Short Stories

Spectacular fires billowed through the night skies, with grey smoke clouds trailing behind them.  Power lines toppled like dominoes, tangling wires as they went down. The stars twinkled for the first time in a while, silhouetting the city’s night skyline as the uncontrollable flames raged on.   Buildings and skyscrapers begin to crumble. The world was collapsing right before my eyes, but I was at a far-off distance as a spectator. I am floating a few yards above the water. The sea roared, clashing continuously upon itself as violently as the combustion offshore. Feeling the spray of the waves, the wind skimmed against my face.      

Soft breezes from the operating fan above brushed against my skin. Tinted with yellow, the off white speckled tiles hinted stains of water damage. I woke up to an unfamiliar ceiling. The only sound came from a dripping sink somewhere close by. I lay on a rickety bed unaccompanied.

Drenched in sweat, I had woken up from the terrible nightmare. The dreadful sensation from the dream still lingered. Short and hurried gasps filled the room. My breaths were catching up with the situation. My head pounded tremendously. It was difficult to think straight. But I knew something was definitely amiss.

This isn't my house. I shouldn't be here. Where am I?

I reached towards the drawer closest to the bed for my phone out of habit. Instead, the smooth cold surface of polished wood met my hands. Searching through the pockets of my clothes, I only found the typical lint and pocket change. My phone was nowhere to be found. My keys and wallet; things I would never leave the house without, were missing too. Someone could have ran away with it. The current situation was getting more concerning by the minute. I rushed straight out of bed and bolted towards the door.

The door, the intimidating opponent, stood ever so intimidating. The door itself appeared as an old panel wooden black door, but upon closer inspection, I saw that it was made of heavy duty metal, maybe half inch thick. What really caught my eye was the smooth exterior of the metal lock; it stuck out like a sore thumb. A intricately designed cavity centered the metal plate; this was no ordinary lock. The LED light above the lock gleamed an ominous red. I was not going anywhere for while.  

I scanned the area but only an uncanny view presented itself. No nearby sounds hinted to neighbors. The room felt empty as the sink drips echoed throughout the space. Textured tan wallpaper with its respective cracks, long faded by the sun. To my surprise, there was no light from outside; the windows were boarded up. The boards were up pretty recently. I noticed that a clock or any indication of time was not present. The room was frozen in time, separated from the outside world.

What a peculiar situation I am in…

Come to think of it, I can't even recall my name!

Who am I? Why am I here?

Could it be short term memory loss? What if someone did something to me? Certainly, these circumstances are not normal in the slightest. The pounding in my head echoed faster and louder, my thoughts a wild mess. I started to panic. The dryness of my mouth made it harder to breathe. I started to investigate in search of any information.

 A crumpled sheet from a motel memo was in my pocket. It was my handwriting for sure, though messier than the usual. I was clearly in a hurry. After trying to decipher the chicken-scratch, I was left stunned.

 “…I’m so sorry. This was my entire fault. They’re out to get me. Just try to save her.  I don’t have much time l… “ 

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Object Story: Pinata

Day 3 I am shrouded in darkness. I am not alone though. There are others like me here. Even though there are many of us, it does not take much effort to move us. A brown vessel is encasing us. It is very cramped and difficult to move around in. The ground beneath is in constant motion. We are moving. I don't know where we are heading. I look forward to when we reach our destination soon. Day 23 The sound of ripping comes from above. The ceiling of the vessel opened outwards. Has the heavens finally showing themselves? Five fleshy claw-like extensions reach in. It first grabs on to me, lifting my body outside of the brown cardboard container. I cannot see my friends from above but I am sure that they are surprised. At last, I am free from the box where I was contained in for so long. Where will I end up now? Day 24 Everything is different now. It is difficult to take in the drastic change all at once. The fluorescent lights overwhelm my eyes. Here, I stand with companion from the voyage. We lay upon a long white metal board. I am on the very top of these boards, and very far from the floor. I much rather be near the ground as heights make me uneasy. Here, we are set besides the various colored boxes and containers. I am not sure if I will ever adjust to these new surroundings. I hope this situation is only temporary. Day 32 I have been observing the shelves across from me. Bags of wrapped candies are currently occupying the space. They are popular with the smaller flesh giants. Many bags go missing every week, but no one noticed it yet. They get replaced by new ones and the cycle repeats again. I get the motion these actions apply to everything here. Eventually I will be replaced and no one is there to remember. Day 48 I have grown weary, weary of living in constant fear every day. Not knowing what tomorrow will bring. I am unsure how many of us are left. But they are taking us one by one. They reach for us with their flesh-claws. Then they put one of us into some moving metal cage with other boxes and containers. After these flesh giants roll away, we never see my friends again. We do not know what happens to taken ones. All I know that there is no way of escaping this fate. It is only a matter of time when I get grabbed. I hope luck is on my side. Day 62 A hand reached and removed me from my spot. This captor is different than the ones that came though. She holds a few floating round things by the strings. The long haired giant puts me in the metal cart along with a couple of candy bags. After a short while, I am placed on a moving black strip along with the others from the cart. I am especially larger than the rest so I am in a plastic bag alone. The ground underneath me is moving again. This is the day I have been dreading since I got here. There are only six of us now, compared to the twenty from the voyage. Frankly, I am surprised I lasted so long. The only thing I can do is accept my fate and roll with it. Day 63 I arrive in a house along with the items from the conveying strip. We lay on top of a wooden surface. The fleshed giant tears through the plastic bag of candies and grabs the inner pieces out. It grabs a hold of me and cuts a square through my stomach. After that, the long haired giant stuffs me with the candy pieces until I am full. I feel heavier and very uneasy. She sets us asides to work on something at the counters full of pots and pans. Day 64 I am outside. A soft breeze would come every so often to brush against my papery exterior. The giant has hung me up a tree branch tied by string. I am unsure of the intent of the large giant, but for now, I am free and shifting through the air. I observe my view from above; smaller giants shouting and running while wearing pointy paper hats. They are messy, loud and destructive. After a while, smaller giants gather and start to surround me. One of them approaches me blindfolded and armed with a stick. He has a devious look in his eyes, determined that he will win. He spins three times and strikes...

  

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New Money vs Old Money

Taking place in the flourishing era of the "roaring twenties", The Great Gatsby by Scott Fitzgerald brings up social class differences with West and East Egg. The Buchanans, known as old money because their wealth passed down from older generations, live in East Egg. Nick, the narrator, and Gatsby live in West Egg; they represent the nouveau riche, or people who gained their wealth in their own generation. Even though both sides are well off economically and may have humble beginnings, new money is deemed inferior compared to the old. New money have something that old money lacks: optimism and heart.

Old money have the notion that new money got their fortune by luck rather than hard work. or that they do not deserve their wealth. Old money -privileged of an Ivy League form of education, personal and professional networks- have specific ways of formality and mannerism of the rich. The newly rich are the successful people who drove their dreams into reality, resulting in their fortune. Seeing how flaunting and irresponsible some of the new money is with their riches (e.g. Gatsby's extravagant parties, gigantic mansions), the older generations frown upon the new money.

This goes without saying that old money still have their own problems. Their selfishness grown from being fed from a silver spoon, leads to never being satisfied. Daisy acts superficially to mask the pain of her husband's affair. The Buchanans put their image to society as a priority even if struggling with their marriage. Even though old money is fortunate to live in a lavish lifestyle, they do not necessarily act responsibly with their own emotions and relationships.  

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Thankful ヽ༼ຈل͜ຈ༽ﾉ

I don't do well on personal posts, especially executing it in a formal fashion. It would drain my brain to spew out what little eloquence I have. Also, emoticons make everything better (when used in moderation). That said, never let me write a graduation speech, ever. I would die. _(」∠ ､ﾝ､)_

There are many people I’m glad that are in our seventh period class, but if I had to pick, Nancy http://villalette.blogspot.com/) would be my first choice. She is on task, gets work done and is responsible, unlike a certain person I know (hint, it’s me). It still amazes me to see how much a person will work then to avoid working later! （・□・；）We have two classes and lunch together this year, so we see each other every day. I'm thankful that she (hopefully) not too annoyed that I badger her with class shenanigans. I'm also very indecisive (for mostly very petty things) and Nancy is willing to aid in my decision making (thanks to her great ~logical skillz~ (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧).

Nancy and I joined some clubs together back when we were freshmen, and are still a part of this year. We both currently partake in the Young Company since last year. For the fall production, I was in public relations, she was in set crew. Even though we are in different crews, it was a great experience to be part of something bigger than ourselves and create a successful theatrical production. We are also on the executive board of Pastry Club this year (in which I neglected during company ◉ x ◉).

I knew this person since seventh grade, ever since she transferred to my class back in elementary school. During the first encounters, we talked over KHR (a great show) occasionally. To this day, Nancy and I still have similar interests we could talk about all the time (hurray for the internet and shows(ᅌᴗᅌ* ), and once made a hobby out of it for a while. I’m thankful that I met and befriended Nancy, who I could relate to with our interests, and was able to maintain that friendship past elementary school (it’s been about three or four years now! ヾ (@^▽^@)ノ).

???

(I was going to add in other people but I never got around to that until now woooops)

Aidan - He likes to think he is cool but he is really lame actually. He is occasionally helpful during our trig class, that is until the day of reassigned seats and the fire nation attacked. I’m thankful that he joined Company, and even though he was in set, he decided to hang out with the PR crew (because we're cool) and buy so many orange pop from us. How does he physically handle all that sugar with his fragile looking frame? Could he be a black hole in a human disguise? An alien who is trying to adapt to human civilization that happens to like orange soda a lot? No one knows; even science could not answer such an enigma. ༼´◓ɷ◔`༽ It is unfortunate that a Pokémon game has recently sucked the living soul out of Aidan with its addictive powers. ◉‿◉

Brian Adams, (addressed only by his full name by McCarthy, and is cursed with the same name as the Canadian singer) - I do not approve of his lame shirts but his afro makes it up somewhat; being a Whovian counts as extra points. I’m thankful that he also got to get a role in the play (sophomore actors represent) but no one cannot convince me that he was supposed to play a twelve year old boy. I’m thankful for shirts with two breast pockets, apples, and laws of physics. I know that Tiffany is thankful for the sun, water, carbon dioxide and Brian. (No, Brian, I will never let that go. Never.) ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) 

Ivy – I have known her during freshman connection and YTF, and she’s a delight to have in a class. She is a quirky person who also is talented in singing. I remember going shopping in downtown during freshman year, and that was neat. I’m thankful that there are still people who are willing to take the time to write about their entire class and that they exist in the world. (. ◕ o ◕.) I’m thankful for matching Christmas plant names, and that the Los Campesinos! sang it.

Keilani – I’m thankful that she is a reminder that freshmen (technically frackies) can be pretty cool. Also, I’m grateful for superhero merchandise, and the fact that there is a Wonder Woman fan in the class who proudly displays it. The five lines and creation of a certain bear make this class enjoyable. ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ

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I Celebrate Myself

"I celebrate myself, and sing myself, 

And what I assume you shall assume, 

 For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you."

- "The Song of Myself" by Walt Whitman

The first few lines of a free versed poem highlight the core of a poet's insight of himself and the society that surrounds him. Whitman is among the many influential poets who voiced the views during the transition towards transcendentalism. Transcendentalism was philosophical and religious movement during the 1820s, protested against the state of culture and society as it was believed to corrupt the purity of the individual. To preserve the individuality, people should become closer to nature and become self-reliant.

            From the movie, Into the Wild (2007), transcendentalism is put into action, taking place in more recent past of the modern world (1990s). It shows of Christopher Mccandless and his journey to pursuit living in isolation, separated and removed from society completely. He eventually sees that nature is harsh and uncaring, revealing that true happiness is found when shared with others.  

            I personally do not believe I would ever go to such extremes as Mccandless did to find personal freedom. I accept that this society is very material-based and money driven, and there are many flaws into this kind of living. Even if we are aware of these problems, many people will not do anything about it and just get caught up in their lives. It seems that this world moves to fast for anyone to catch their breath and appreciate the little things in life and enjoy nature.

When trying to escape the busy life, most would choose a familiar or nearby place to settle in for a short while. The more adventurous would select a “resort”, “cruise” like vacation. I can’t find myself to call those real vacations since it feels staged, a man-made operation, always with a guide to make sure visitors enjoy themselves. I would prefer improvised road trips to unfamiliar towns or hiking in an uninhabited area of nature to a cruise to the tropical island any day. I want to be part of an adventure that won’t be able to be reduced to a generic vacation pamphlet description.  

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Poe

Edgar Allan Poe, famed for his Gothic style of writing, has been considered one of the prime examples of American Romanticism. Poe was known to write very descriptive works of gloomy, suspenseful mysteries and horrors. He mostly focused on themes concerning the questioning of death, mourning, love, hope and despair, etc. The source of his works was clearly shown by the events throughout Poe’s tragic life.

After the death of his parents within three years of birth; Poe was then taken in by a wealthy merchant, who sent him to school. Unable to get over the debt, Poe dropped out after a year, leaving him broke and jobless. His caretaker left him with no money or source of survival, and Poe was already poverty stricken.  

 Poe went to New York City where he had some of his poetry and stories successfully published, got a job as a newspaper editor, but still struggled with making a living.  Eventually, he had reached his goal of writing his own magazine, only to be driven out of the city by invading rumors.

 At 27 years old, Poe married his 13 year old cousin; he celebrated his joy in poems. His wife died from tuberculosis shortly afterwards, leaving Poe devastated and unable to write. Poe’s life reached a mysterious end where he dies of unknown causes after he disappeared for a few days after taking the wrong train.  Poe died at 40 years old.

Poe’s writing reflected on his thoughts and views of the world, as the events of his life influenced his work; they were written throughout his career as he struggled to keep bread on the table. Edgar Allan Poe’s life was full of hardship and stress: he was raised by foster parents, did not have many close friends or family and the love of his life died within two years of marriage. It is because these past events which played a big role in writing, enabled Poe to provide the world such classic tales.

Poe’s writing has sent many chills down readers’ spines for many years, and hopefully many more years to come. His descriptions are spot on for the creepiness and suspense factor. Leaving the conclusion vague and open to interpretation leads the reader to many possibilities and explores their meanings. The mixture of love and horror gives an interesting viewpoint, fixated over the premature death of their loved ones. Surely, it is a given that Poe’s work is a timeless classic that should be cherished throughout the generations. It is no wonder Poe is considered the inventor of detective fiction genre as well as the game changer of science fiction.  

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What is an American?

America has been described as a “melting pot” or “salad bowl” of multiple cultures and various peoples, because Americans come from all over the world and began to interact with one another. This nation experiences a phenomenon that no other nation has, due to the vast diversity of people. When asked “what are you?” most people would name their ancestral origins.  It is more common that people resort to ethnicity than nationality in terms of identifying oneself. Why is that?

The obvious reason is that typically the question is asked out of curiosity, mostly due to one’s appearance. Usually, it is simple to make an assumption of a person’s race or ethnicity, based on physical characteristics. People who do not fit the general features, like multiracial peoples, are more likely to be asked. Using 'American' as an ethnicity would be incorrect since it would technically describe Native Americans.

Most would identify a person as an American if they were born, raised and utilize their rights as citizens. Most citizen-born citizens consider themselves a compound word; “x-American” were x is replaced with a ethnicity as a compromise. I find this term of identification most acceptable, since incorporate an individual’s family background, as well as acknowledges the American culture. However, I think the term ‘American’ could apply to anyone who has adapted the “American culture” into their lives, or people who view the States as their home.

America has only 237 years of history; compared to countries, this nation is very young. Perhaps, people do not view America as an ethnicity because of the lack of history. However, in my argument, I do not think that matters; what does is the culture and people. There is a distinctive attitude Americans possess; we are individualistic, democratic, opinionated, and stubborn. Foreigners may view this attitude negatively, but nonetheless, we are very distinguishable from other cultures.

 Until people of the world (as well as our own) recognize America as its own culture rather than “a blend of others”, and look past the physical aspect of it, it will be a while for people to stop calling themselves something they aren’t. Our nation should take the time to appreciate our rights and individuality, and maybe then, we can finally view ourselves as “American”.  

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The Modern Puritan

From the previous readings from The Crucible by Arthur Miller and The Scarlet Letter by Nathaniel Hawthorne, one can conclude that the Puritans had a very different lifestyle and behaviors from the modern man. Puritans were extremely religious English Protestants; they lived simple lives, free of pleasure or luxury as it was seen as sinful. Although Puritans identified a religious group, it has evolved to been used to describe a person who sticks to strict moral or religious values.

The way of thinking has drastically shifted from eighteenth century; the modern age is more independent and liberated in morals. Even though the majority of the nation have the luxury of freedom, strict principles and beliefs could still apply in certain lifestyles. For example, the Amish, a group of traditional Christians known for simple living and avoiding technology can be viewed as a modern puritan group. Both Puritan and Amish shun members who cannot be repented for their sins, and usually resulted in excommunication. However, the extent of enforcing rules is very different; Puritans were willing to severely punish law breakers, held hunts and burning at the stakes while the Amish are pacifists and does not resort to violence.

The Puritans were an extremely forceful group, however perished as they could not keep up with the changing times. Even though the Amish lived a lifestyle similar as the Puritans based on simple living and religion based, the Amish’s religious enforcement is not as cruel. However, there are groups that could reach the same extent in punishment and emphasis on rules that are not necessarily for religious purposes. 

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