The Frozen Leopard- A short Story

I am the Leopard that lives in the summit of mt. Kilamajaro. I have been frozen here for a long time now after wandering from my pack and searching for food. i am immobalized, unable to do much, i can not even move my eyes, but my brain still works and functions normally. In do not get hungry nor thirsty, and i frequently do not care as long as i don not die. I spend my day in this mountain, watching travelers hike up and down the mountain. Every traveler has their own story, such as today. I saw this man hike up the summit on he set up a very large tent nearby me. The man wore a thick coat and his chin was freshly shaved. He liked as if he knew nothing at all about camping, his tent kept falling down and he didn't know how to prepare the fish e caught. The man left the next morning, and the next week a young man and women arrived to the summit. While they were setting their camp, the women would constanlty ask the man questions and the man would respond quickly and furiosly without looking at the woman, and then she would respond the same way back. This went on the entire day, the young couple yelling  things at each other that made the other one angrier. When they were in the tent, the arguements continued, and then I heard a slap from the tent and the man came out with a red cheek. He sat on a old tree stump and he started to cry. After for what seemed an hour, the man got up from the stump and returned to the tent. I did not hear anything else until the next morning, the young couple came our and were smiling at each other. They packed their bags except that they were enjoying each others company now. The man and the women got their things and went back down the mountain, this time holding hands. In the next few days I saw a single man, but he seemed injured from his leg. He was accompanied by a women who was helping him walk. They were talking constantly talking to each other; the man seemed as if he was asking for something but the women did not want to give it to him. After a while, the man seems to have stopped talking to the woman, but then he started to Speke harsh to the woman, and the woman was not talking it nicley. After what seems a barrage of instalts, the woman backed away from the man. He took out from his backpack a notebook with pages falling out and the cover all written over. The man got out a pencil and opened to a blank page in the notebook. He stared at the page for a very long time, tapping the blank page and then his head mutiple times with the pencil. He gave a big shrugged an closed the notebook and put the notebook back. When the woman came back the man started pointing at her and then at the notebook, shouting at her as if she had done something to his notebook, but the man just put the notebook back and the woman sat by him. The man soon fell asleep, and in the next couple of hours a large vehicle from the sky came and two men emerged from the vehicle and helped both the man and the woman into the vehicle, but the man kept looking back at the mountain and me.

The Real Thief- A short story

 I haves had an easy life since I could remember. My father made some smart investments when he was younger, and his earnings never stopped flowing through since. My mother fell for my father for what many women do now a days, his fortune. But never the less,  they were happily married and have been caring for me since I was born. I am one of the few children whose parents are wealthy to say that they are spoiled; my parents bought me what I needed and a little more. My parents already have my college fund in the bank, enough for me to go to school, flunk out, and go back in. Today when I asked to go for a day downtown and I objected when they told me that one of them can drive me there, mainly because I wanted to get to know the city and the streets for myself. I dressed with swagger, my hat with jeans and a shiny watch. I got on the bus to go downtown, the only other person on the bus besides me and the bus driver was a ragged man in the back of the bus. He looked sleepy, wearing a heavy brown jacket with a black beanie and torn shoes. Every now and then I would glance back at the bus man just to see him glaring at me, but I didn't mind. As soon as I got up from my seat, the bus man followed and he grabbed his backpack. After a long time of looking through stores, I started to get startled, the bus man followed me every where I went, to turning the corner and waiting at the corner of the store I was in. In a flash of lightning, I hear quick steps coming from behind me. As I turn I see the bus man charging at me; he knocks me to the floor and starts to reach for my bags. I kicked him back with my legs and tried to get back up, and all of a sudden a man in a suit comes from around the corner and pulls back the bus man, punches him in the jaw and sends him to the floor. As the suit man helped me up I noticed that the bus man seemed to be knock out cold. The suit man asked if I was alright, and I said I was fine. He sits on one knee next to man and examines him.

"I don't blame him, it's not his fault." Said suit man. Suit man took out his own wallet, pulled out a $50 dollar bill and put it in the bus man's pocket. He looked at me and said to me something I would not  forget for a long time, 

"The people who run this world have run over the people who support their ideas, it is now time where people have to stop looking at themselves and look at the things that are eroding around them, don't fault this man for taking what should be his but where taking away". 

I looked for away for a second at my bags and then back at the man just to see nobody in front of me, nor the suit man or the bus man, just me and my new found ways.

The Waterfall- A short Story

The boy got stood up in the middle of the field and glared back at the progress that he had completed so far. The field was picked clean, every grape picked off of the bushes. He carried his basket forward with his feet while still collecting grapes from the bushes. The young boy hadn’t always worked like this, under the bare sun with no cloud coverage; he was still able to recall the times he had in his fourth grade class room before his father pulled him out. The young boy recalled when his teacher used to give out cheap candy to a student when they would get the right answer, he also recalled when the class would sing the song in class, “Pollito, chicken; gallina, hen; lápiz, pencil y pluma, pen;
ventana, window; puerta, door; maestra, teacher y piso, floor!” He was singing it under his breath until his father that was picking grapes beside him  tapped his should,

“Get back to work, mijo, were almost done with this row.” Said the while he was garnering the grapes in bunches, it was obvious the father is very experienced and had been doing the same thing each day for a long time.

“What time is it?” Said the boy while dropping the grapes into the basket that he had been collecting.

“Don’t worry, mijo, well finish soon. It is just this row and two more. “ said the father picking up his basket. The boy scurried after his father, preceding him on his side as his father goes down the row.

The boy never really understood why his father pulled him out of school; the young boy always did his homework after he ate, always  put his uniform stacked neatly on his drawer when he came to school, and always fed his dog when he was told so as well. The boy stood up again and stared at the sky; he saw one cloud. He stared at it, hoping it cover the sun for at least one minute., but the cloud jst skimmed the circumference of the sun. The boy went back to work, him and his father were almost done with the last row, so he kept away his thoughts so he could focus on his work. Once the boy and the father were done, they carried their enormous baskets of grapes over to the small wooden hut that was at the entrance of the field, next to a big diesel truck whose engine was running and bed full of baskets just like the boy’s own. His father put the two baskets on the counter of the hut and the clerk rose from the rocking chair he was in and took from under the counter a weighting scale and a small calculator.

As the clerk was calculating the intake, the boy was already hearing it; he was listening to the loud crash of water from a waterfall not too far from the grape field. He remembered when his father took the boy and the boy’s mother to the waterfall, the boy would never forget that trip. The family stayed all day at the waterfall. He would try to swim against the current, look for animals or fish in the water, or jump from the riverside trees into the water while his father  and mother said they were “playing checkers”. He was listening tot the sound when his father tapped his shoulder and said it was time to go.

“How did we do, papi?” said the boy while getting on the car.

“We did ok, here is your pay.” He handed the boy 70 pesos.

“Thank you papi, I’m saving up to go to college.” Said the boy while counting out his pay.

“Good idea.” Said the father.

                The boy put his money in his pocket when they crossing the bridge, the one over the beautiful waterfall. This was the only route to take to have the view that the boy had, and was it gorgeous.  Suddenly, all of the stress and the fatigue that the boy had lifted from his back and his shoulders, the view of the waterfall was breath taking and the boy couldn’t wait to see it again tomorrow, but only after they finished work, however the boy was ok with that fact.

Old Money, New Money, and Everyone Else

Back then the early nineteenth century, you were either born rich or worked your whole life getting rich. Renown families that have been rich forever pass down their wealth to the next generation, such as Daisy Caraway from "The Great Gatsby". Daisy is a young women with money. to spend on anything, but her cousin Nick Caraway has a different mind set. Nick himself went to school at Yale, and worked his way up in life to live in a small house in West Egg, a community in Long Island; for people like Nick, people just starting off their life of being rich. On the other side of West Egg live people like Daisy, who have had their money inherited by family ties, hence the title "Old Money, New Money". Daisy can he symbolized as the aristocratic lifestyle of the Gilded Age. Daisy has no worries, and any of her problems could be solve with money. She doesn't know the true value of money because she hasn't worked up for it, she hasn't worked for anything in her entire life. This is the same reason why she lets her husband cheat on her, because she doesn't want to work for his love. That laziness is the affect of the Old money, it makes people less penchant to what they want, plus they can always replace things with a few extra bucks. As for Nick, her symbolizes the hard working efforts of the people during the 1920's. Nick worked hard to get her he was, trying his best to be in the wealthy status of his fellow neighbors. He reserves his judgement, as for he knows that he can't replace the people around him. The affect of the New Money can be seen as one that shows how the materialism during the Gilded Age drives people into wanting the things that the rich have. As for everyone else, they have it even harder. If they try investing money to get rich, they can lose it all and end up in the slums. And if they don't work their butts off for 40 hours a day in sweat shops, then they will also live in the slums. In a nutshell, the Gilded Age was all about how materialism changed people, from making them able to spend money whenever they want, to making the work hard in life to get to that life style. 

I am Thankful (For a Classmate)

In my English class, there’s a handful of people that I already knew from last year, and some I made quickly from the very beginning. I sit in the front, right corner of the room, with three other young writers; Antonio, Justin, and Sam. Were lucky to be grouped together because getting in a group of four is a breeze, and we already socialize so we almost agree all the time. Antonio and I knew each other since Freshman Year, when we had three classes together, and we met on the bus. How else would we start talking to each other? By talking smack about one of our teachers of course! He then hung out in lunch, and then we never really stopped since then. He remind each other of our homework, help each other out in our homework (especially Italian!) and just argue of who has more fans; the NBA or The Walking Dead (NBA wins, though). Justin I Knew last year from world studies and geometry, and me and him kept going at each other during Socratic seminars during History. I learned not to underestimate him. Justin tells the truth, and he knows it well. He just may not want to say it at times. Justin is a great guy over all, helpful and smart, except he’s a LeBron Fan (Justin if your reading this, Chi-town for 2014 champs!). And then there’s Sam. He's a friend, of a friend, of a friend. We started talking when were in groups during English, and I learned that he can’t be serious when it comes to needing to do work, and fun when he knows everybody can relax. He’s also very organized and helpful whenever you need it, and that’s good to have around. Without these guys and Mr. McCarthy, I would have been asleep every day during 7th period, but thank the lord that I have these guys to give me a wake-up call, and I am very thankful. Happy Thanksgiving everybody.

I Celebrate Myself

The feeling of celebrating is great no matter how big or small it is, from getting a good grade on a quiz or even winning a prize. Many people celebrate in different ways too, by just giving a whispered "yes!" or just shouting and screaming around out load in circles. I’m in that same pile of people, because I have probably celebrated in every way God has thought of. I’m not trying to sound like I always win because then I’ll be too arrogant. I’m able to celebrate a lot because I’m one of those who have realized that with every passing second you have done more than what you have done before. With every hour, day, week, month, and year that passes you have done more or have outwitted life than you have before and have gained more experience, which a recent movie has taught me is the importance to a man's core. This a lesson learned from Chris, a transcendentalist of the 21st century in a film called “Into the Wild”. He removes himself from the society that he has believed has possessed everybody with materialism, so he secludes himself in the harsh forest conditions of Alaska with nothing but his gun, books, and mind. I didn't finish the movie; but I bet he felt pretty good after he went back home. He had something to celebrate; he gained so much experience to his knowledge that many of his peers are too scared to even take a peek at. Chris is an example of how we should always celebrate ourselves in every way. Celebrate that you passed that one video game level, or finished that hard math question, or even get on the early bus, at least that’s how I celebrate myself.

Poe

       Edgar Allen Poe has been personally my favorite author since I was first introduced to his writing in the fourth grade. My class started to read his poems and collections around this time of year too, Halloween season. All of his stories have a very creepy and fearful theme to them; either pertaining to ghosts, death, curses, secrets, or murder. What I also like about his writings is how you read them. The majority of his poems are in an easy AABBC style, so you can almost go on and on reading his poems so fluently. 

       Many may argue that Poe's writings are not the best. Many people argue that Poe just gets a pen and paper and starts jibber-jabbering until he finishes a paragraph. I can see this point of view, because Poe does use a lot of old-English in his writings, so it may be hard to read for someone who doesn't like big words, or reading a lot all.

1) no one knows why he died. He left for Baltimore on September the 26th, with a weak pulse and a fever, according to his fiance. He visited his friend as he left town, accidentally taking his friend's walking stick, something that he would never do normally (he took pride in his appearance). He was discovered on a Baltimore street, wearing someone else's clothes, on October the third. Someone sent for a doctor Poe was acquainted with. The doctor took him to his clinic, where he spoke deliriously for a few days. He woke from his delirium on October the seventh long enough to say "Lord help my poor soul," and then he died.Over 20 theories regarding his death exist. One of the most accepted theories was that some henchmen were hired by a politician to drug passerby and force them to vote for said politician. Poe was found on election day, and this was not so uncommon. They would used the drugged men to vote repeatedly, which may explain his clothing. A more recent theory is that he died of a brain tumor. And, of course, there is the possibility that he contracted rabies.

2) He joined the army under the false name "Edgar A. Perry."

3) He was only paid $9 for "The Raven."

4) His madness and drunkenness are largely exaggerations: they are a product of a man named Rufus Griswold who wrote an anonymous, false, and scathing obituary for Poe. He also published a false biography of him. Griswold was upset because of a negative review Poe wrote about one of his works years earlier. Extremely vengeful, he seemed determined to make sure the world falsely thought of Poe as an evil man.

5) Poe played games on the lawn with his wife. She was much younger than he, and there are stories of them playing leapfrog. One account says during a game of leapfrog, he split his pants, and blushed furiously. His young wife could not stop giggling.

6) He loved the fame "The Raven" brought him. The Raven actually became his nickname, and there are stories of children walking behind him on the street and flapping there arms and cawing. Poe would play along by turning suddenly and saying "Nevermore." The children would scream and run away, and he'd chuckle a bit. Then the children would return and repeat the process.

7) He never in his life signed anything "Edgar Allan Poe." The name Allan came from the family who took him in, and he didn't get along very well with his foster father. He therefore signed documents Edgar A. Poe, or E. A. Poe. The name Edgar Allan Poe was given to him after he died by Griswold (see number 4).

8) He was never officially adopted by the Allan family.

9) He loved his foster mother, but he and his foster father never got along. One reason why that may have been is that when Mr. Allan was unfaithful to his wife. Poe was fiercely loyal to Mrs. Allan, who was dying of tuberculosis. It is rumored that John Allan would have affairs with women in the same house where Mrs. Allan lay dying. Poe called him out on this, and they never saw eye to eye after that. Poe threatened to reveal Allan's secret, but never did for fear of ruining Mrs. Allan's name.

10) He was poor all of his life. His foster father was a rich man, but upon his death he left Poe nothing, though he left money to many of his illegitimate children. He had long stopped supporting Poe financially

      Source:"Edgar Allan Poe: An Illustrated Companion to His Tell-Tale Stories"