A Strong Old Oak

"I can see it in my head: a strong old oak with a wide scarred trunk and thousands of leaves reaching to the sun.  There's a tree in front of my house just like it.  I can feel the wind blow and hear the mockingbird whistling on the way back to her nest .  But when I try to carve it, it looks like a dead tree, toothpicks, a  child's drawing.  I can't bring it to life. I'd love to give it up.  Quit.  But I can't think of anything else to do, so I keep chipping away at it."

I picked this scene because it, if you look closely, it is just an extended metaphor.  Melinda is comparing herself to a dead tree, she can see what she wants to be. She wants to be alive. Scarred, but alive.  She is dead inside. Wanting mockingbirds, or friends, to flock to her and sing to her and stay with her, she doesn't realize that it isn't the birds that are wrong, the birds are smart enough to know that this tree isn't safe enough to build a nest in. The tree is weak and broken, and there is nothing the birds can do about that.

Melinda doesn't want to start over, she just wants to rebuild what is gone already.  She can't find the things in herself that she has lost, so she keeps chipping away at what she still has.  Wanting to give it up, she wishes she could just succumb to failure, but Mr.  Freeman keeps her going.  If you think about it, in  her reality it's the same thing.  Mr.  Freeman is keeping her from floating away, he is the rock that her family is supposed to be.  He believes in her and continues to encourage her.  He is the reason she comes through. 

Music

My music flows,

through my-

Human,

Sloppy,

fingers,

Over the scratches,

And the scars,

The hands of a human,

The voice of a god.

A living,

Breathing,

Flood of voices,

Singing,

Their beautiful

Glorious,

Song.

The fate of the world

Resting,

on my fingers,

Yet,

They flounce lightly,

Across the keys,

On the wings,

of a butterfly.

Music,

It fills my bones,

Lifts my spirit,

I am lost,

But I don't want,

To be found,

I am a puzzle,

But I don't want,

to be solved.

A symphony,

of one

A choir that sings,

Solo,

I speak,

through my music,

But who,

Will listen?

Prophetic Tales

Throughout history many iconic figures have made predictions as to what they foresee happening in the future.  Many of these people, if I were to start mentioning names, you would probably recognize.  They have become famous for their grand insight and their supreme knowledge, but many become laughing stocks once others realize their calculations were quite wrong.  I believe that if any of these prophecies were to be completely fulfilled, our world would go off the deep end.  Have you ever considered what the future might bring?  Ray Bradbury makes his thoughts quite clear, and, as offensive and as cruel as they are, they, slowly but surely,  are coming true. 

In an interview with his publisher Ray Bradbury speaks about his inspiration for writing this book.  When asked how he was so well able to make his imagined story a prophecy of  reality, he states- "I was considering the whole social atmosphere: the impact of TV and radio and the lack of education.  I could see the coming even of school teachers not teaching reading anymore. The less they taught, the more you couldn't read books." Doesn't it make you wonder?  If it means nothing, maybe I should tell you that this book was published almost 100 years ago.  Does that make a difference?  Back then, people were just starting to get TVs.  In this book, people talk to TVs and they use these televisions instead of human interaction.   Does that sound familiar?  Most of the things in this book have already started to come true.  Who knows what will happen to us if this story actually comes true?  Author James Warner also mentions something along the lines of Ray Bradbury's book.  He says-  "Future 'books' will be bundled with soundtracks, musical leitmotifs, 3-D graphics, and streaming video. They’ll be enhanced with social bookmarking, online dating, and alerts from geo-networking apps whenever someone in your locality purchases the same book as you— anything so you don’t have to actually read the thing."  Now you've got your kindle fire, and your electronic reading devices with all these apps and games, you've got your online reading sites with pop-up ads for all sorts of other games.  The government doesn't need to influence our reading/technology choices, we make them ourselves, and it will be our own fault when Bradbury's story comes true. 

Am I offending you?  Do you love to read?  Do you wish that maybe I would just stop complaining about the flaws of society and start talking about princesses and ponies?  Or wait-  is that your uncle that still believes in unicorns?   Would he be offended if I accidentally mentioned that they were fake?  Why are you so offended?  What do you suggest I talk about?  Can't you see?  In Fahrenheit 451 Beatty mentions  something that might make you think.  He states- "Now let's take up the minorities in our civilization, shall we? Bigger the population, the more minorities. Don't step on the toes of the dog-lovers, the cat-lovers, doctors, lawyers, merchants, chiefs, Mormons, Baptists, Unitarians, second-generation Chinese, Swedes, Italians, Germans, Texans, Brooklynites, Irishmen, people from Oregon or Mexico. The people in this book, this play, this TV serial are not meant to represent any actual painters, cartographers, mechanics anywhere. The bigger your market, Montag, the less you handle controversy." And he isn't the only one! In the epilogue of the book, Ray Bradbury describes all the notes he receives about how offensive his book is.  Isn't it ironic?  You write a book to talk about how the world is so wrong because they won't let anyone interfere with their personal views, and your book gets banned.  It is illegal to put out Christian Christmas decorations in the front of a public place because someone might get offended.  My pastor once told a sermon about how at his old church, after having the design approved by the city for not being too offensive, they hung banners for Christmas on the street lights.  Not a day later they get a call asking to take them down because somebody is offended.  What has the world come to?  And the scary thing is, there is only one way for this situation to go- down.

I'm guessing that you're probably a little scared right now.  Who wouldn't be? Thinking about the future tends to bring that on.  I guess I might have been a little heavy the first few paragraphs, but there is something else we have to understand.  No opinion is foolproof, we have had that drilled into us since childhood.  Nobody is ever truly correct, because there are so many ways to look at life, it is simply impossible.  Ray Bradbury has a flaw.  He doesn't know.  He's not a prophet or a physic , he's a regular old Joe with too many opinions.  He can guess all he wants, but he doesn't know.  Neither do I.  Neither do any of us.  Some people can look at the world and think, wow, look at the horrible thing we've become.  Others can smile and say,  wow, look at how far we've come.  Your opinion, no matter how right you think you are, is still your opinion.  Many of us often confuse opinions for facts, and sometimes it scares us, but we need to keep going.  There is still a little part of us that needs to remind us of the full half of the glass rather than the empty half we always seem to find.  Bradbury can remind us again and again where his world might be going, but that isn't necessarily where our world is going.  Oprah Winfrey says, “When I look into the future, it's so bright it burns my eyes."  Bruce Lee says,  “The future looks extremely bright indeed, with lots of possibilities ahead -- big possibilities. Like the song says, ''We've just begun.''”  Marcel Pagnol states, “The reason people find it so hard to be happy is that they always see the past better than it was, the present worse than it is, and the future less resolved than it will be” Our future doesn't just hold the end of the world, but it holds happiness and joy and fun and love and everything else we never seem to be able to see.  Don't be afraid of what the future holds, but of what you will miss if you chicken out. 

All in all, the world might, or might not be headed for disaster.  We might all die, but then again, we might not.  The future might be absolutely horrifying, or it might be everything we've been working for.  The scary truth is, we don't know. We might not ever know. But we don't need to know.  Ray Bradbury is a smart guy, he knows a lot about what he is talking about, and there are a whole bunch of ways that society is failing. It takes a very strong person to admit to the horrors of life, but an even stronger person won't let these negative  opinions influence their views on life.  In the end, it all comes down to what you want to see, and I just hope you make the right choice. 

Angry Noises

" A great thunderstorm of sound gushed from the walls. Music bombarded him at such an immense volume that his bones were almost shaken from their tendons; he felt his jaw vibrate, his eyes wobble in his head. He was a victim of concussion."

In this quote, Ray Bradbury uses two different semantic devices.  This first thing you probably see is the metaphor comparing the sound to a great thunderstorm.  I believe that he chose to compare the noise to something unpleasant, not necessarily because the noise was incredibly loud, but that Guy simply didn't want to hear it.  Mildred just sits in her chair and does nothing. Obviously there was no loud noise, it was just in his head, but guy got so overwhelmed at that moment that every worry, every fear swallowed him, and after, he mentions that the actors' conversation feels drained.  Just like him. 

Next, the author chooses to use a series of hyperboles to describe Guy's reaction to this noise.  With these few sentences, I wonder if really there was a noise, because how can your eyes wobble in your head and your jaw vibrate at nothing?  All they are doing is arguing with one another. Not to mention the fact that the arguments don't even have a point! You're mad. No you're mad. Why would you be mad? I'm not mad, you're mad! But I'm not mad! Then why are you yelling?  I'm not yelling you're yelling! What kind of argument is that? It has no point, no reason to argue.  Yet they do.  The only reason that they are arguing is because they have nothing to argue about.  These hyperboles describe the anger that just aches to be released by Guy.

That dude has some serious problems.

Courageous Dancer

In the story of Harrison Bergeron a young ballerina, whose name is unknown, decides to make a stand.  I think that she must have had a difficult time doing so, as the price of this outburst is her life, but nonetheless she still gets up and dances.  Towards the beginning of this short story the ballerina is ashamed of her gorgeous looks and her fabulous dancing, but as the story goes on, you realize that the only reason she is ashamed of these things is because she has been taught to. Illegally dancing happily in the air, the beautiful dancer is suddenly shot down as well as the criminal she is dancing with.  In the end, her end that is, I do not think that she was afraid of death.  Her only fear I believe was dying just like everyone else, and being forgotten because she was normal just like everyone else.  Not only did she make a difference in herself, but she made a difference in the world, just like she always wanted to. 

Cheerful Ghosts

“I am the ghost of Christmas Present,” said the spirit. “Look upon me!”

Scrooge reverently did so. It was clothed in one simple deep-green robe, or mantle, bordered with white fur.  This garment hung so loosely on the figure that its capacious breast was bare, as if disdaining to be warded or concealed by any artifice. Its feet observable beneath the ample folds of the garment, were also bare, and on its head it wore no other covering than a holy wreath, set here and there with long shining icicles. Its dark-brown curls were long and free as its genial face, its sparkling eye, its open hand, its cheery voice, its unconstrained demeanor, and its joyful air.  Girded round its middle was an antique scabbard, bud no sward was in it, and the ancient sheath was eaten up with rust.

“You have never seen the like of me before!” exclaimed the spirit.

“Never,”

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                Pg. 54

                                                                                                                        A Christmas Carol

                                                                                                                        Charles Dickins

The ghost of Christmas present was a sight to see for sure, as nothing so innocent had ever given a second thought to the likes of Scrooge.  This thing was perfect in every way, even in the clothes it wore there was perfection, nothing so beautiful as this creature, and although unknown to Scrooge, nothing so misleading either.

The description of the Ghost of Christmas Present is so full of symbolism that I might even call it overdone. The green robe symbolizes life, the new life that Scrooge will be granted after he repents.  The white fur is innocent and pure like a powdery new snow.  Unable to be disguised, the clothes have an elegance that was only completed with a wreath of holly around his jolly head.  This, the holly that there never seems to be enough of for the holidays, people end up mass producing it out of plastic.  Icicles hang off his head not in an ironic way, but in a romantic lovely way that makes onlookers blink at the phenomenon.  His face is peaceful; his chocolate curls hang unconstrained around his head.  He makes your pride melt away at the sight of him, but the heat radiating from him has to be very hot in order to melt the ice layered onto Scrooge’s soul.

I think that this ghost is used because he represents the joy of Christmas. This representation is different than the ghost of Christmas past because the other ghost is described as being an old man, but looking like a child, its features are old and worn down but it’s energy and light signifies youth.  I think that this ghost is described this way because depending on which eyes you see it through the past is completely different.  The ghost of Christmas Past is Old because the events that it will be retelling are long past, but it has a certain youth to it, because the true past never gets old, Scrooge can push his past out of his mind however much he wants, but it will still be there, each memory just as bright as they were the day they were made. 

The ghost of Christmas Present also differs from the Yet to Come Ghost, because that ghost is mysterious and unspeaking.  The future is also unknown just like the ghost, we all know that, but I also think that there was a specific reason behind why this ghost doesn’t talk. The ghost message needs to be interpreted individually by Scrooge.  If the ghost tells Scrooge why he should be afraid of the future, it wouldn’t nearly affect him as much as it would if he were to see and experience it himself. Many questions will drift through Scrooge’s mind, but they aren’t questions that he needs to ask, they are questions of doubt.  Scrooge cannot believe his eyes, and if the ghost were to snap its fingers and announce that none of it was actually real it wouldn’t influence Scrooge at all.  Fear and doubt are different, with doubt usually comes hope, but Scrooge has no hope so he cannot have doubt either.

                       

Christmas Present is a gift.  We can see and experience it, we can make the best of it and love with it and have joy with it. Christmas past is gone.  Christmas yet to come is unknown, you cannot love the unknown.  I believe that the symbolism in the ghost of Christmas present not only represents the joy the whole world is feeling, but it reflects on the joy Scrooge could have if her were to repent. 

“Yesterday is history.  Tomorrow is a mystery, but today is a gift, that is why it is called the present.”

-Alice Morse Earl

Slapping Santa

Every year for Christmas eve one lucky member of my family gets to dress up in the oversized Santa costume, beard, moustache, spectacles, and all.  I was that lucky member this year. 

After we got back from watching the Christmas pageant at my grandmas church I went into the master bedroom and dragged out the musty Santa costume hidden in the closet.  I swear that thing must have been like a triple XL and it seemed like mo matter how may oversized pillows I stuffed in the pants  they still kept falling down! Once I found out that I should probably just go get a belt to hold them up I was rolling.  Within 5 minutes I was unrecognizable under layers and layers of red and white.  I grabbed my bag of presents and headed out into the yard. 

My grandma has a pretty large yard, but the thing I think that makes her yard so big is that basically every room in her house has a door leading either to the front yard or the back.  That works really well so that if I walk out the master bedroom door and wander around some I can make my way over to the door leading into the living room, full of anxious kids waiting for the arrival of Santa.  Making my way over to the door I shake my jingle bells to signify my arrival.  The kids go crazy.  Running to the glass door they press their sweaty faces up against the glass door, leaving little nose marks on the layer of condensation from their breath.  They are so exited, they can't wait, they pull the door open, and I walk in. 

"Santa!" "Santa!" I hear shouted at me.  I keep calm and make sure a steady stream of HoHoHos flow from my mouth.  I trudge through the layer of children and plop myself onto the prepared chair in front of the couch.  Someone shouts out- "Where are the presents Santa?" I say- "HoHoHo I almost forgot!" but what I'm thinking is, come one, seriously, I just rode on a freaking sleigh over here from the North Pole and all you can do is ask for presents? Really? Wow. The saddest part was that he was probably like 35 years old.  Ha.  I'm being asked for presents by a 35 year old. 

I pull out my bag of little trinkets and toys wrapped in cheesy reindeer print and read the name of the first present.  "Steve," I say then my eyes scan the crowd searching for him as he makes his way to me. Steve is my uncle. He's the35 year old I was mentioning.  He plops himself on my lap with no thought to the fact that my leg might be breaking, and hugs me.  What can I do?  I smile under my layer of  fake beard and hug him back.  He walks off with his present and I call out he next name.

"Bill," he is my other uncle.  He walks up receives his present, gives me a hug and walks back to his spot. The name calling and present distribution continues uneventful  until I call out the name of my eleven year old brother, John. 

"Hi Sara," he mutters under his breath and I frown at him.  Party-pooper. I hand him his present and he agonizingly tries to escape having to hug me, but what can I say?  I would do the same thing.  Eventually he bends over and hugs me without much enthusiasm and then, making sure no one sees, slaps me across the face.  I really want to slap him back, but what will the little kids think of a Santa who slaps people?  Oh well I'll get him once I'm out of this sweaty costume. 

"Hey Santa? Do you want a cookie?"

"Sure I'd love a cookie! But don't even think about cheating me out here! I want the biggest one you got!"

Everyone laughs and someone runs off to grab a cookie.  They bring me a cookie and I graciously thank them.  Next thing you know Im on my way out the door when one of my younger cousins tugs on my shirt.  She asks-

"Hey Santa- can I see the reindeer?" Oh no now I am in trouble. 

"Well, HoHoHo little girl! You sure are curious aren't you! I'm  sorry but I parked them on the roof, and I doubt that you will be able to see them.  I would bring them down, but," I pointed at my imaginary watch, "I've got a tight schedule to keep!"  She smiles and I know I have somehow said the right thing. 

"HoHoHo! Merry Christmas everyone! See you next year!" I smiled, waved and left. 

Family

 Author's note- This is my final essay for our group novel- Life As We Knew It.  In this piece I describe the theme of the book.  I never come outright and just say it, but I hint multiple times as to what it is. 

Lead in- Once upon a time everybody died.  Do you love your family? Too bad, they're dead. Your friends? Them too.  Ha! And you thought you were so tough!? What are you doing, crying in the corner with your head in your hands? You sit there and feel sorry for yourself while everybody else is dead!  Why would you want to live when you life isn't even worth living? Open you eyes! What is a hollow life but a shell of death and despair? You want to live now?  You're crazy.

Sixteen year old Miranda is faced with one of the greatest tragedies mankind has and will ever face.  With death around every corner family is the only thing standing between life and death, or even worse, insanity. With earthquakes and tsunami's racking the earth in search of blood people are terrified.  Food is so scarce that people are cutting down to one meal every other day, but even though a little goes long way, it doesn't go forever.  People are so desperate to live that they have gone so low as  to eat a poor innocent pet cat! No one is safe, and, quite frankly,  no one even remembers  what safe means.

I think that in my novel, one of the main themes is survival and the will, not necessarily for yourself to survive, but for the others that you love to survive.  Family is always there for you.  They hold you and comfort you, and even though sometimes you just want to knock them senseless, you love them and you don't know what you would do without them.  I have a large loving family at home.  They accompany me when I want to be alone, the make me smile when all I want to do is cry.  Honestly, without them, I don't know where I'd be today, other than knowing that I surely wouldn't be where I am.  Not only the Physical factor of them not feeding me and all, but the quilt I would feel if they died would surely kill me too.  Especially if I was placed in the position of Miranda in my novel. 

Miranda's family stands by her and she loves them so much that I know without a doubt she would give their life so they could live.  Jonny, Matt (her brothers) and her mother would do the same.  Honestly, as sweet and touching as that is, it is definitely not very efficient. Do you see the problem yet? If they all die so the others could live then they'd all be dead and no one could live! Starving, Miranda's mother believes that if she gives up all her food her little kids could survive, but they can't! Not without a mother! If my mom just went and died without a second thought, my brothers and I would be, for lack of a better term, dead.  We can't live without a mother, no matter how  "Mature and responsible" we are.

Life and death are the immortal equalizers that turn our innocent sweet minds into dark gloomy pits of despair and worry.  Will I die soon?  Will other people I love die while I'm alive? Will I have to watch? These are the questions that no matter how many times you kick them out they will still manage to creep back into your head.  Sometimes, though, these terrible questions that we are too terrified to think about just happen to answer themselves.  And when they do- beware, you can hide from questions all your life but you can never hid from answers.  They find you, they always do.  Surviving might be tough, keeping sane, even harder, but coming through on the other side unscathed, that's impossible.  The will to live is what kills us.  The will for others to live, that's our only hope. 

Blind Men

Piscine Moliter Patel, Pi for short, has a problem. He's trapped on a dingy lifeboat with a four hundred fifty pound Bengal tiger, and the only cat chow to speak of within a 500 mile radius is Pi himself. After many weeks of constant worry and starvation, Pi's physique begins to go downhill. First it's his skin, then his eyes, and eventually, his mind.

While drifting aimlessly through the ocean, Pi hears something. It sounds like an elderly man, but who knows what the ocean could do to you. He turns. The sound of the ocean drifts away and the sweet song on the human voice melts Pi's bones. The man asks if Pi has any food; Pi replies that he doesn't and asks the man if he has any food, same results. Pi’s heart goes out to the man; here he is eating boots while Pi has fish literally jumping to feed him. The man starts to climb over to Pi's boat and trips, his hands coincidentally landing directly on top of Pi's neck, hissing, "Yes your heart is with me, as with your liver and your flesh," He cackles as his hands begin to tighten. Pi struggles to warn the man of the tiger slowly creeping up on them, but he doesn't notice. Suddenly the tiger pounces and the assailant is killed instantly while Pi is left without a scratch. What a strike of luck to find another man in another lifeboat stranded in the middle of the ocean. Or is it?

Although I do not believe that the blind man was real, I also do not think he is completely a figment of Pi's imagination. The author, I think, put this experience into the story to symbolize the leaving of Pi's id and him turning himself over completely to his primal instincts.

They say "the eyes are windows to the soul", and since Pi is blind, does that mean his old soul is abandoning him? I believe that the tiger represents Pi's soul, while the other castaway represents Pi's instincts, and the creature he is slowly becoming. Think about it: Pi was blind before the meeting, and he regained his sight after he defeated this evil being that was taking over him. Coincidence? I don't think so. Pi's id was represented in the vengeance of the tiger attacking the blind man and when the tiger won, he got his sight back.

In order to prove my conclusion I need to explain the actions of the blind man and the tiger that led me to such ideas. The blind man is a cannibal, and even if he wasn't one when he started his journey to insanity, he is now. Why? Only to survive. In the beginning Pi couldn't even kill a bug, and since desperate times call for desperate measures Pi decides that it would be in his best interest to man up and do it -- to survive. The tiger was once beautiful and all powerful; now he has grown weak and thin, and Pi tames this beast, just like he attempts to tame his mind. Strangling Pi, the blind man cannot see the tiger, just as he cannot see himself being beaten while he is in the lead. The tiger leaps and easily the evil man is dead. Sanity returns, and the pair continue on their journey like nothing has changed but something has changed, inside Pi's mind.

The tiger, Pi's moral self, has won.  Had the primal blind man won I am positive that Pi would not have survived.   Pi's mind, the only reason why he is holding on, is the difference between life and death.  The difference between life and death is the will to survive.  The will to survive will keep someone alive, but they will exist only as a blind animal and without the stability of a zookeeper an animal cannot live through itself. 

The Journey

See through the storm,

Find the light through the dark,

The journey is rough,

To win the prize you need luck,

So luck I will wish you,

Till the end of your days,

Someday you'll thank me,

Possibly,

Maybe.

You will need it I'm sure,

To get where you're going,

Your brain will give up but you'll keep going,

Never doubt love,

The love in your heart,

You will need it I'm sure,

To keep up on top.

Terrible monsters will block your path,

You will be frightened but never fall back,

Your heart will be open,

Your brain will be closed,

They cannot hurt you remember to know,

I'll hold your hand,

I'll hold it tight,

Never let go through day and by night. 

When you get there, you'll know,

Your heavy heart will feel light,

Your eyes will fall closed,

The stars will shine through the night

You might fall to the ground,

A joy in your soul,

For once in your life,

Your heart forever,

All right.

Would you Rather??

Authors Note:  This is a twist on those annoying little Would You Rather- cards.  I think that these two settings perfectly capture the human's ideal world.  We all want to take the easy way out.  Everyone wishes they had perfection.  Sometimes I do too, but when you read the last line- think about it.  The obvious choice is not always the right one.  Comment with your answer. 

The bus bounces over hills and valleys , scales mountains, floats over rivers, each mile another lost memory.  The clouds snake across the sky and the sun plays hide and seek with the earth.  One moment sunny and gorgeous, the next dark and revealing.  Town after town disappears back with the horizon.  City lights come to life in the night and fall asleep suddenly once the sun shows its face.  Some of the passengers constantly have their faces squished up against the windows, while others sleep like babies through everything and anything.  Lastly there are the bouncy exited people that can never seem to take in the fact that they are actually going somewhere.  They can’t help it when their smiley little mouths come unhinged  and their tongues loll out in awe.  They look like dogs but are much more interesting than the sleepy sweaty ones.   The cozy seats look so pleasant and soft.  The lights in the ceiling never falter like the sun sometimes does.  The bathroom is always open.  The driver is always pleasant.  No one shouts, no one disturbs on another.  People say  excuse me and thank you.  No one is ever hungry.  It is perfection.  Constant serenity.  Peace.  Simply nothing. 

The fight was just starting to heat up.  There were two older men, obviously intoxicated, swinging madly at one another, only managing to make contact every other punch.  People averted their eyes when they saw the men.  Parents pushed their curious little kids along the street pretending not to notice the chaos.  Homeless people on the corners cheered the men on and one scraggly old geezer had even tried to start a round of "Fight! Fight! Fight!" but the chant died out as soon as it started.  Eventually the scuffle broke apart when a nearby police officer decided it was time to put an end to the disturbing entertainment.  The men were dragged off kicking and screaming by the officer and the spectators began to disperse to their separate ways .  It was insecure.  It was violent, but it was surely something. 

Which do you choose?

Poverty

"This child, one of the many hungry in this small village hasn't eaten in days. " The image of a boy, probably around five years old flashes across the screen, his rib bones clearly exposed under the sickly skin stretched over his thin frame.  The speaker continues-

"To let this little one go to bed tonight without food in its stomach would break your heart.  Give today.  Call the number at the bottom of the screen and donate from your heart.  A dollar a day can save a life."  The boy disappears in a split second and a new commercial starts.  What do you do?  Fast forward through the scene, calling it a scam?  Do you ignore it?  Why should you care about some kid you've never met?  The few of us that pick up our phones and dial the number, do you question your actions later?  Do you wish you could call again and take it back? Be true to yourself, we all have our own evils, and whether that evil is as obvious as selfishness, or even being too lazy to pick up you phone and punch in the numbers, and we make up excuses to fool ourselves into thinking that you are doing the right thing.  So ask yourself-  would you pick up the phone and call that number and save a life, or do you fast forward and forget you ever saw anything?

The air was thick with dust and seemed to cling to every crevice and hole in the ground.  It was sweltering and at least half the village was down at the river, licking up the very essence of water and savoring it as mud squelching in between their toes.  The dry season was coming soon, the river had already dropped quite a few feet in the last few weeks and worry was creeping into the minds of everyone.  Killing off all the crops, the dry season was a nightmare.  Not a drop of rain falls for the long three months from July to September, and without this necessary ingredient for life, the human body can only survive little over a week, but the mind falls apart much quicker.  The crazy ones go quickly, forgetting to ration their intake and then ending up drinking their three months worth of water in less than a week.  Many mothers barely get by on a gallon a week, saving theirs for their children.  More than half the villagers die. The greatest prize to the survivor is that blessed rain from the heavens to signal the beginning of another year. 

Later that night many of the villagers began to bail the river.  It usually would take months for little over a hundred people to empty a river, but these people knew what was at stake and a little less than a week later, not a drop remains.  After they finished, all the water went all go to the village's water holding compartment which was basically a giant hole in the ground covered in thick waxy leaves that helped keep the thirsty ground from drinking up their water.  Once the drought started the holding compartment was open only once a week and each family would take only it's designated ration, none more, and certainly none less.  Depending on the amount of water stored up, the rations varied from year to year.  Some years it was as little as 2 gallons a week and on good years you could binge with a full 5 gallons a week! The will to live is the only thing that kept you alive during these months. 

The once noisy happy village falls into a desolate slump.  No one dare sweats, as wasting water was the worst possible thing you could do.  Screaming at full blast through the cloudless sky, the sun was relentless.  Not only did the days reach to temperatures of at least 125 degrees, but the thirsty sun seemed to be sucking every last molecule of liquid out of the empty ground. Children did not play.  Mothers did not talk and gossip in the town.  Fathers did not go out hunting.  No one dared leave their house.  The silence was deafening and it echoed throughout the village like an angry battle cry announcing the feeling in everyone's heart and shouting it to the world.  A foreigner would most likely name the once alive and well village a ghost town and go home.  Every day seemed to get worse and worse until the weak would ones lose it and keel over.  The tough ones would cry and even the kind ones would get bloodthirsty.  No matter how many times you blink and rub your eyes this nightmare never dies until you do. 

July passes, slowly but surely and the water  holding compartment is only half full.  The people begin to worry.  August is gone in the blink of an eye, and the compartment is almost empty.  The villagers are parched, their rations have been cut in half, but the water is disappearing much faster than it should.  The wise men hold a meeting to discuss this recent problem.  The elders are in a league of their own, separated from everyone else, by their want to keep their village alive.  They have lived longer than most, and have the greatest will to survive when the going gets tough.  They are looked up upon by their followers, and everyone's dream is o one day be an elder and rule their town to be strong when they no longer have the strength. The elders solve any problem you could ever have, and although sometimes you might not like it, it keeps you alive.  The animal water rations are cut.  Keeping animals alive during the dry season is extremely difficult, as they require water and food and care to produce necessary things like milk and eggs.  No one dares argue with the elders and the animals die.   September passes. 

Imagine the joy of not seeing a single drop of rain for over three months.  What would you do when you see your first rain?  Do you dance and sing?  Do you rub your eyes and blink, wondering if you are dead?  The villagers rush out of their houses and laugh and sing and play. Every emotion that they hadn't felt for the longest time rushes back and tears of happiness mix with the rain and fall to the ground, the dry dirt now a soppy muddy mess.  The children run and jump into the mud, covering themselves head to toe with the glorious slop. Fathers hang to the side, not as soft as the mothers and the kids, but everyone of them has a grin the size of Africa stretching across their face.  The world is right again and the once empty eyes of its people fill with joy.

Yann Martel Metaphore

In the novel, Life of Pi, the normal everyday life of a Hindu/Muslim/Christian boy is turned upside down when he finds himself stranded on a sparce lifeboat with only a Zebra, a hyena, an orangutan, and a Bengal Tiger.  The author later descibes his inspiration for the book in these words-
"The idea of a religious boy in a lifeboat with a wild animal struck me as a perfect metaphor for the human condition. Humans aspire to really high things, right, like religion, justice, democracy. At the same time, we're rooted in our human, animal condition. And so, all of those brought together in a lifeboat struck me as being... as a perfect metaphor."
Yann Martel, the author, also states that he coincidentaly released his book on the actual day of 9/11/01, when the superficialities of the human race and their beliefs were the most exposed.

I believe that Martel was truly, underneath all the tiger and ocean drama, was trying to teach the reader how the exaggerations of certain beliefs causes people belonging to that belief to act in ways that in no way coordinate with their reliegion.  Martel clearly exposes the superficial flaws of humanity by comparing how, no matter this being seemingly impossible, a young boy survives 227 days on a lifeboat stranded in the middle of the ocean, with only a tiger for company.  And although the instincts of the tiger and the knowledge of the boy are not made to mix, they abandon all opinions of one another in order to achieve a common goal, survival.

Soccer Injuries

There are two minutes left in the state championship game and your team is down by one point.  If you can manage to score your team will be given a shoot out.  Without this last goal, you will go home losers.  Running up and down the field, you look for a pass.  You teammate sees you and gives you the perfect ball.  You snatch it up and speed down the field towards the goal.  The opposite team goes flying by as you cut them all with a swift turn of your ankle.  You're in the home stretch.  It's just you, one last defender, the goalie, and the goal.  The defender is big, her head towers above you, but you aren't scared.  You take it to her.  When you get with in inches of her you throw a move and pass her.  You let out a nervous breath.  Just you and the goalie in the 18 yard box now.   Kicking the ball away is almost the worst thing you can do.  Lining up the shot, you back swing and then, inches from winning the game you are plowed over by the defender.  A pain unlike anything you have ever felt before shoots up your leg and you turn your head slightly to notice the awkward angle it is sitting at. You know it's broken.  The ref blows the whistle and your coach and mother run onto the field.  They lift you up and carry you off the field. 

Soccer is an intensely physical sport that requires physique and strength.  Recently injuries have gotten much worse in soccer children, as the competitiveness increases.  Have you ever asked your parents if they played contact sports when they were kids?  They will tell you that it was hardly like it is today.  Nowadays we have five year olds out there, pummeling each other, parents on the sidelines screaming them on like they should be proud of their overaggressive kids.  My brother's friend actually got his collarbone broken in a soccer game, and he's only seven years old! I also know someone else who got their femur broken in a soccer game because another player kicked him.  My mom got her ankle broken by playing soccer and has never been the same since. So- all you football players- beat that!

There are an estimated total of 148,913 soccer injuries in the US in a single year alone.  In between the ages of 13-18 there have been over a million injuries in the time frame of one decade.  Concussions, an ongoing issue are much more likely to occur in player to player play rather than player to ball play.  In fact player to player injuries are responsible for over 40% of all injuries. 

In football the players are covered head to toe in pads and they don't need a very high level of physique in order to play. Quite a few football players weigh over 400 pounds and tell me- have you ever seen a 400 pound soccer player?  Not to mention all the rules they have in football that state exactly how you are supposed to take a player down.  No facemasks, no fighting, no swearing at other players, no roughing the passer, blah blah blah blah blah blah blah- I don't care! Not to mention all the new rules they are making because of health problems.  Pretty soon they will have to play two hand touch because they are too afraid of getting hurt.

Soccer players are surely more likely to sustain injuries, the players are more violent and injures have recently skyrocketed in young child's play.  Football players are covered head to toe in pads and the most common serious injury is a concussion.  I am a soccer player myself (if you couldn't tell) and I have never seen a red card pulled, even though there have been plenty of times when it should have been.  Soccer is definitely more violent than football and to and any football player that disagrees with me, I have the statistics to prove it. 

Witch Girls

Life was dull in the Proctor household; John and his wife were out and Mary** (look to bottom), their indentured servant, was managing the household.  All was good and Mary felt hope for the first time in a long while.  There was nothing so pleasant as the birds that chirped and sang outside and the soft smell of the approaching spring crept through the open window.  A seemingly beautiful winter day was about to be dreadfully ruined. 

                                                                                ~~~~~~~~~~

"Mary, come here," John called from the kitchen.

"Yes sir," She walked to the kitchen to find her master and his wife, arm and arm, waiting. 

"Mary; Elizabeth and myself are going out. Tend to the house while we are away.  We will be back sometime tomorrow afternoon," John turned with his wife and walked out the door.  Mary felt like she had just been slapped.  It was like this anytime the master went out with his wife.  It was just so hard to waste away loving someone who would never love you back.   Mary was lost in her own wave of self pity and jumped at the sound of the doorbell.  She pulled the door back and although the visitor's face was covered in the shadows there was no mistaking the sight of the devil herself, none other than Ann Putnam Jr.  **

Ann pulled back her shawl and looked expectantly at Mary. Her pupils were dilated, almost invisible in the great depths of her green eyes.  It reminded Mary of the look of feasting in the eyes of a big cat as it bore down on its prey.  Ann continued to stare at Mary as if she was a foreign creature never discovered before by mankind. As Mary pondered the options and the choice that would forever change her life; Ann looked on knowingly as if every time she went to someone’s house they had to ask themselves if they were safe. Deciding that she had nothing to lose, Mary stepped back and let the little not-so-innocent Ann into her heart.  Ann removed her jacket and Mary led her to the parlor where she poured the visitor a cup of steaming tea and they sat down with heavy hearts. 

"We want you to join our circle," Ann stated.

"What are you talking about?"

"You have to swear not to tell a soul," Mary contemplated the offer and the responsibility. 

"Fine Ann. Whatever you say," she replied

"We are a group of underestimated unnoticed girls who meet twice a week with Tituba,"

"Wait- Tituba the pastor's maidservant? Why would you want to meet with her?"

"Yes, she practices the black arts.  We see the future and perform dangerous spells in order for us to understand hidden information, lost to us by precarious laws that forbid it"

"Why would I want to join a group of villainous girls doing illegal things for their own amusement?"

"What if I made you a deal?"

"What are you talking about Ann?"  Mary knew she was falling into Ann's trap, but she just couldn't resist the temptation. She was embarrassed by her actions but she continued play along.

"Don't think we don't know about your little secret with John.  We know how badly you want him to be yours instead of that evil Elizabeth's.  We can get rid of her, no strings attached.  Imagine the life Mary.  You would have everything you ever wanted." Mary's mouth began to water. 

"I am very suspicious of you Ann,"

"No need to fear fate.  Let your heart lead you in our direction.  I expect to see this Thursday."  Anne stood up and dusted off her dress, preparing to leave.  Mary went to get her jacket and held it out to Ann.  The door that had betrayed Mary slammed shut and, thankfully; Ann with it.

                                                                                               

The snow fell in dirty clumps and landed ungracefully on the frozen ground.  Mary hunched down and pulled her sweater closer to her body.  The church stood tall in the distance, a beacon of light in a world of dark.  The pastor and his wife were out on another mission trip and the faint light of a candle flickered in one of the windows.  The hard brass knocker of the church door mocked her.  It sat there day in and day out, never having to make a decision or worry about what might happen because of it.  Reaching up to grab the brass knocker she was surprised when it swung open in front of her and the too familiar face of Ann Putnam Jr. stared into her soul. 

"I'm glad to see you.  Please come in."

Mary felt like she had just jumped off the side of a building and found out she could fly.  The meeting had gone wonderfully.  All the other girls respected and honored her even though she was considerably older than them.  Tituba had told her that she saw love in her future! Love! Mary’s spirits were higher than they had been in months and then she opened her mouth, and let the cold white snowflakes land blissfully on her warm tongue.  Life was good.

Mary slept late and woke to the sound of the large front wooden door opening and slamming shut. 

"Mary!"  John yelled with such ferocity that made Mary bury her head into the blankets.  He stormed into her room and threw the bed sheet off her.  

"How dare you! I take you into my house and I give you food and water and a room and you repay me by breaking the law! Get up you lazy cow!" Mary did as she was told and hung her head guiltily.  How had he found out so quickly? Who told him?  Why would they want to betray her? Questions flooded through her mind as John took the whip out of his shirt and threw Mary against the wall. 

Mary went to the next meeting, and the one after that.  She loved the meetings; they made her feel alive, unlike anything she had felt before.  The Pastor’s daughters were a little quirky, they had spells of mindless terror and panic, but otherwise the meetings were fantastic.  John no longer beat her, and she wondered if maybe one of the girls in the group had tried to test her faith to the group by making her put the group before her wellbeing, but no one seemed surprised when she came back.  Ann of course had many crazy ideas about how they could become noticed and respected among the other villagers noticed, but all had been shot down and called stupid by the others.  Everyone made her feel welcome, but by being welcome to the outcasts, wouldn’t that make you and outcast as well?

 “Who did this to you?  Tell us; who is putting you poor girls through all this painful suffering?” Ann’s lip quivered and she looked like she might cry.  She looked up, for an omen or something of the sort to reach out to her.  As she opened her mouth to speak, all that escaped was a shrill scream that bounced off walls and made the audience cover their ringing ears with shaking hands.  The pastor reached over to comfort her but Ann swatted his hand away and went on shrieking.  Mary, standing nearby had absolutely no idea what was going on.  What is he talking about?  Witches and temptations?  Had everyone lost their minds? One by one the other girls of her circle fell into hysterics of screaming and hissing, and Mary followed along, falling onto her hands and knees and coughing her lungs out , but her heart was not in it as much as the other girls’. Mary knew this was wrong but it was so exhilarating to finally be noticed by someone! The pastor sank to his knees and began praying vigorously for the poor tormented girls’ souls.  The audience had also fell into hysterics, their eyes closed and their heads bowed to their feet, obviously following the pastor’s lead.  Those of them who couldn’t seem to handle the hysteria had stood with trembling legs and made their way to the door.  Even some of the very weak hearted had passed out in their pews, oblivious to the chaos around them.  The pastor rose from his pew, his praying finished and once again he attempted to speak to the girls. 

“Children who is causing this ruckus on you poor hearts; do tell us, they will pay,” The reached out to pat Ann’s shoulder and this time she did not revoke him.  She opened her mouth ever so slightly and uttered one word before collapsing-

“Tituba.”

                                                                                ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The entire town of Salem was in chaos after the event at the church that afternoon.  There had been three accused as witches; Sarah Good, Sarah Osborne, and Tituba. No one trusted anyone and if any type of outcast was seen in the street they were given at least a nine foot diameter circle around them and no one dared step within it.  People’s eyes had a certain look of evil in them that wasn’t there before.  These innocent people were bloodthirsty and only witch blood would be sufficient.  Mary walked with her head down, sure of her punishment once she got home. She walked as slowly as possible, but eventually she found herself scared to death facing the large door of the Proctor household.  As Mary considered entering through the back way she was ambushed from behind by the strong arm of John Proctor. 

                                                                                ~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Eating her way through a bowl of cold cabbage soup, Mary could barely hold back groans with each swallow.  She had washed the blood off her back but the horrible sting remained.  Mary debated whether or not she should continue to go to the meetings, now that Tituba was gone, and was about to go see Ann to tell her about her decision when a sharp knock echoed through the house. 

“Mary, go answer the door,” Elizabeth called from the kitchen.  Mary did as she was told and was surprised again by the horrifying sight of Ann Putnam Jr. 

“Who is it honey?” Came the voice from the kitchen.

“It’s no one Elizabeth.  Just a friend of mine,”

“Oh.  Okay then, have fun.”

“We need to talk,” Ann whispered. 
“I agree,”

“You are now an official member of the circle.  You may not leave or tell anything that you know about us to anyone.  You hear me, Mary? There are no second shots.  You can leave now and give up on ever having your only true love or you can stay.  What do you say?”

“I will stay.  I have a question Ann,”

“Yes?”
“Why are you doing this?”

“What am I doing Mary?”

“Pretending to be tortured,”

“Who ever said anything about pretending?” Ann giggled but there was as much innocence in that gesture as there was in a killer’s guilty weapon. 

                                                                                ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The accusations continued and Mary played along grimly.  One of the accused, as Ann promised, was none other than Elizabeth Proctor.  John was absolutely crushed and every time Mary tried to comfort him he would send her to do some obnoxious chore that would eat up her entire day and then some.  Second thoughts bounced around in Mary’s head and she wished with all her might that she could go back to that first day Ann came to her door and slam the door in her face.  Unfortunately Mary could not, and there was only other choice.  She had to expose them. 

                                                                                ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mary stood in front of the entire congregation and choked.  She had everything planned.  She would call out on the girls, day that they were faking it, prove it somehow, and everything would be over.  The “witches” would be let go and everyone would thank her and pat her on the back.  Unfortunately that was not to be because as soon as she tried to speak all that came out was a squeak and with all those evil eyes staring into her she fell to the floor without a sound. 

                                                                                ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She woke in small room that was certainly not her room.  The decorations were sparse, the wallpaper peeling, the entire room was falling apart at the edges and was completely bare of furniture except for a small bed in the far corner of the room and a chamber pot in the other.  Mary did not have much time to look around because as if she was watching for when the victim awoke, Ann burst in shaking her fist and frowning like a crazy maniac. 

“Just tell me.  What could possibly make you betray us like that?” Mary shrugged.

“I don’t know,” She whispered

“That is not an answer! Did you think I was joking when I said there was only one try at this? Are you trying to test me? “

“No-”

“Then what was it? Temporary insanity?”

“Well now that you mention it.”

“Silence.  Do not try that stuff with me,”

“I guess I just wasn’t happy,”

“You’re not happy? How about Elizabeth?  How do you think she feels- rotting away in a cramped jail cell while her servant tries to make it good with her husband?”

“That’s not what I mean…..“
“Okay then- What do you mean?”
“I mean it was better before I even joined the circle and I want to go back and make everything like it was before,”

“Well life is not fair.  And since you don’t like us at all you can’t leave.  You will be forced to come to every meeting and follow along just like you were doing very well before.”

“But Ann….”

“I said life is not fair.  You think I don’t have total control over you? 

“No,”

“No what?”

“No nothing,” Mary sighed. 

“Exactly what I thought.  Good day.”

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next few weeks passed in a blur and with them more accusations and more “witches”.  One of the very first accused, after Mary’s little outbreak, was none other John Proctor but Mary was too numb to take any notice.  They came to take John’s belongings now that neither he nor his wife was living there anymore. This left Mary completely homeless.  The nights were cold, the days were hot, and all she fed on were the compliments of the other girls in her circle when they came to visit. 

                                                                                ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The trials started soon after the accusations slowed and many of the accused were sentenced to death by hanging.  Gallows Hill was abuzz with nasty witchy spirits.  John was hung while in the meantime Elizabeth was released home with a broken heart and a mourning spirit.  Mary lost track of time and her heart ached to go back to the start and change it all but that was not to be, as the only consolation left in her heart were in her dreams                                                                

                                                                               

Bibliography

Important Persons in the Salem Court Records . (n.d.). Retrieved October 25, 2011, from Salem Witch Trials Documentary Archive and Transcription Project: http://www2.iath.virginia.edu/saxon-salem/servlet/SaxonServlet?source=salem/texts/names.xml&style=salem/xsl/dynaxml.xsl&group.num=all&mbio.num=mb30&clear-stylesheet-cache=yes

Rinaldi, A. (1992). A Break with Charity. San Diego: Gulliver Books.

Linder, D. O. (n.d.). Dead. Retrieved October 25, 2011, from Salem Trials: http://law2.umkc.edu/faculty/projects/ftrials/salem/ASAL_DE.HTM

Rinaldi, A. (1992). A Break with Charity. San Diego: Gulliver Books.

** People during the time of the Salem Witch Trials-

Mary Warren- An indentured servant living and working in the household of John Proctor.

John Proctor- A regular everyday person in Salem.

Elizabeth Proctor- John’s wife. 

Ann Putnam Jr. - The daughter of the drama queen of the town.  Her mother is very mean to everyone but also quite influential.  Everyone knows Ann as the spitting image of her mother.