A Time

Brittle flaws seek the mantle,

In pursuit of cold.

Outside, a host for battle,

Drifts over snow fold.

Cresting high above our tree

In pursuit of warm.

Inside, merriment and glee

Clings to be born.

I search upon that mantle,

For my favorite toy

For a hint of joy

I search my house outside,

And find trampled snow

And no golden glow.

I search upon that  tree,

But stands bare of pine

But still not mine.

I search my house inside,

No family nor friends

No  heart to end.

A time for joyous noise

Sacred stories

A time for sharing sweets

Sharing sweetness

A time for glinting eyes,

Grinning mouths

A time for nothingness

As I search about.

The Chime is Gone

Author's Note: This creative piece is to accompany my prediction piece, where I predict Reverend Mr. Dimmesdale to be the father of Pearl. This scenario is entirely my opinion of what the characters would act like if they were to find out who Hester's accomplice was. I also attempted to recreate Nathaniel Hawthorne's tone of voice that he writes with in "The Scarlet Letter". 

Frequently so, are the tortures of a devilish chime. Suffocating, praying on those inhabited, who pay listless attention to its spitting ring, as it would caress the soul. Thine, however, shall come forth to see truth of a fault! The chime, said solemnly by the whispers of doubt, and as the torturer of men, may cackle a false-truth in thine ear, promising sweet and fruit-like delicacies that outwardly glow of a fresh, inviting image, however inside, are spoiled. And the Holy Ghost cannot tell who should listen to this devilish chime,  likewise man cannot. Yet the intercourse of sin and man has made a possibilty of a satanic recruit! And those who aspire to be so, will see the wretched, twisted notes of this chime, and hear its ring, and advertise its song to others.

Be that as it might, Roger Chillingworth had taken refuge amongst his thoughts. The sight, upon the beloved minister's bosom, was in fact previously horrific, yet how fascinating! thought he, kindling a smile of a snake. Had he known, the dubious thoughts conceived initially, would have been put onto practice of direct accusations! Now, the seal of his patient was locked with a tomb of trust. A simplistic measure surely would've risen to occasion then, now an intense impulse of events are brewed, never again on a line of verge.

Nevertheless, Reverend Mr. Dimmesdale has accustomed it necessary to knock, even it being so, his lodge of comfort. The snake's smile brightens with a burning rage, as it would ever frighten those whom has seen his face of regular day, in the market perhaps, for them to flee for the place of Christ, with the urgency of a mad man. He then heard  the chime screaming of an impeccable  note that reached far beyond, and, yet, Roger Chillingworth implies himself to jump with the might of many, for its being. The Reverend enters, behind him that of joy, and somewhat demonic presence . Pearl, looking fondly at the sights of the dim settlement has taken posture upon a stool. Taken aback, the snake recoils in hurt, and the recruit well-living inwardly smiles, knowing that of questioning shall go forth being simple now.

"Ah, Reverend, there seemed a day foreboding a sight of this. A day, I may imply, where in which I was seeing your pain lie burning beneath thy vestment." The physician lingered a moment in what seemed to be remembrance of the discovery. "Now the clouds of heaven have revealed a tortured Hell beneath the surface. Even so, the clouds could not mask thy sin. Cover up, seemingly so, as I have enjoyed your performance, or even a charade of a sick sort. Now, step forth and exclaim your sin to me. As I have waited, and waited longingly for the words of heavenly truth-- of heavenly proportions!"

The minister, being so still, the vultures may have circled his corpse in attempt of meal. Mr. Dimmesdale thought darkly, how the vultures would be repulsed of his corpse, mutilated of whips and sin and peck not at his being. He held his heart a moment, in a moment of weakness, that as we know, Roger Chillingworth had not missed for a blink, and said, "Forthcoming from my disheveled heart, doctor, how, being so of your relation to myself, is it implemented of your cruel judgment to an act, I do not admit I committed? How is it so, of such a hefty weight upon thy shoulders of only a man, for that weight being my confessed actions to thou? What, on this earth, has brought a state of this upon thou?"

"You need not know," answered the doctor. And the chime, that seemed so bright of pleasure and torture dimmed then.

A breath was taken by, what seemed, all three personas at one moment. That moment, of joined unison, broke a tension of unspoken words. So, then, the dam cracked and shriveled away, releasing a flood of emotions unknown to most in that said room.

Pearl had set herself still upon the stool, and felt what the two men felt. As she, a combination of heaven and hell knew the wall of good and evil, and could perform both, and was simply a smart little girl. "Please," joined she of plea for moments that seemed to endure. "Mother, where has she gone? Mother is my protector."

Roger Chillingworth had taken a breath for serenity in his room, God knowing the doctor needed dearly that peace, but as the others had taken breaths for all different reasons, his patience for this confrontation, had broken into a million pieces as his eruption shattered it. "Who created thou, littlest Pearl?" Exclaimed he, now grasping the tiny thing's hands. "Thou must know who created you!"

The physician took a choppy step back in reluctance, of shock, for hearing no chime. The minister's hand shook with a trembling fear in which corrupted his entire being. And the girl, cast her eyes upwards lingering a smile, and rose her hand, and pointed to the Reverend Mr. Dimmesdale. And his eyes filled with tears.

Taking her hands, and pressing them preciously upon his chest, his heart, the minister asked, "My Pearl, has mother revealed this to thou?"A flick of her luscious hair to either sides of her being implied no.

With the silence gathering in the room, such a deadly silence is threatened a great deal of harm to Roger Chillingworth, and he had now acquired eyes of a snake, red, glowing, and powerful. "Woud'st thou explain why? Why here, in this moment, now?"

The Reverend answered meekly, "Littlest Pearl found her way here, startling myself a great deal."

"Out!" came a shrill of alarm from the doctor. His eyes, as he is the satanic recruit, could not hear the chime that had once encircled the poor being of the Reverence Mr. Dimmesdale. The doctor, as he had once assumed, need not harm the minister for his crime committed. It was Hester, the name churning in his soul, grinding his inner happiness, who had betrayed him. The Reverend hadn't known even the slightest of the doctor's true identity. And with a rage of many, Roger Chillingworth, with the eyes of snake, protruded out of his comforting home, and went for Hester.

The Reverend, unable to hear thoughts of others, stared confused at the door. Despite confusion, however, was his relief of conscience,  so being that the chime that promised himself release of pain had died. It died in agony, ripping through its torso, broke the heart in two. For the sacrifice now, was the combination of heaven and hell, and was Pearl, staring fondly into the eyes of Mr. Dimmesdale, in such a way of inspiration and admiration that only a child could possess.

"It is gone," said the little thing. "I cannot hear its ringing."

Again, in confusion, the Reverend asked his daughter, "My littlest Pearl, please explain further."

"The chime is gone."

Tears came, again, by of course the Reverend. Filled with such emotion of an earthly saint, that his eyes filled as well. Mr. Dimmesdale had emotion of many. Roger Chillingworth had rage of many. Pearl had so much, too much, that she captured the hearts of many.

And now, her father. 

SS Rev. War Essay: Battle Terminology

Author's Note: This is a comparative essay about the Lexington and Concord battle and the Pearl Harbor battle. It compares all aspects of the battles and in depth describes the scene. 

  

Battles are not new terminology in this day and age. Going years back, we see the Pearl Harbor attack, and even further back was the Revolutionary War—both including battles. But what is not included in the terminology are the events before, during and after. All details, need to be stated.

A battle aspect that is of main importance is emotion. This can happen prior to the actual battle and during as well. By knowing the emotion of the people within, we can tell what kind of battle it was. Was it scheduled, both sides planning months in advanced? Was it a surprise attack, one side not knowing of an attack? Was it a battle of honor, pride, hatred, fear, financial issues...? The Lexington and Concord and Pearl Harbor battles have one emotion in common--found in completely different times and places. 

Seemingly prepared and set, the patriots and militiamen were waiting. For anything, a sign, such as the sight of a red coat or even a fast rider. However, the British were coming for easy takings. Upon learning the patriots had been stockpiling weapons at Lexington and Concord, General Gage had his troops strike first. They were going to destroy the weaponry stockpile. General Gage also knew of the patriot's warning system made up of fast riders. He sent out 20 of his riders to try to intercept the warning system, so his attack will be of surprise. With that, some of the patriot's riders were captured, delaying the warning. 
          Confusion was the emotion first felt by the patriots, even though they thought themselves ready.With their warning operation malfunctioning and the surprise attack, some farmers who had to pick up a gun, had no clue what to do. Lack of training, lack of information, all led to this one emotion-- although it did not show, when the rebels won the first battle.

A sense of serene vastness flooded the sky. The sun was shining so brightly that all who glanced upon its melting beauty turned away in respect. However, those flying amongst the sun's rays betrayed that beauty. Japanese men were flying individual aircrafts in attempt to bomb and destroy Pearl harbor. The Japanese were so confident in themselves, that they knew that  they were about to crash their own planes into the peaceful city, and it would be worth it, because the Japanese will prevail till the end-- Sacrifice would not be wasted. The ones who did not know were the residents upon Pearl Harbor. They were a big part of the battle-- even though not knowing it. 
          Confusion set in when bombs and crashing aircrafts aimed for their city. Almost instantly, confusion set in, and not knowing what to do, with no specified protocol, it showed-- when the residents of Pearl Harbor lost the battle. 

Because of the different time periods and different plans of attack between the two comparing battles, the main differences fall on the category of weaponry. Were the weapons planned strategically, or were they the only ones they had? Either way, there is a big difference in fighting styles for both of these battles. 

The British, because of their trained and existent army, sent 700 troops or 1,800 soldiers over to Lexington and Concord. They marched for 17 miles carrying their rifles that rested within their rifle cases, and planned to shoot or to use a lighting raid conducted by General Gage. The patriots however were less organized and instead of an army, they had their militiamen. They were supposed to grab a rifle and shoot when necessary. 
           Severity of the battle showed when it was over. 95 militiamen had died and 273 British soldiers died. Even though the weaponry was not as advanced, the numbers showed major damage. 

Bombs and aircrafts were used to destruct Pearl Harbor-- not only people, such as the Lexington and Concord battle, but the city as well. 353 aircrafts were sent from the Japanese and while some had bombs strapped to their planes, others did not. However it didn't matter because the plane was a weapon itself-- it would destroy something if it crashed into it. 
           Severity proved itself at the beginning and the end of this surprise battle. The numbers show that 2300 residents died, along with battle ships and cruisers that were also destroyed. And 353 Japanese died as well, from the suicide. 

Events after the battles should also be noted in the terminology. What happened to the survivors?Both battles had the same effect afterwards, and proved to be so when it even took action. 

After the battle, suspicion grew among the patriots. How had the British found out about their warning system? Most people thought that is had to be spies, or Tories. There was discrimination towards people who dressed fancy, as they were thought to be loyalists, or loyal to King George. Or if someone spoke a different language, such as French or German, they were also thought to be Tories. Anyone who was different from the average militiaman was discriminated against. There was paranoia everywhere.
              Taking action occurred once people started to think that those thought to be a Tory, were truly spies and had to be taken care of. So they killed those thought to be a spy. Even if they weren't, the paranoia told the patriot's that it was better safe than sorry. 

The survivors of the Pearl Harbor attack and all across the United States swept a form of paranoia. It was no lie that it was the Japanese that had attacked them, and for a long time, Japanese residents dwelling in the US were discriminated against. Everyone thought them as spies for the Japanese. 
               Taking action occurred once people started to send Japanese people living in the US to camps. These camps were much like a jail, and some never made it out. It was evident that paranoia was deeply rooted into everyone and everyone was so scared that someone had to take blame. 

When battles come from two completely different time periods and reasoning, despite few differences, they are still both battles. Not only should you look at the results of a battle, but it is more so important to fully understand a battle by going through the events before, during, and after. That is the true battle terminology.

Sources:

·         "American Revolution: The Battle of Lexington and Concord." ThinkQuest. Oracle Foundation, n.d. Web. 30 Dec. 2012.

·         Kreis, Steven. "Pearl Harbor Resources." Pearl Harbor Resources. N.p., 3 Aug. 2009. Web. 30 Dec. 2012.

·         "Revolutionary War." Revolutionary War. N.p., n.d. Web. 30 Dec. 2012.

Guilty Conscience

Author's Note: This is my prediction response that guesses who the "baby-daddy" is of Pearl in "The Scarlet Letter".

Hester, in the book The Scarlet Letter, will not say directly who the father of her "sin-baby" is. She has betrayed her husband, Roger Chillingworth and as he and everyone else in the Puritanical community demands a name, she refuses repeatedly.  So far in the book, only one other mister has been identified and described thoroughly. His name is Reverend Arthur Dimmesdale. Everyone in the community respects him as a young scholar, as a success. Although, as we get a full description of his appearance and a slight glimpse at his inner feelings,  he is more nervous-- despite his honorable fame. So it only makes sense that he would be the father of Pearl.

It seems as if everyone in the town is very secure with their faith and actions. The only others are Hester, Pearl  and apparently Mr. Dimmesdale. But, my guess is that because of his great reputation that the others are blinded to see "a startled, half-frightened look" that showed in his appearance. They also did not notice as he pauses in reluctance to speak to Hester in that public place as he bows his head. The narrator described it as, "The Reverend Mr. Dimmesdale bent his head, in silent prayer, as it seemed, and then came forward." I believe that his "silent prayer" asked for strength to not blow his cover and for restraint from coming clean and declaring himself guilty. He is a good man, and that is encouraged in the description, so his guilt and his faith together most likely takes all of his energy to not confess to his sin.

Also in that public place, as Mr. Dimmesdale starts to speak to Hester, he is "looking down steadfastly into her eyes,". I find that interesting, because most people would not make eye contact with Hester-- she had sinned, and deserved no respect now, according to the Puritans. Most people would look at her Scarlet Letter, the symbol of her great sin. Mr. Dimmesdale either is a very forgiveable man (although Puritans aren't supposed to be like that), or he knows who Hester really is (before the sinning).

Reverend Mr. Dimmesdale, seems to have acquired a condition that causes him great pain. He sees the "doctor", Roger Chillingworth (also Hester's husband, who is searching for Hester's accomplice undercover). Even though not a doctor, Chillingworth cannot find the source of Dimmesdale's pain. Whenever Roger starts to get suspicious of Dimmesdale, Dimmesdale would "grip hard at his breast as if inflicted with an importunate throb of pain." I believe that his guilt is eating away at his heart, and Dimmesdale is afraid that if he does not comfort, or hold his pain, that his heart will shrivel away to nothing.

Another clue leads me to this conclusion. It is said that a child can sense their birth-parents' identities. After Mr. Dimmsedale concludes his persuasive speech to Hester in the public place, the child, Pearl, looked at Mr. Dimmesdale, reached with her arms and was pleased, murmuring slightly. The child has not made many actions in that part of the book, so this reaction to Mr. Dimmesdale should not be take slightly. I believe that Pearl senses Mr. Dimmesdale to be her father, and she is comfortable with his voice, which also proves the theory. Yet another example of this reoccurs in chapter 10, where Pearl and Hester are walking by, and Pearl stops and sees Mr. Dimmesdale, and she again notices him and throws "prickly burrs at the Reverend Mr. Dimmesdale."  So, again, Pearl senses something. She has proven herself smart, and speaks and acts expressively, not caring who hears, sees, thinks.

This is like the story of The Pearl, and the character Juana is like Mr. Dimmesdale. Since I believe that Mr. Dimmesdale was tempted to evil or "the dark side", he is most like Juana, as she first set eyes upon the large pearl that her husband found and she prayed for, she is tempted to the subject of greed. But, she realizes this--that greed is an unwanted mistake of actions-- and wants things to go back to normal. She goes along with her husband, Kino, who has been so taken with the pearl, that he does whatever he pleases and eventually turns into a different person. Hester is more so like Kino in a way that she knows that she cannot go back, and eventually starts to question her faith… But Mr. Dimmesdale wants everything to back to the way it was, to not have feelings of guilt-- just as Juana wants to go back to not having feelings of greed. It proves that even the nicest, religious, most content people can do wrong, and will want to go back. People have times of weakness--Juana and Mr. Dimmesdale have demonstrated  that, and people such as them want to do the right thing, but are stuck in a bad situation and have a hard time reaching a conclusion that is best for them. 

Of War

Author's Note: I wrote this in the beginning of the school-year based on a quote that I found on a Google Chrome app called, "A Quotation". It's a really cool app that allows you to see all different types of quotes. The one that I chose was one of my favorites. 

Knowledge is the worst kind of war. Its purpose may be for greater good; where the cause is redeemed in enlightenment and success. Yet too much of this war is too much sanity. Is madness. When you see the facts of life in the way they are, you see the pain and blood and gore of war. The enlightenment has turned, and the reality of it all can never go away. Wars don't ever go away. It is with us forever in our past, leading the way for the future. Where the future is dark as life, for the way it truly is.

The quote "Too much sanity may be madness - and the maddest of all - to see life as it is, and not as it ought to be. " is truthful. Don Quixote has learned to see as life is, for the making of this quote. He has told, that once our fantasy realities of the enlightened life are washed away by knowledge, you see something so corrupt, so bloody, you can never return. It makes you mad. You long for the positive possibilities you once had, but the true reality takes over in memory.

Personally, I agree completely with this quote. And the way he uses the term "madness" doesn't mean its literal term. He expresses it as  something to desire, to want. The dream that we have evolved for life is of course wonderful, yet is not real. No, the quote is not negative-- It is fact. We have to stop labeling the truth as a negative factor when it comes to the world. Yes, the world is corrupt, it is a decaying face in which we act in selfishness. Because honestly, while some are soaking in the syrup of ignorance, others are mad with the truth. And the only possible way to save ourselves from ignorance, is to fight for the knowledge, the war.

That is why I believe this quote, because like told in the story of "The Giver", the government knew how the world truly was. It's cold marble under your bare feet, each step a new shock of chill; the marble path leading you to a dead end, death. So the Community council allowed and forced its people to live directly in the fantasy reality. Where nothing was painful, nothing was dark. There was nothing to be afraid of, no reason to be negative. What is was, was a lie. Madness diagnosed from facts and the truth were not acceptable. Happiness there, was the goal. The world does not intend for us to be happy, yet our human qualities will force it if need be.

This also takes place in the "Utopian" country of "Fahrenheit 451". Captain Beatty explains it all as it is, for he knows truth, yet forces it beneath himself so he can be happy too. His job, is to make others "happy" also; as he is a fireman, knowing that incinerating the truthful words of books, confiscating it from citizens, will make them happy in the sappy ignorance. The quote does not mention where we receive this knowledge, but books are a good place to start. Thinking, as well. The country leaders figured this, and decided to blame the transcripts and poetry-- punishing them for their hurtful words of truth. Thought was also a problem, so by removing porches and comfy chairs, giving the people ultra-fast cars, and booming loud noises into their heads-- they wouldn't be able to.

"Finally 12", is a book that just scratches the surface of the quote. The protagonist, an 11 year-old girl soon to be 12, has been fantasizing all of the wonderful and possible realities of being older, of being 12. But soon does she realize that everything falls apart, because she has came to the expectations of her dreams, and saw what was true. Shaving did no wonder to her legs, as they came out worse afterwards. Cell-phones only caused friendship drama that was only sped-up due to the speed of a text. And being treated as an adult only led to responsibilities and chores and more work in all. She was depressed with disappointment during those early times, considering her dreams were found false. Then, though, she attempts to make the most of it, and decides that knowing the world as it is, is reward enough for being 12. She labels it as a new chapter in her life-- and from then on sees the war.

The people who were free to see knowledge, otherwise known as the truth, were eventually happy to see it. Although, those living in that supposedly Utopian Society, will think themselves  happy, although only enlightenment will bring that light unto them in the darkness of our futures. And even though knowledge is for your greater good, you will forever see the pain and blood and gore of war... 

"Are you happy?"

Author's Note: This is a creative piece that I wrote that goes with the theme, "Are you happy?" in Fahrenheit 451. In Fahrenheit 451, Guy Montag was supposedly happy with his material items and burning books, but finds that what he thought made him happy... actually didn't. I tried to incorporate that into this piece... but I twisted it a bit; with books being something that let my character down, instead of the opposite. 

               “Some people believe that life is scripted by God, and people are only a handful of words, animated. People who think such as stated prior, see the words of truth that captivate our communities. They are engrossed with words.”

                I remember reading this excerpt somewhere… but I don’t know where because I examine so many books! They are everything to me. I disregard the titles on circumstance, but who cares?

                I stare at this quote that I taped against my wall. Most girls my age on Friday darkness go dangle out with their boyfriends or contacts at some Skateland or rather. But I’m at this juncture… looking at my wall.

                “Palette?”

                I rotate behind me, to perceive my little sister holding one of my books in her arms.

                “What do you crave, Aspira? And what are you doing in the midst of my manuscript!” My incisive eyes situate upon my book in her arms to see if any mutilation has come to it. Luckily, I can see no nicks.

                When she opens her maw, she speaks tenderly. “I found it in my room, I just thought I’d give it to you.”

                I huff, speculating what I would’ve done if I’d vanished it. When she hands it to me, I don’t bother to verify the title. I embrace it against my torso, clinching it sternly, shielding it from the world.

                “Palette?”

                “What?”

                She looks at me extraordinarily. “Why do you like books so much, anyways?”

                I shrug then articulate, “I don’t know really.”

                “Are you happy?”

                I gaze at her, wondering.

                She reallocates her mass ineptly in facade of me then says, “I mean, how can a book called Nobody Loves Me make you happy? Or Everybody Looks the Same to Me? Or even Gray is My Favorite Color?” She looks at me apprehensively, “They seem a bit… depressing.”

                Once more, I shrug. “I don’t in actuality reimburse attention to the titles.”

                She narrows her eyes. “What about the insides of the books, though? You do read them, right?”

                “Of course I carry out!” I exclaim. “That’s why I encompass so various books!” I forestall my gaze to my overflowing bookshelves.

                “Are you infatuated with words?”

                I stare at my younger sister, in awe. “Infatuated? I am keen of that word! Where’d you gain knowledge of that word?”

                She revolves her eyes. “That’s my point, Palette. Maybe that’s why you talk weird, too. I mean, you say things… and the sentence fluency is off…” She pauses.  “Do you know what I mean?”

                I impede for a jiffy and think. Do I talk uncanny? I presently thought I sounded so much more highly developed than everybody else. I imply, my word choice is supposed to be unparalleled!

                I wobble my head, trying to ponder everything Aspira just informed me of.

                “So… you’re saying…” I recess a second. “That I don’t actually like books? I just like the words?”

                She nods.

                “No.” I utter.

                “What?”

                I look her straight in the eye. “I do not think I am happy. You asked if I was happy. I guess I was just… infatuated with words.”

                “Palette… Words are empty. Do you understand? They are nothing unless you string them together and make a necklace. Words have individual definitions and meanings of their own, but they have to describe something, or say something purposeful. Words won’t keep you happy, Palette. You aren’t happy… are you?”

                I shake my head, now sad. I thought that books made me smart, and that that would make me happy. But… they didn’t teach me anything. I didn’t gain anything from it. This new understanding inspired me to change…Aspira inspired me to change. My little sister! I smile.

                “Come here,” I say, opening my arms to her. We hug, and I thank her. She walks out the door and I sit on my bed, books surrounding me.

                I look at my books, which I only recently thought made me happy. I look back to all of the dreams I’ve had: of me, crying, walking, but getting nowhere. It lead me to an empty room. And now I understand.

                I shove my books off my bed. All of them. I get a glance at some of the titles: Hugging Myself, Dying on the Inside, Oppressing the Pain. I roll my eyes and throw a blanket over my little pile so I won’t have to look at them.

                Words will not make me happy. Words are not my salvation. And I do not need books.

                I check my phone. 7 o’clock. Still enough time to get to Skateland. I grab (not seize) my sweater (not pullover) and put on cherry (not crimson) lipstick and start to exit (not egress) my room. But before I’m out the door, I see the poster on my wall.

“Some people believe that life is scripted by God, and people are only a handful of words, animated. People who think such as stated prior, see the words of truth that captivate our communities. They are engrossed with words.”

                I quickly get a pen from my bedside table and run back to my poster. I cross out the last line. I step back and examine my work.

“Some people believe that life is scripted by God, and people are only a handful of words, animated. People who think such as stated prior, see the words of truth that captivate our communities. They are engrossed with words.”

That is how I will live my life, I think. I will use words to animate meaning and truth in my life.

I smile and remember the meaning (not the words) of my silent promise as I walk (not trot) out my door. 

Moth Trails

Author's Note: I wrote this on Halloween because an idea came to me, and it felt chilling--  just like Halloween. Hope you like it!

A moth trails cobwebs from its wings. They drape, lifeless and dead. And the moth flutters lightly, its movement  soundless. Although through the dark it is gone. Gone with the cobwebs and the wings. A hum of energy ignites over my head. But suddenly I hear something. Not wings. But footsteps. A sound  petty compared to the wings. And the death of night is still succumbing me into silence. I take a step forward. Following my breath which takes me further into the dark. Shapes play in front of me and lights flash in my eyes. Closing my eyes is lighter than my surrounding room. But then I also see the moth. I open my eyes and see nothing. I feel something though.

Closer.

Closer.

Why?

The moth is above me in the heat. I reach for it. Jumping, my feet hit the floor like bricks. And the footsteps increase. And again, they come closer.

I breathe through my mouth. I open it wide when I breathe. And then I leave it open. Eat the darkness is to make it go away. The energy draws closer and it draws in a trail. A trail like the cobwebs. A tingling sensation breathes down my neck and my back. My mouth is still open. I don't close it. And then I feel it.

Imagination?

Please?

Why?

And it is in my mouth. The moth of the night. I close. And feel it flutter to my insides. Deadly and sharp. As sharp as my knife in my hand. The cobwebs trail to my stomach. I smile. The knife now tingles in my hand. The footsteps come closer.

Knife?

Now?

Yes.

The pouring was warm and the moth was cold. I dig deeper into the depths. And the metal slices the energy.

Away.

Away.

Now!

I dig deeper! I have to, it penetrates the soul, deeper and further. That is what I want. The moth has died and the cobwebs spiral to the floor. The dark is lighter now. But I am closing my eyes I realize. They close and I fall. The pouring seems to be over. Over, over! And I smile.

Over.

Over.

Now.

The footsteps are gone. 

Prediction 3:15 Story- The Beast

Part 1 (Before we saw the ending)--

It is entirely possible for dogs to sense danger. Being so, the dog, Chance, could've ran from Steven to see what was going on or maybe because he wanted to go by the water or have fun in the woods. Whatever the reason, I believe that there is something there. But it's not a cougar. Humans can be 300 pounds, and maybe it was a homeless person, who doesn't have people skills and cannot talk (explains the growling noises at the end). It didn't really sat anything about the Cougar being bad, however in the background that we are given, the person says that there are more "pets and children to pick from", and that could have so many meanings. Maybe the person is lonely and wants to chose a friend or pet, or maybe the homeless person wants to hurt them. Either way, the person would attack him, and he would not return home, and the dog would also be gone. The person would not be show himself... only to people/animals who find him.

This is like the story of Wrong Turn, because the creatures living in the woods do not go searching for food that is out of their territory. Just like the supposedly homeless man in Steven's story. They attack people who come near them. The mutant creatures would eat the humans, and so obviously they would not return home. They were first attacked of course, just like I predict will happen to Steven.

Part 2 (After we saw the ending)--

Although we did not see exactly what it was, we did see its vision, and its vision was not human whatsoever. They also did not say whether or not Steven made it out alive with his dog. But I seriously doubt he did. It leaves you to your imagination and I believe that he was only overreacting, and its a lesson for people who search for trouble, such as Steven (although he didn't know it) and Mrs. Littky (because her imagination can go wild considering she can't see all that well). He did get attacked, which I was right about however.

The Border

          Engraved ever so deeply into our mindset is a line. A line, so ancient to humanity, its vastly length is logic itself. Yet its width, such a delicate sketch, is so thin it is a wonder we can survive at all. Or its width, such a bolded outline, that it is a wonder how anyone can survive those painful years at all. That line is the border between life and death. So long it is everlasting;  so thin or wide it intimidates everyone—but that is something no person can ever admit.

          We can only emphasize the line’s true power by wavering it. It is then, that we can appreciate how thin or thick the border is. It is then, that we can come to know what opportunity we have to life. It is then, that we can come to know what opportunity we have to death.

          Fahrenheit 451’s society falters the border between life and death. With all of their unnatural essences they add to the world, they end up subtracting life and death. When suicide, cultural death, and rebirth enter a state of unruly and crazed paradoxes, the line blurs, slowly fading away…

         

          Too many citizens of Fahrenheit 451's futuristic society are committing suicide. "Ignorance is bliss"? A quote proven faulty with the relationship of people in the US and death.  They are as one; the citizens drawn to the line as if sensing something more satisfying on the other side. And maybe there is, but how can someone so innocent sense something so treacherous? Guy Montag, a fireman whose occupation it was to spark fires instead of extinguish them, found a path leading to discovery of a plot so devious he couldn't grasp the concept in just the blink of an eye—which is what he was used to doing. His wife, Mildred, attempted suicide. He found her lying on the ground, her "breath going in and out, softly, faintly, in and out her nostrils, and her not caring whether it came or went, went or came." She lie there and asked for death, but Montag, terrified, took her to the emergency hospital. However in that blink of an eye, Montag did see something. He saw the Electric-Eyed Snake. Its red eyes showed such of an evil essence, yet Montag knew that it wasn't alive. Or was it? What it truly was, was a stomach pump. Mildred had taken pills to trigger her death, but society was too fast. When there, while eyeing the Electric-Eyed Snake, Montag asked why there weren't doctors performing the operation. And as the two unprofessional workers answered (while swearing—crediting their unprofessional impression) they stated that too many cases such as Mildred's were occurring so they built many, many machines to reverse people's doings. It is then that Montag senses something, something devious— possibly more devious than the Electric-Eyed Snake's eyes.

          Later on, however, connecting to the situation prior, Montag learns how many people die of car accidents— which isn't suicide, it's murder.  And he fears for pedestrians such as himself (although there aren't many). People get killed all the time, he determines. And then, after many blinks and many thoughts (a new change for him) he begins to question life and death. The government supposedly cares enough to build many machines for suicidals, but doesn't care for all the murders that take place on a daily basis. This is when, I believe, Montag is starting to grasp this concept. The government is only deceiving its ignorant "blissful" people, showing them that they care for suicidals, but then ignore other extremities of death. They are wavering the border by doing this, thickening then thinning the line in the same day, same hour.

          As Montag wanders about, slowly being enlightened by the darkness of society, he finds himself learning how everything came to be. Meeting a cowardly friend, and old English teacher named Faber, he further uncovers the history of a more cultural life/death border. Stated before, Montag has an honorable job as a fireman (although he's not sure how honorable it is anymore). He burns things. In particular, books. They provide education, knowledge, enlightenment… And the country can't have that. Faber tells Montag how the government didn't right away ban books from people's possession; it was the citizens themselves. It was a slow process, but eventually, newspapers, books, and other readings became less and less popular, the number of literature appreciators dwindling to supposedly nothing. The people started it, not the government, and Faber states that very clearly. But, then the government finds a way to manipulate this change in culture, they can ban books altogether and occupy the people with mind-killing activities. Montag really stops and thinks about this though. He was a fireman, so he knew, but how did culture die if books still exist? He knows/knew people who had them and could not bear to part with them.

          Once Montag is swallowed whole into the lies and deception, he finds himself in a mess, for I don't think he fully understood the lunacy of his secret operation to educate himself with books. His boss, head fireman, Captain Beatty, shows up at his house. Captain Beatty knows exactly what Montag wants—as Captain Beatty had once been a book-lover too. He spits quotes at Montag, throwing them in his face. Montag doesn't say a word. Instead, I think he was thinking. How could this be so? Books are banned, but the quotes and words are still alive? Then Captain Beatty tells him that Montag could just borrow books from the fire station;  just for a short-period of time, just enough time to rid himself of his book infatuation. Then Montag, I believe, thinks again. Books are banned, but their copies are still in physical and mental form? The border of life and death is wavering once again. How can something be this and that at the same time? How can something be alive and dead at the same time? How can something be as culturally wavering as that? Again, Montag discovers another form of the line, gone yet there at the same time.

          Eventually Montag ends his session of wandering and starts running. He tries to run from the blurring borders of burdens and belongings and leaves his city and country behind… but not all of it. What he finds outside of his city, is a form of rebirth, which wavers the line. After running miles and then walking a far distance he finds a group of men, not soliciting an evil feel. They seem…friendly, Montag decides. So he joins them as they invite him into their circle around a fire. Just as all seems well and the border is back to its normal consistency, the war that has been taking place all along but had had no extreme effect on anything takes play. It destroys the city. Montag was just far enough to be safe and at the same time have a very good view of it all. The destruction, the death. The line of life/death thinning so much as everyone crosses over it.

          As the scene is set, Montag is horrified and cries for Mildred, whom he left in the city. But his newly found friends suggest that she's not worth crying over. They suggest that the whole city isn't worth being cried over. They suggest that all the innocent, ignorant people (who these men believe to be evil) should not be cried over, for a new generation will soon be reborn, the era will be reborn, and society will be reborn. Once again, I believe that Montag's character is again wondering about the border. Maybe Montag had escaped the city and the ignorance, but he is not yet away from a wavering border. Not yet. If those men refused to feel remorse for those poor people who did not deserve their fates, then the line is yet again faltered. This is so, because if those people were not thought of as truly gone, they are thought of as going to be "reborn", then life and death are challenged. The line is wavering, faltering, blurring…

          The line is not invincible to mankind, to anything. It is a weak, unstable illusion of human and life existence, for without existence there is no death. Montag thoroughly sought out that truth of reality, and so he found knowledge. A damaging, hurtful piece of information that will stick with his character for the rest of his life. For life is just as painful as death…But I guess it depends on what you fear most. If the line is thin, and then wide, we will see who seeks life, and who seeks death—but that is something no person can ever admit. 

The Spark

Author's Note: This is my Patriot's Pen Essay. I tried to make it as creative as possible... but since its based on history it was a kind of hard. Hope you like it anyways! 

You were the initial spark. You fed the flame air and it took to a blaze. You contemplated into the future, knowing the flame would not die—not even 236 years into the future. So I thank you. Thanks for the spark to the burning fire of America.

 We live in a proud America, and looking back we see war and struggle, and we see our founding fathers, fighting. That is why they bring sparks to the cold times. They brought warmth and life to this country. Slavery, gifts, and thinking out of the box should be thought of when we think of our fathers—they should be thanked for everything they did.

Thank you…

Looking at slavery today, we are disgusted. However, without slavery, we wouldn’t have had additional soldiers to the Revolutionary war. Our slaves fought along with us, giving America more numbers. Without them, we wouldn’t have gotten much done in those trying times. And without bringing them to America, African-Americans would still be living in Africa—dying of all causes. Today, they have the same rights as everyone else. Again, our fathers did an act of good and should be appreciated.

                                                                              

For everything…

In particular, they should be appreciated for their gifts. They were gifted with foresight and futuristic wisdom. Only 26 amendments have been made to the original writings, such as The Constitution, Bill of Rights and The Declaration of Independence. We have not had many issues with their first postings. Mostly, if they are not known for their bravery, then they should be known for their intelligence.

You did…

Intelligence goes with creativity and having to learn on the job. Benjamin Franklin ended up creating bifocals, the lightning rod, the Franklin Stove and an odometer. Most of these we still use today! And George Washington, being the first president, was very good at working under stupendous pressures. He used his own knowledge, inventing mobile ways to fight in a war—which is a style we still use today. These little things are what separated us from Great Britain.

  

For America…

Without the spark and a nurtured flame, the blaze would not burn today. It is strong; anyone can see that. So, we should thank our founders, think of them as our heroes, our family. Think of everything they did. Think of everything they are. Think of who they did this for.

For us.

Loss of a Twin

Author's Note: This is my Cause/Effect piece that is focused on the plot from Wish, by Alexandra Bullen. Not my best piece...

Olivia from Wish,by Alexandra Bullen, has lost her twin sister, her best friend. Her twin, Violet, died unexpectedly which left the whole stunned and breathless. Nothing seemed the same after that. The family couldn't look at anything without being reminded of Violet. In some time, the family decides to move to San Francisco in hopes that the memory of Violet will be gone. They as a family cannot handle the loss. They want to forget. They want to be happy again. Olivia agrees to go, with the same wishes as her family.

When they arrive, however, Olivia finds that maybe she doesn't want to forget. When she seeks a dress boutique in a small shopping outlet, everything feels different again. And that's when the dress appears at her doorstep the next day. She tries it on, wondering how the store got her measurements perfect. As she's staring in the mirror, she is reminded of her sister (since they are twins). She wishes for her to come back…and that's what happens.

The wishing upon the dress is the climax of this book. It is the point of no return, and Olivia can never go back to being the same. This is true, because she gets reattached to her ghostly sister, and then afterwards can never strip her presence from her fully.

Leading up to the climax was Olivia wandering around aimlessly in San Francisco, not knowing what she wanted to do in life anymore. And since she was headed to nowhere in particular, she stumbled across the magical boutique that appeared only to her. The universe was giving her a target, although she didn't know it yet.

Violet, now being a ghost, has the same characteristics as when she was alive, she even acts fully alive. This makes Olivia worry, because when Violet thinks that she truly is alive, Olivia knows Violet  has to go back. Olivia then seeks help. Although she loves her sister, she finds herself learning that forgetting is not the answer, and neither is holding on, either. She makes new friends in the process, hoping that they will help her find a "cure" to her specific information. Violet's presence helps Olivia, in two ways. 1.) Violet was always the more "socially acceptable" twin and coaches Olivia on her first day at the new school and 2.) it makes Olivia more independent when she is sneaking around Violet, looking for help with her new friends.

The reason for the magical dress and wish is unstated in the book. However, it is not unclear. I believe that the wish came to Olivia because the universe is all about "everything happens for a reason", and it is. It was a turn in the book that helped Olivia overall to cope with the sudden death of her sister and pull her family back together.

If Olivia would not have received that magical dress from the magical boutique, her entire family would still be silently suffering. Not talking about Violet's death yet thinking about it, trying to forget yet at the same time holding on. They would drag out their lives in San Francisco that would in the end hold nothing positive for them.

In the end, after making new friends such as Soren and Calla, (and after searching the boutique for clues when they find the manager of the store who is also magical and searching Violet's once favorite places such as the boat docks) they find a way for Violet to rest in peace, a way back to the afterlife. This makes Olivia sad yet happy at the same time, as she remembers her sister as well as the lesson of understanding "everything happens for a reason".

Enemies

Author's Note: This is my Conflict/Resolution piece, and I used the book Animal Farm to complete the assignment. 

Animal Farm leads a series of events which head to a suspected ending. So of course there are many conflicts within this book. Although, the main conflicts would have to fall somewhere on the lines of Person vs. Person. This book covers animals living on what was originally called "Manor Farm" whose rebellious thoughts led to them chasing out their farmer. Eventually, a new farm is established with its own "Seven Commandments", philosophies, and work ethics under the leadership of the pigs- Snowball, and Napoleon. The animals follow through with the pigs' teachings and doings, not knowing better, even when a tiny stupor of suspicion occurs.

The pigs at first are willing to work together, and they do. They get the new farm, "Animal Farm", up and running  and surviving, but they have very different opinions in mind for the future of the farm. They work on different projects. Snowball teaches the animals to read, attempting to make them smarter so they can possibly think for themselves somewhat. Napoleon is raising puppies at the time, training them to be guards, his servants. Disagreements between the two arise, especially when Snowball concocts a plan to build an electricity-generating windmill. This idea does not go over well with Napoleon however, and it leads to an election. However, while Snowball makes a long speech, dedicating his words to his beloved farm and ideas for the future, when it's Napoleon's turn to speak, he barely says anything. He then summons his dogs to forcefully chase Snowball out of the farm. Thus, ending the election.

Snowball and Napoleon, the two pigs, were against each other, and it was like Republicans vs. Democrats. Two different sides, fighting for "control" over the people. Napoleon's resolution to the conflict was chasing out his opponent. And while this conflict supposedly ended, another stirred. With this one also being Person vs. Person.

Dictatorship started to take play, and because of the teachings the animals received from Snowball, they could somewhat process thoughts of question. They started noticing Napoleon's dictatorship and traitorous ways. Such as his trading with neighboring farms with a farmer named Mr. Frederick, walking upright like a human, trading his best worker for money, with the money being for whiskey, carrying whips, and wearing clothes… they were appalled and stunned that their leader would betray them. But by the time they knew for sure what they were dealing with, they found themselves staring at creatures sitting around a table, talking, laughing and the animals looking in couldn't tell who was human and who was a pig.

There were two main conflicts within this book; both of them happened to be Person vs. Person. The two pigs fighting against each other, wanting to assume control. And the animals on the farm, who noticed dictatorship and didn't like it. Even though the animals didn't do much of anything to right the wrongs of Napoleon and the pigs, if the book would have continued, they probably would have. There would be nothing else for them to do. There would be nothing for them except fear. There would be nothing for them but their original farm, changed back to the name of "Manor Farm".

Revelation

Author's Note: Here is my personal narrative.We had to choose a memory from our lives and put it into a "seed" story-- meaning it is focusing on a simple subject, only focusing on that subject. It's not supposed to be the happiest story! But either way, I hope you like it!

The gravel crunched beneath my tiny shoes, my favorite shoes. My mom told me to dress as comfortably as possible, and the shoes were a package deal with every outfit. Looking back, I don't know what had drawn me to them. Pink-outlined shoes that were white with an elastic band wrapping behind the heels- they were nothing special. And that was what I thought about as I walked up the three stairs to the building that was supposedly nothing special. I should've known by the way my dad looked at my mother, as we walked out our garage door to the car that morning. He stayed behind, refusing to come along to the building with the blue-peeling paint.

We walked inside.

I was five at the time, about to turn six. That's what I told the lady at the desk, when she asked me how old I was. But I looked up at my mom first before I answered of course, this lady was a stranger, and my mother knew how to keep me safe- she protected me.

My mom nudged me when the strange lady with the big curly hair asked for my name.

"Tori," I said. And I motioned for my mom to bend down, so I could tell her something. "It smells weird in here."

My mom stood back up and ignored my comment, and I was left to plug my nose. Instead, she handed the lady one of her landscape checks. I stood there and wondered what was going on.

"Tori," The big-haired lady bent down to me. "Please follow me,"

So I did.

I didn't know at the time, that I would learn to cringe at the sound of those words- almost as much as I did when I walked into the overly-scented building. In the room, I saw a loveseat couch, and an office-chair, black and sophisticated. The couch I was asked to sit down on was a soft greenish color. It smelled too. Like stale perfume and old people. Everything in here was different, I'd thought. The smells, the strange lady, the building, the weird event that was taking place. I knew that I was scared, even though I didn't know of what yet.

"Tori," She said again. I decidedly refused to look at her, as I studied the scattered setting and stacks of notebooks and piles of paper in the corners. "Have you noticed your parents fighting lately?" She said it slowly, and I remember feeling her eyes boring into me.

I shook my head, but now my gaze was now aimed to my shoes. They were the only familiar things in the place.

What is happening?

She sifted through her notebook pages, and I glanced up to see what she was doing. She took out a pencil and wrote something down. Suddenly, I had felt more uncomfortable than ever. The pencil moved swiftly and with purpose.

I still stared.

"Are you sure? Your mom says that you might have heard them yelling at each other. Have you?"

This was the first time that someone had mentioned my parents' fighting. Of course I hadn't noticed, my parents were deliberately trying to hide it from me and my three-year old sister. I didn't know that. The lady's words hurt my ears and I wanted to leave then, and I'd only been in the building for five minutes.

So I asked, "Can my mom please come in now? Why am I here?"    

She stood up then, and said, "My name is Melissa. Hold on, one moment."

When she walked out the door, I tried desperately to readjust myself on that lumpy green couch. It was so uncomfortable, and the strong fumes started to make my head ache. Was this some sort of test? Why wasn't daddy here? Questions were stirring among my headache, and in less than a minute, Melissa and my mom both walked in.

They sat down.

"Honey," Mom said then, noticing my expression of anxiety. "This is a counseling appointment."

I slouched backwards, and felt an unexpected tear slip down my cheek. Why I was crying, well, perhaps I did notice something strange at home. I didn't hear yelling, instead, it was just the opposite. Positive influence was overly crowding our home for the past few weeks. My mother acting different,  happier. She was now asking me how kindergarten was, offering to drive me to school, asking if I wanted a friend over… all things she never did before. She tucked me in at night, singing me to sleep which I had been asking her to do for awhile. And while she was bombarding me with love of a kind I've never experienced before, my dad was retreating. He was the parent that cared for me, and now he'd been staying away. Glancing at my mom differently, looking at me with sad eyes- with me of course not knowing why. Even though I loved the attention my mother was giving me, everything back then felt backwards. And in that office, right then… I put the pieces together.

The tears stopped.

"Tori, what do you have to say about this?" The counselor and my mom seemed to speak at once. And as they said that, I buried my head into the green fabric of the couch.

"I want daddy."

It was only the initial appointment, in which I was introduced to Melissa. It also introduced me to the realization of my parent's fighting status. Little did I know, the wall of yelling would collapse, and I would from then on hear the arguing, the disagreeing; instead of my parents shielding it from me. All I knew right then, was that everything scared me, and the ladies who both sat with me in that room saw it in my face, so my mom decided to take me home to daddy then. She lifted me up and I wrapped my legs around her waist as I looked down. I saw my white shoes with pink trim, and started to cry again. They were terrible shoes, I realized. Dirt covered them. They were cheap. Tears fell onto them. They were old. I tried to kick them off, and only one tore away from me. My mom forced it back onto my foot, and I started to cry more. We walked down the three steps, and I stepped onto the gravel.

My mom sighed and walked to the car as I slammed the door shut. I dried my face with my shirt. And when I pressed the material to my face, it smelled of the building, like Melissa. I didn't look at my mom when she started the car and backed out.

My mom wasn't trying to protect me, I knew. It was the truth.

I want daddy.

I still do.

Retelling "Love, Sara"

Author's Note: This is my retelling assignment for a book of personal choice. I chose "Love, Sara", a book I chose last year for another reading assignment, and even though it was for an assignment, it is still one of my favorite books!

Ending Revealed: 

A dark childhood of abuse, parental death, and loss of love, smiles, and humor leads a girl to her teenage years. Series of documents withhold her life's story as it all leads to not her, but her best friend's downfall when she gets pregnant. Consoling her best friend's dread and self-hatred, she finds herself realizing that her words are meant for her own aid, and when her best friend's death is not either an accident nor mistake, she finds everything happens for a reason, then trying to right the wrong of her childhood, leading a new path into a bright future.


Advertisement: --Recommended for girls (12 and up) more so than boys.

Told throughout series of emails, writing pieces, dialogue and newspapers, Sara always signed her papers "Love, Sara"- although her dark secrets of childhood have restricted her loving feelings. Yet, her fearful memories are bottled up and aren't shared, because it's her friend who takes the spotlight when she becomes pregnant and instantly loathes herself with dread. Sara attempts to console her best friend and her boyfriend, although it only gets worse when scholarships, homes, money and lives get taken away. Sara battles her inner demons while desperately attempting to help her friends when suddenly the question is: Who will live on? 

The Dream That Endures

Author's Note: This piece is going to be used for my District Writing Assessment. We had our choice to write whatever we felt like. I decided to write an essay since it was 9/11 the day the assignment was given...Comment please!            

             The buildings fought, just as we did. Upon the great metal structure, supported with hopes and dreams, they still swayed. Impact ruptured the metal bones. They leaned to the left and then back, swaying indecisively—the decision fatal to the souls occupying inside. But with each tilt and fighting moment, the hopes and dreams were flickering. The agonizing lean of the skyscrapers were the tests, were the warnings. And when the flame of those hopes and dreams died out, they sent a vast debris cloud rumbling down the streets. It chased the people down the roads and alleyways, soaking into buildings, sheeting everything with gray. A gray, however, that did not last.

            9/11 was the result of hatred. Hate was always the root of this, and it dug so deep the plant swelled with negative growth. And the growth became reality. To remember this reality, each year on the anniversary, is to remember our reaction; not to remember al Qaeda. Their motives aren’t of necessary discussion. What we do need to concern ourselves over, are the affects afterwards. Some believe our American spirit was lost in the hectic scenes, lost in the chaos.

           

            In May of 2011, we avenged our fears, loved ones, beloved towers and American spirit by claiming the life of al Qaeda’s leader. This, of course, was our goal—one that we achieved. Does this truly make everything better though? Things are not completely solved by death, life is the answer to the positive future. The living are the ones who can make changes. And if we do, our American spirit will rebuild in time…but did it ever truly die? No, although the process of strengthening took/will take time. The development of our continuing American spirit consists of fears, dreams, and the resolve.  

Fears:           

            The aftermath was a country suffering from paranoia; overreacting because someone was from a certain ethnicity—wondering if they were a terrorist because they were from the middle-east. Planes were avoided, some wondering if the next plane they stepped onto was going to be hijacked. And of course the general fear of being attacked again, considering one plane didn’t reach its target—al Qaeda might want revenge for that “inconvenience”. Paranoid people were roaming about in despair, but among them, was the wish, the longing, to return to the past.

Dreams:

                A dream is forever, it is infinite. Hope is always encouraging our dreams, and wherever there’s despair, hope is always trailing along. Even when the hope seems lost in the vast debris cloud, it is there. Remnants of dreams can always be found in remembrance. And since dreams are first imagined, it can be retrieved from memory. Our remembrance was our sight. We weren’t blinded by the smoke and chaos and metal gore. America is known for always sticking together, helping each other to think and see straight, even when in the least hopeful of situations. The Revolutionary War is good example of this. Our numbers were lacking, and yet we stuck together, putting our heads together to evolve an idea of strategy. Instead of standing rows upon rows of soldiers, we would be scattered; using the element of surprise to fight our battles. And in the end, we came out bloody and scarred, but also victorious and strong. Stronger in spirit and stronger in togetherness. We strengthened our American spirit. We revived our American dream even when the towers were destroyed. It was never lost. Always trailing behind. And we knew, that you cannot strengthen something that you don’t have.

The Resolve:

                Many actions have been set to resolve our dreams and to strengthen our American dream altogether. We bond together, initiating support groups including all people, to explain how they feel. Emotional baggage is something no one wants to lug around. We unite ourselves to work out our feelings. Physical changes and systems have been made in attempt to protect the safety of the public as well—especially on planes. The new security systems have been installed and enforced such as TSA (Transportation Safety Administration). Aboard the plane, the once open cockpit door that led to the control room, is now shut. Made of steel and closed whenever the plane is in motion, it can no longer be kicked in, making it impossible to hijack the plane’s controls. The Office of Homeland Defense is also a new corporation where they set terror alerts and monitor any terror threats that come in through tips. Also, creating the threat level list, has helped us to specifically monitor each terrorist group, rating them with symbols and numbers, trying to track their every move.

                Currently, we are still working to resolve our problems created on the day of tragedy. I believe, in time, as we continue to enhance technology further, it will be completely impossible to create a terrorist attack. Not only on airplanes, but everywhere. Cities, trains, stores, buildings… And as we improve our knowledge of these types of attacks, the only struggles left will be the emotional.

               

                Some might want to forget—it might be easier after all! But to forget that day of horrific scenes, is to forget the day we bonded together, risking our own lives for the sake of strangers’. In times of great struggle—that is when we are at our greatest, our bravest, even if we don’t seem it. We are united, as a team, supporting, joining together in union. Encouraging, volunteering and honoring for our great Nation. Because the truth is, you can never lose your meaning, your purpose. And if everything happens for a reason, 9/11 was to strengthen our American spirit, to unite us again.

                The gray does not ever last. Searching the wreckage of metal bones and gore, our hopes and dreams do not lie with them. They remain to hang in the air, standing forever there, up high where we will always remember the ghosts.  And as we look up at the ghosts of our Twin Towers, we will forever know that they fought, just as we did.