Since my xanga is virtually useless, Ill share my passion for writing.
Assignment. A picture is worth a thousand words( literally ) Write from their perspective.
I looked outside toward the bustling city with livestock passing by my house and the occasional friendly “hello” from the travelers, but I could not muster enough strength to return the courtesy. It had been five years now. Five lonely years here. I had forced it upon myself though. I returned back into the small, single-floored house, pushing aside the cobwebs, picking up one unwelcome visitor, and tossing it out the door. The constant spray of sand on the side of the house gave me a bit of a headache as I sat down on the small bed in the corner of the room. I could tell that a dust storm was brewing. I looked around at the loosely tied wooden boards that squeaked whenever my weight pushed down on them. The eerie feel of the house drew chills down my spine. From underneath my cloak, I clutched a small loaf of bread that I had stolen from a merchant’s cart. It was my only means of surviving. Stealing. Brushing off some sand and dust, I took a bit of the rock hard bread. Delicious. I set it aside on the small table and looked at the small picture frame of the last family that had owned this house. The picture was already here before I arrived, so I assumed that they had unfortunately forgotten it. I should have thrown it away but somehow it was comforting to look at. To look at a family. The mother and the father smiling at the cameraman while the child squeezed his head in between the two of them. They looked so happy. I wondered here to hide from the chaos of the city. I only go in once in a while when I have to, returning back here as soon as possible. Here. This house. Even though I have live here long enough to call it “home”, I still cannot consider it so. No, certainly not. Along with everything else, that idea…that dream disappeared long ago. My family was very tight-knit and respectable in the community—everyone thought so. My father was a proud merchant back in the day. He always had a gentle aura about him that was infectious. When I was little, he would hurl me up onto his lap and hold me in his warm, caressing arms telling me adventure stories and fairy tales. He treated my mother like an equal, sometimes doting on her with exotic gifts that he bought from the westerners. My mother was one of the few women in the world who I considered absolutely gorgeous. Her wavy black hair and her hazelnut eyes that glared, not menacingly, but in a comforting and affectionate way. However, she was not openly able to display her beauty in public, because of the law, which I always thought was unfair but never summoned the courage to challenge it. My mother reminded me three times a day that I should pay my respects to Allah, because in return, he would watch over us. So every morning, afternoon, and night, I prayed. Prayed for the safety and well being of my family. Unfortunately, Allah was not listening… On that fateful day, my mother went to the plaza to get some fruit while I stayed at home with my father playing cards. He laughed whenever I made an attempt to steal a card from the deck, knowing very well what I was up to but pretending not to see. I vividly remembered a friend of his bursting through the front door with dust all over his shirt, and a look of sheer terror. He had small specks of blood pasted to his shirt mixed with his own sweat stains. He blurted out the news—a suicide bomber had torn through the plaza. Looking shocked, I turned to my father with the same look on his face. We both knew before his friend had a chance to tell us. I never saw my father smile ever again. Everything that was gentle in him had turned stone cold. We no longer played any games or talked much for that matter. He always seemed too busy. I once saw him sobbing in front of a photograph of mother. Knowing that I would have to take care of him, I continued to pray to Allah for both of our sakes. I knew mother would have wanted me to. I served him food while he sat on the sofa in what looked like a daydream, his eyes staring, penetrating into nothingness. At nights, through the thin wooden walls, I heard him tossing and turning, sometimes waking up drenched in sweat and screaming. One day he left without even saying goodbye to me. Just leaving a small note saying that he was going to Israel for business reasons. He never returned again. A year later, the police came and arrested me. Throwing me in a prison without much food or water, I lived with a bunch of grumpy, smelly old men. I didn’t know why they arrested me but the next morning they interrogated me about my father’s whereabouts. Apparently, they suspected him in a chain of terrorist bombings. I convinced myself that my father would never do anything like that so I kept my mouth shut. But somehow, deep down, I knew that hatred had overtaken him. They tortured me everyday for a month until I finally submitted. By then my back had a permanent burn mark and half of my teeth had rotted or had been punched out. Drowned by guilt and remorse, I was freed and allowed to return home. It seemed as if all the torture they had done to me could not have been worse than to betray my own father. I found a place out here, isolating myself from society. Waiting for death to finally take me. I never learned what happened to my father, but I assumed the worst. I had hoped, wished, and even forced myself to believe that Allah had heard my prayers that he was going to protect my family. But I know now that he had indeed forsaken me long ago. I am all alone.
Assignment 2: Illustrate the mood. From a very long list I chose to narrate "NOTHINGNESS"
Nothing
Cam grunted as he stuffed his physics test into his blue LLBean school bag sitting in the corner of his locker. Apparently, the A- that he got on it, the highest grade in the class, seemed bittersweet because he thought that he did better. Quickly changing into his soccer clothes, he hurried onto the field where he was warmly greeted by a group of field hockey girls running by him, half of whom he had never talked to before. Cam caught sight of his girlfriend leading the pack of giggling girls as they ran around the T-shaped field, her light brown hair dancing behind her. Running up the field. He saw the rest of his team in bright orange jerseys already gathered on the bench, waiting for someone—him. Cam led the group in a warm-up before the coach came out so that they could make the most of the practice. Each of them told stories of what they did last weekend while they ran around the field. Cam had probably heard these stories five thousand times and they weren’t interesting the first time around, but he went along with them with the same fake enthusiasm that he always displayed. After much blood and sweat, as Ralph the goalie took a ball to the face, the team retired to the locker rooms. The coach saw Cam picking up the balls alone and went over to congratulate him on the Regional All-American award. He smiled awkwardly at this, one of the few times that anyone ever saw Cam smile. The award ceremony was tonight but he did not feel like going. Still, he would not leave his coach and family all by themselves. After squeezing himself in a highly claustrophobic shower, he got dressed and went out into the hallway where he saw his girlfriend waiting on the window ledge for him. Hugging her and giving her a small peck on the cheek, they sat back down to discuss their plans for the weekend. She rambled on while he watched and the same flood of questions popped into his head. “Do I really love her?” “Am I going out with her for the sake of having someone?” They had been dating since freshman year, but he still could not answer these simple questions. True, she was undoubtedly pretty, intelligent, and athletic, but there was still a void in his life that she did not cover. After they had decided to dinner and a movie on Saturday, Cam waved goodbye to her and drove home. His mother had already ironed his suit, which was lying on the sofa when he got back. Putting it on, he looked in the mirror and checked himself out from every angle. Unsatisfied, he went upstairs and took another tie to try it out. It took him almost half an hour before he accepted that he merely looked decent. His mother came down in a bright yellow dress with a small purse in her hand, looking young as ever. She drove them both to the ceremony at a high school gym in the middle of nowhere. He looked down at his wallet, pushed aside the only picture of his father that he had, and took out the invitation. He escorted his mother into the gym where the best athletes from all around the region were already having dinner. Some he recognized from rival teams, but for the most part, he didn’t know them. After dinner was over, the head of some committee made a short speech and then each of the athletes got their award as they were called up one by one. When it was finally Cam’s turn, he took a quick picture with his mother and coach and then waited for the speaker to conclude the program. On the car ride back he held the small diploma-like award in his hands and traced the shiny brown frame with his fingers. Glancing at it, he caught his own reflection and quickly looked away to avoid it. When they arrived home, he kissed his mother on the cheek and hurried off upstairs to go to bed. Taking his award in both hands he sighed and placed it next to the same exact honor that he had gotten the year before. Cam then fell onto his bed, and sat there looking up at the ceiling. He felt a lump in his pocket and took out his black leather wallet. Opening it up, he stared into his father’s gentle blue eyes and his scruffy blonde hair. Examining his father’s features, he looked at it for a good ten minutes and then started crying. He had never cried that hard in his life.
-touchpad controls -built in sensor, speakers,proximity sensor - video ipod, smart phone, and access to the internet and email -not to mention built in Mac OSX operating system (Thx fred) -comes out in june 2007
Winner of the WORST ANALOGIES EVER WRITTEN IN A HIGH SCHOOL ESSAY CONTEST:
-The little boat gently drifted across the pond exactly the way a bowling ball wouldn't.
-From the attic came an unearthly howl. THe whole scene had an eerie sureal quality, like when you're on vacation in another city and "Jeopardy" comes on at 7p.m. instead of 7:30.
-Her vocabulary was as bad as, like, whatever.
-Her date was pleasant enough, but she knew that if her life was a movie this guy would be buried in the credits as something like "Second Tall Man"
-He was as tall as a six-foot-three-inch tree.
-John and Mary had never met. They were like two hummingbirds who had also never met.
-With his broad shoulders and slim waist, he was a yield sign yet she could NOT!
-The politician was gone but unnoticed, like the period after the Dr. on a Dr Pepper can.
AND OF COURSE... MATH PICKUP LINES
-i hope you know set theory because i want to intersect and union you - I wanna be your derivative so I can lie tangent to your curves.
