliff.

"You guys were talking a lot of smack weren't you?" asked Guitar God. We slowly, carefully, made our way to the bottom of the cliffs and spent a good couple of hours in the lake.

Beggars Can't Be Choosers, But They Sure Can Be Annoying

I sat down at the lunch table, surveying my meal: spaghetti, chocolate milk, crackers, three Hershey's kisses, and a banana. I picked up my fork and began devouring it all. I had been hungry for the past two hours. The He came over. The kid who never brings a lunch--not because he can't afford it, but because he just doesn't--he walked up to me, I knew what he was going to say: "Please can I have this? Or this? Or this?" so before he even opened his mouth, I was already talking.

"No."

"I wasn't going to ask about that," I knew he was lying, "There's this really nice boy who wants to give me his..." He was pointing at my crackers.

"No." I interrupted, we went through this every day, "Bring your own lunch."

"But, there's this..."

"No. I'm not going to give you anything."

He didn't take the hint, "You know you want to give me..." He was pointing at the chocolates.

"NO." I replied, extremely annoyed.

"Can't you just..."

"NO!"

He walked over to another kid, begging. Eventually someone got so annoyed, they gave him their crackers. The problem is, he's like a stray dog: you give him food once, and he won't stop coming back. I made that mistake once, but never again.

I'm Done With This

I stare blankly at the computer screen. An empty text box is all that returns the favor. I blink sleepily, bored at the never-ending whiteness. I hear a squeal. My brothers are play wrestling on the floor.

"AAAh!" screamed my youngest brother, "Bababababaaa!"

"Oh no, you got me!" responded the other.

I still stared at the blank screen.

"MamamamAAAA!"

"Tap out! Tap out!"

The cursor blinked, the only thing appearing on the screen. "I'm done with this," I thought. I stood up and joined them.

Lances of Pain

I limped away from the car, following my mom, blind with pain. I'd spent the whole day on my feet, and my ankles felt as if they were going to explode. I was supposed to be getting materials for a school project, but all I could think about was my steady footfalls and the unendurable pain that came with them.

We walked out of the first store--empty handed--and headed off to the next. As it turns out, our next store was at the other side of the mall. As we walked, lances of pain jumped up my legs, every step worse than the last. I stumbled, whimpering as my feet hit the floor.

We spent ten minutes in the next store. Ten minutes on my feet. Fire burned at my ankles, flames licked my knees. We headed off to the next store.

I finally got to sit down, but the attempt was futile: I was leaving as soon as I got relaxed.

My mom broke into a jog on the way back to the car. My feet pounded against the floor. I withheld a scream. Agony burst through my veins. I couldn't see through eyes that were blinded by pain. I came to a stop. We were at the car. I sat down, put my feet up, and relaxed.

The Little Moments

I picked up my baby brother and went outside, we crossed the street--looking both ways of course--and opened the small gate to the neighborhood park. I led him over to the swing, set him on my lap, and began going as high as possible.

"Aaaaaaaah!" he squealed as we neared the apex of our flight pattern. We pushed the swing into reverse, evading invisible adversaries, We darted forward. He let out another squeal.

I put him down and joined my other brother and a bunch of neighborhood kids in a game of soccer. My brother is about 5 years older than any of the other boys, so even though it was all them against him, the teams were unfair.

I left the game, picking up my baby brother and we went down the slide. Leading him by the hand, I climbed up the stairs, taking small steps so he could keep up. We went down again.

We turned our attention to the soccer game, pretending to be profesional commentators. "He's going, going, going, going, GOOOOOOOOOOAL!" I screamed.

"BaAAAbababaababa," he squealed, "Maaaamamam."

Finally the time came for us to return home. My little brother and I, holding hands, crossed the street.

The Perfect Sideshow

I dragged my half-dead body to the pantry. My eyes drooped and I stumbled forward, I grabbed the cold cereal (chocolate of course, no other kind of cold cereal is edible) and walked over to the table. My bowl, my spoon, and the jug of milk lay in front of me I sleepily poured the cereal and the milk. I put two pieces of toast into the toaster. I lazily dumped food into my mouth staring at my little brother.

He grabbed pieces of pancakes and shoved them down his throat. With a sputter they all came out. A sour smell filled the room. He gagged. His shirt became covered in the goop. My mom came over and hit him on the back, knocking out the pancake that was lodged in his throat.

We cleaned him off and sat him down again. He picked up more pancakes and the process repeated.The air stunk. He erupted, the chunks of pancake were drowned in bile and saliva. I stood up and put my bowl in the sink. I had lost my appetite.

Why Bananas?

I don't know what happened. My birthday is still over the horizon, and Christmas is over the other one. I've just suddenly began craving a banana chair.

Officially, a banana chair is a curved, legless rocking chair. If you were to take one and paint it yellow it might look vaguely like an ugly, squished banana. It would also probably make you sick.

I have no idea why I want one, maybe its because my grandma has one, maybe its because they're comfortable, but I know its nor because they look good (they're the ugliest things in the world).

What's up with me? Why bananas?

White-hot Flames

My dad walked in the door. I turned off the tube and grabbed myself a light snack. It was past 11'oclock, and I was ready to hit the sack. I sat down, he turned to me , "Guess what I'm doing tomorrow!"

"Waa?" My mouth was full.

"I'm going parachuting!"

I spewed toast all over the kitchen table: I never thought that my dad was the type of guy who would jump out of a perfectly good plane.

Today we all hurried over to the park. He had informed us that he was dropping at around three. About 2:45 we showed up. Two hours later, two parachutes dropped from the heavens. We rushed over to them as soon as they landed.

Neither of them was my dad. He had gotten onto the next drop (whether by his choice or theirs I'll never know). We waited two more hours.

Finally dual specks shot down from the heavens like white-hot flames. The first one was the camera man (his landing was graceful), The second was my dad (His landing was anything but).

1,706 packets sent, 0 packets recieved

As soon as I got home, I rushed to the computer: I wanted to finish what little homework I had. I quickly opened up my web browser, and was astonished to find the following message:

Mozzilla Firefox cannot open this web page:
Please try the following: ...

Thinking that it was a problem on their end, I typed in the url for my blog (www.cyborgg.blogspot.com), I was astonished to find the same message. I closed the browser, and opened a new one. The same thing happened. Then I noticed the Limited or No Connectivity picture on the task bar.

I crawled behind the computer to try to find the problem, not seeing anything obvious, and not knowing what each cable from the jungle of cables beneath the desk did, I regretfully decided to wait it out, hoping my dad would know what to do.

Here I am, come some two-and-a-half hours later, after finally getting the internet up and running, trying to finish all the work I could have done hours ago were it not for the curse that is technology.

I Should Probably Go Do Something Useful

I sat at the computer, racking my brains, trying to figure out what to write. My brother comes up to me and asks, "Can you look up why the king of England gave William Penn a charter in Pennsylvania?"

"What?"

He repeated the question. I pulled up a new tab and went to Wikipedia (which is, as as everyone knows, the most trustworthy site on the web), and looked up William Penn. As it turns out, Penn's Wikipedia page has some 6,500 words, not to mention pictures, so I, needless to say, didn't feel like searching very hard. After staring blankly at the uninteresting page for several minutes, I closed the tab, and did my own homework.

So, here I am, typing a slice of life, pretending to be doing my brother's homework for him. I should probably go do something useful.

My brother can do his own homework.

Shut Up and Let Me Drive

As I stood up from tying my shoe I took a deep breath in. I let it out. I enjoyed the moment of peace, the calm before the storm. I was ready.

"Go!" yelled the coach, we all rushed forward. I felt myself being pushed forward by the surge of bodies. I saw the people in front of me, I heard the foot falls of those behind me. I kept on running.

We thinned out, the sprinters in front, the walkers behind. I found myself towards the front, I kept a steady, maintainable jog. I passed the hares, those who found their sprint to be too difficult to keep up. I finished my first lap.

As I began my second, I vaguely heard Coach yell out my time, I was blocking everything from my mind. I counted slowly, to keep my breathing even and to distract myself from everything else, "And.. one, and.. two, and... three, and... four." I overlapped the tortoises, those who thought they could finish by walking, "twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four." I finished my second lap.

I was beginning to feel the effects of my jog, my side burned, my breath was short, and every muscle in my body burned. I ignored it, "seventy-one, seventy-two, seventy-three, seventy-four."

"You've got to take a break," said one part of my mind.

"Shut up and let me drive," said the other. I continued running. My third lap passed just like the other two.

"Ninety-one, ninety-two, ninety-three, ninety-four," I overlapped the slowpokes, "ninety-five ninety-six, ninety-seven, ninety eight." I could see the finish line, I broke into a sprint, as fast as my worn-out body would allow me. The world turned to a blur.

I crossed the finish line and stopped, but I didn't sit down, I stood tall and proud of my feat of endurance. I had never once broken stride, I never once stopped, and I had cone in fifth place.

All the Small Things

I crossed the street, wiping away a drop of sweat as it dripped slowly down my face. I walked down the side walk that I had walked down countless times before, shifting my ten-pound-too-heavy backpack into a more comfortable position as I did so. I looked up at my car, Through the windshield I saw my mom at the wheel, and then, just behind her, my baby brother in his car seat. As soon as he noticed me, his face lit up. A smile the size of Asia beamed at me, and he began shaking his arms in excitement.

He made my day.

Waking UP

This morning began like any other morning: I woke up. That is, like everyone knows, the worst part of the morning. Maybe it was that I couldn't fall asleep until past 11 o'clock. Maybe it was that I was exhausted from the weekend. Maybe it was just that I was comfortable and didn't want to get out of bed, but I couldn't wake up.

My eyes fluttered open, I sat up, I flung my bed sheets off of me, and... and I lay back down and fell back to sleep. You can't cold start an engine (Mom, if you're reading, take note). I could not wake up. I eventually got out of bed, and pretended to get ready, falling back asleep at every opportune moment.

I spent the rest of my morning fighting to keep my eyes open.

Simon: not the average choir boy

Lord of the Flies
William Goldberg

Simon is a member of the choir, the group of boys that have taken on the responsibility of hunters, but he stands out from the other boys in the choir, stands out from the other boys on the island. Most noticably, his physical attributes make him stand out from the rest, he is short, skinny, and faints often. However, Simon has a different mentality than the rest. He thinks things through, something that none of the other choir boys seem capable of. He notices things that no one else does, but most importantly, he is intelligent.

No one is perfect, and Simon has his flaw, his Achilles' heel: Simon is shy. He has trouble speaking in public and putting his opinion into words. He knows what Jack is thinking because he has spent time with him, and knows him,knows what he is capable of, knows what he will do.

Simon changed since the beginning of the novel, he has become stronger, but at the same time he has withdrawn. He no longer faints, but he is scared to say what he knows is right. He also changed loyalties, from an uncomplaining choir boy, to on of the few trying to keep everone alive. Simon's role in the story is the boy on the sidelines who must come and stop chaos from ruling, he will be the one who will finally stand up to jack, because he knows that he has to, but he must over come that Achilles' heel first

Fishing Failure

I sat in the car: sleeping, or at least wishing I could. The car bumped along the curved, rocky road, my head banged against the window, I kept my eyes closed, trying to make up for the fact that I woke up two hours earlier than I normally would have. Our automobile, our horseless carriage felt like it was being pulled by a team of badly trained horses. We finally came to a stop. I opened my eyes and rubbed my head: we were there. I opened the door and brought our fishing gear down the ramp. I grabbed poles, lures, snacks and drinks. I grabbed gasoline, glasses, ice chests, and hats. I got ready for a day of fun, a day of catch after catch, a day well spent.

“Get the stuff in the boat,” My dad told me as he hopped into the car, “I'm gonna go park this, then I'll be back. I obeyed, grabbing a bucket of lures, a fishing pole, and a couple of life jackets.

"This is going to be fun," I thought, " I hope I can catch the biggest fish." I hopped in the boat and waited for everyone else to get in. We were off!

The choppy water bounced our small boat like a basketball on a trampoline, but we moved forward, trolling, or letting the line drift behind us while the boat was moving. I held the pole between my legs anticipating a strike. None came. After twenty minutes, my dad said, "Reel it in, let's try another lure." He pulled out a pink striped lure and put it on my pole. I let it drift behind the boat.

"Come on," I thought, " Take the bait. " They didn't.

My dad spoke again,"Let's try a different lure." He picked out a bright green one. I let the line drift.

"Hey Dad," I said, trying to break the silence, "Would you rather sky-dive or hang-glide?"

"Sky dive, Hang gliding kind of scares me."

"You're not afraid of jumping out of a plane, but you're scared of running off a cliff attached to giant wings? I'd rather hang-glide," I responded, "How about para-sailing? Or how about wind-surfing?"

"I don't know."

We continued fishing, switching our lures every twenty minutes. We caught nothing, but we had fun. I realized that I have more fun spending time with my dad than actually acomplishing what we set out to do.

Until the End

"It's over, no longer, I feel it growing colder, I knew this day would come to end"
Breaking Benjamin: Until the End

Vacation is coming to an end, it closes in like the walls of a trash compactor, the timer is ticking, I find myself trying to fit as much as possible into the last few days. I find myself dreading returning to my normal routine. I dread when I'll be able to say, "It's over, no longer."