Friday, April 18, 2008

Monday, April 14, 2008

My wrists are very large, so these small hand cuffs slowly are cutting off my circulation. I stand here waiting to be left to my fate for the next five to ten years. The police officer jingles his keys in search of the one that will open up my new home, my jail cell. This is my first time ever living in a cell, all because of one mistake. I’m standing here with my classic orange prisoner jumpsuit on staring into my cell. The smell is extremely rancid, almost too bad to describe. I look between the steel bars which will soon conceal me within that 6x4ft area. I see a basic unmade bed, a sink and shelve, and other numerous odds and ends which lay in the floor. There had been a shortage of cells but recently this one opened up because its prior occupant died and it seems it is still just the way he left it.
I was left to this fate by the verdict of my trial just 2 weeks ago. But It all began 3 weeks ago. I was sitting in the car with my buddy Steve, near our neighborhood in New York and then suddenly Steve told me the real reason he had practically begged me to come on this drive with him. He had, had some real issues with a fellow neighbor of ours and decided he was going to “take care of him”. He shot him right then and there in the head, just because of some silly arguments. Steve had been my buddy since pre-school so I had to help cover for his small mistake. We threw that body in the river in hopes it would never be discovered because the murdered man had no friends or family who would come looking for him. But just our luck three days later he was found behind that dumpster with mine and Steve’s fingerprints on him.
Now I stand here, in shock because a simple act of friendship destroyed my life. I would not wish this experience on anyone, not even my worst enemy.

Fenceline Fire, by Louis Copt (2006) (oil)

Tornado Over Kansas, by J. Steuart Curry (1929) (oil)

Thirty minutes ago I was sitting in the living room playing with my doll Molly. My Papa was outside working at the farm and my Mama was in the kitchen. Me and Molly were watching my brothers Timmy and Johnny playing a long game of checkers, when all the sudden it happened. It was so unexpected we were just watching them play and waiting for dinner to be finished then we heard it.
It was a siren that wailed so excruciatingly loud it felt like it burst my ear drums. This particular siren is one the one that now we ever wants to hear. It meant it was coming. Something was coming. The wind against my family’s house began to hit it with intense forces which caused a thunderous noise. I suddenly heard my father’s boots squishing in the thick mud. He was sprinting to the door to herd us into the storm cellar. My Mama deserted the food cooking on the stove and grabbed Jill, my baby sister. Timmy and Johnny’s faces were overcome with a white color and a panic look overtook any previous expression. They knew the answer to the one question I wanted to ask, what was happening? My brothers snatched up our two cats and directed Grits, our dog, outside. My Papa tugged my arm to lead me outside along with the rest of the family who was following.
I look up for that one spilt second at the sky. All I see is thick, foggy black clouds which now are dominating the sky and in the distance I saw a swirl of gray wind. It looked like a funnel moving tightly at the ground. High up in the sky it was wide and gradually decreased in size as it reached the distant ground. I heard Timmy yell “Daddy it’s a twister it’s a twister!!” So I then figured out that this twirling shape was called a twister.
My Papa began to throw us all in the storm cellar and I grew greatly with fear. This was something so unexpected to happen; I had never even been in the storm cellar for a long time before. On occasion I had put some caned food down there quickly as my mama had instructed me to do. But I had never been down in that small contained area within the ground for more than a few minutes. Now I’m not sure what is going to happen. Everyone seems so frightened and I feel as if I should be too but more than frightened I am confused. I just don’t under stand what is happening.
My topic is shock and im having a hard time thinking of a community project so, so far i havent decided on what i'm doing.

paradox about me

I'm outgoing,
But i'm shy

I'm smart,
But i have no common sense

I like to work hard,
But i hate hard work

I love snow,
But i hate the cold

I want to save money,
But i always spend money

i like to be heard,
But i don't like being the only one heard

I'm fun to be with,
But also boring

I'm athletic,
But clumsy

I love my brothers,
But i hate them

I'm crazy,
But not insane

Tuesday, April 8, 2008

narraitve #3

Just a short time ago I was fighting flames bigger than my entire house. I have fought my way through the ciaos, in search for lost bodies of possible trapped survivors. Every bone and muscle in my body aches and I feel as if I have no more energy left to give. Yet I know that what I have done today was what I was born to do. I have found a total of 17 people, I have saved 17 lives. As I look at them I realize, all of these people are just ordinary people, the man next door, the lost little girl, crazy teenager, the soccer mom, the list just goes on and on. And now I stand here in awe of what I have just witnesses, a true act of terrorism. The state of New York has become a major victim and its residents are in a panic.
The air is thick and smoky causing me to gasp for each breath. The atmosphere around me is sweltering, feeling as if it is almost burning my skin off my body. My heavy fireman’s pants flow around my legs and my simple Hanes cotton, navy blue T-shirt covers my upper body. This clothing has not protected my skin from the sticky, dried blanket of dirt covering me now. Cool sweat trickles down my body as the heat increases. Tears stream down my face as a stare out at what used to be the Twin Towers of New York City. My rusting black helmet had become weighty on my head. There is the symbol of American tilted upon my helmet, a miniature American Flag. The flag is brand new, and clean with bright patriotic colors to stand out in this mess. Around my bulky boots lie aimless pieces of debris. As I walk I hear the crunching sound of the debris breaking. There is card board, metal, plastic, any substance which can be imagined. It piles up to my knees causing a handicap when I attempt to walk. I hear rescue helicopters flying high above my head in search for more victims.
Some buildings around are still crumbling. What was yesterday, a building’s a window, doors or walls, is now covering the pavement like a blanket.