Indept. piece #4- The tale of the rock, paper, scissors, shoot.

Since forever ago there has always been equilibrium in the world. It basically can be summed up as this; rock smashes scissors, scissors cut paper, paper covers rock. This has been the natural balance of things since the dawn of man. No one has ever gotten too cocky, no one has ever been established as king. There is no superiority, nor inferiority. Everything is perfect. But what if…what if something went wrong? Perhaps someone found a way to beat the system. They found a way to become, dare I say, better. Oh my, then what? Well, let me tell you then what. One day, long long ago, there was a duel…

The duel was one that the likes of men have never witnessed again. It all started in the prehistoric days when there was no myspace. Gorr, the head chief had set up the battle frontier. Similar to marbles, you place paper, scissors, and a rock in a circle. You then proceed to wait until one of them moves. Usually, no one wins, obviously. But this time, this time it was different.

The gathered crowd had just begun their waiting when suddenly the scissors leapt forward! They seized the paper mercilessly and shredded it to bits and pieces! Then, it turned to the rock. Staring it down the rock seemed to crumble from the pressure. “It was horrible! The scissors, they were just so…so barbaric!” remarked Cindy, an eye-witness. With that the scissors bolted towards the rock and suddenly cut through the rock as if it were silly putty! The scissors were now the supreme! The crowd fled, the women covered their children, the rocks scattered. Scissors were now GOD! Oh, the humanity!

After countless years of hunting Garr, Gorr, and his cousin Frank managed to catch the scissors. They placed them in protective plastic shields. The only way for one to get out is if another pair of scissors were to cut it out, but we all know that will never happen. From then on scissors have been revered as dangerous. They have been kept out of children class rooms, in case one decided to revolt. There have been a few who have succeeded. They’ve abandoned their fellow scissor mate to go out alone in the world. These lone scissors, as referred to by Chuck Thornberry, have adopted the name knife. To this day, we still remember that fateful day. It turned the tides of the world and has forever upset the balance.

Intro. Indept. piece #3

I had absolutely no idea what to write about for my piece. I was finished with the lives piece, after battling a serious case of writers block, and was empty. The next assignment (pop culture, write about what you know) would be even more difficult, considering I don’t know anything, so I decided an independent piece was my best bet. Usually, I look of google for pictures of something, anything, and I get inspired. But this time I had a dream. It was like Alice in wonderland. I fell into this really dark forest and the trees were near black. There was no castle, but I figured that I can’t write an entire piece about some trees. As Emerald would say, you got to add some “Bam!!” so, I continued on my quest to write an independent piece. It was difficult to begin. Most of the time I write a paragraph then delete it. This time, I was tempted, but resisted. I’ve never written anything about fantasy or anything really symbolic. As I got started with the core of my piece I began wondering what “we” was going to do. They had found the castle and were walking up the stairs, so I decided to go to the only way I knew how, I killed them. And with that was the conclusion to my piece.

Idependent piece #3 - The Enchanted Forest

We walked for an hour before we stumbled upon our place. It rose up out of the thick forest as unexpecting and benign as possible. The green forest surrounding the castle was cold, but inviting. The trees surrounding the clearing were darkened, years of torture had given way to the gnarled state of age and exhaustion. The morning rain had penetrated the sullen bark making the wood soft and black. The ingrained lines of the tree told of the forest’s maturity and wisdom. It held a secret of the past and it knew the future.

As we progressed forward, through the intertwining vines and branches, we approached the base of the mainstay. The trek up to the castle would be strenuous, but nevertheless we would do it. The hike up to the atrium always gave us the opportunity to dwell on life. The past years have not been easy. Filled with terror and horror, nobody could forget them. They stood today, in the forest, as a reminder to the world that they were still here.

All the mysteries of the world could be answered in the palace. The ornate decorations inspired all those who feast their eyes upon it to withhold authority and to be true. From the outside, the castle had a feeling to it that was indescribable. It had a twisted façade in which showed the strain of age. Even the forest was not safe from the detrimental state of age.

We continued up the stairs, stopping every now and then for a breath. The twisted stairs rose up and down giving way to different dimensions. As we neared the top, we peered out over the edge. Breath taking as it was, we knew better. If you let the forest in, it gets to you. It empties the years of age and horror into you. I’ve seen many a good men loose their life to the beauty of the evergreen trees against the quaint blackness of the distance. It was evil, you have to be aware of the evil.

So on we continued, hopping over rubble every so often. The diminishing structure would be cause for alarm, but it wasn’t. Everything in the forest was misleading, from the animals to the leaves. Spring was winter, and cold was hot. You could die in an instance, or you could live forever. The sole reason we come here everyday, dream about it every night, and yearn for it every second, is because…

With that the castle collapsed and everything in the forest died.

Vogue Words?

Everybody loves “the greats.” C’mon, who doesn’t love a little bit of clichés every now and then? They are always there for you, when you need bad advice, or you find it necessary to insert a corny joke somewhere. But perhaps the “winds of change” are suggesting new phrases. Let’s face it; they are brutally overused among older people. As is suggested by William Safire the phrases “age-appropriate”, “to show ankle”, and “go figure” are the biggest offenders. I’m not saying that they should be completely be forgotten or abandoned, but perhaps lightened up on. No kid likes being told that something like a movie isn’t age-appropriate. My mom always pulls the “quit acting like a child, behave more age-appropriately.” Begrudgingly, I have no choice other than comply. The next wonderful cliché, to show ankle; suggestive, old fashioned, retarded? Of course. This phrase is meant to suggest that a woman flash a little bit of skin, but not a lot, or else it wouldn’t be “age-appropriate.” But what I’ve find more disturbing is that I’ve heard people saying it. Now, the final culprit, go figure, is go figure. I am a big fan of go figure. It can used in just about every situation known to man.
“You failed”
Go figure
“Your dog got hit by a car”
Go figure.
Really, it has no limits. Clichés are awesome, but overused.

Lives-"title"

North Salem has always been a relatively clean town. I’ve always felt safe and, more or less, better off than the inner city kids. Although there is scattered litter throughout the streets, it’s minimal. Outside, the sky is elucidating, the trees in blossom, and the grass is groomed on the lawns. During one train ride into the city my friends and I passed through Harlem. Through the window I saw the trees enveloped with litter and plastic bags, it disgusted me. I never knew how much I respected North Salem’s cleanliness. From then on I prided myself on the dignity North Salem had when it came to hygienic demands.

But, the other day, as I was sitting on the bus, I saw one tree with one plastic bag wavering in the wind. For some reason, unbeknownst to me, I was shocked. My jaw dropped and I gasped at the tree. It waned overhead reaching further. The plastic bag corrupted the tree, and with it North Salem’s reputation. Speechless as I was, I managed to give a little gasp and a taut “eww”. The bus continued down the road, but my eyes fixated on the tree until it was out of sight. For the rest of the day, I felt off. I couldn’t figure out why this one tree, this one stupid tree, effected me so much. It wasn’t my tree; it wasn’t on my property, it wasn’t even on my block.

I had never been keen on observing the differences between towns or cities. Every town is different, no matter how large, or small. But because of this one tree with this one plastic bag in it, I’ve personally taken offense to anyone who litters. It’s not that I’m a clean freak, or even one who is known to care about the environment in the least bit, but as of several weeks ago I can’t stand anyone who deliberately litters. I’ve tried to not care, but it won’t work. Ever since this incident, I’ve been more aware of my community. Happy as I am for the clean state of my yard and school, it’s hardly enough. I do not plan on taking any action towards helping North Salem’s quest for freshness, but I can hope other people will. The profoundness of this one tree and one plastic bag has greatly impacted my thoughts, possibly for ever.

Reilly tightened

In my family there are eight people, which means six kids, six wonderful kids…

Everything we do revolves around the amount of people in our family, ranging from vacations to eating out. Granted we usually get into a lot of trouble and thus have tons of fun, but you know, it gets old. Anyway, I’m not here to bash my family or complain about favoritism, I’m here to explain the uniqueness we present and the pure delusional state my parents must be in to not see what goes on.

Now in order to setup some kind of order, we have set up a system of fascist dictatorship. Firstly, oldest rules, and power of ranking goes down in order of age. The method that we choose to exercise our power is up to us. Personally, rule by fear is the best for me. My older sister plays out the nice role and thus gets our siblings to do what she wants. The other kids are versatile with their ruling power. However, there are my youngest brothers, Sean and Shane, who have managed to group together and sometimes, they rise up on the power ladder.

Anyway, the only time, when we have a real conversation is at the bus stop. I know it’s random and somewhat weird, but it’s the only time we actually talk. At the bus stop there is my older sister, younger sister, younger brother, and me. We don’t have much in common, other than physical appearance, but we still manage a conversation. I don’t know how we do it, but it always seems to work out. We all ignore the same people at the bus stop, we all know who else we were talking about, and we can actually follow the conversation. It’s quite amazing if you think about it.

Although we may not be perfect, nor anywhere near normal, we’re still family.“The family. We were a strange little band of characters trudging through life sharing diseases and toothpaste, coveting one another's desserts, hiding shampoo, borrowing money, locking each other out of our rooms, inflicting pain and kissing to heal it in the same instant, loving, laughing, defending, and trying to figure out the common thread that bound us all together.” ~Erma Bombeck

tightened by Sara H.

Reilly-my family...

In my family there are eight people, which means six kids, six wonderful kids…

Everything we do revolves around the amount of people in our family, ranging from vacations to eating out. Granted we usually get into a lot of trouble and thus have tons of fun, but you know, it gets old. Anyway, I’m not here to bash my family or complain about favoritism, I’m here to explain the uniqueness we present and the pure delusional state my parents must be in to not see what goes on.

Now in order to setup some kind of order, we have set up a system of fascist dictatorship. Firstly, oldest rules, and power of ranking goes down in order of age. The method that we choose to exercise our power is up to us. Personally, rule by fear is the best for me. My older sister plays out the nice role and thus gets our siblings to do what she wants. The other kids are versatile with their ruling power. However, there are my youngest brothers, Sean and Shane, who have managed to group together and sometimes, they rise up on the power ladder.

Okay, anyway, the only time, so I’ve noticed, when we have had a real conversation is at the bus stop. I know it’s random and somewhat weird, but it’s the only time we actually talk. At the bus there is my older sister, younger sister, younger brother, and me. We don’t have much in common, other than physical appearance, but we still manage a conversation. I don’t know how we do it, but it always seems to work out. We all ignore the same people at the bus stop, we all know who else were talking about, and we can actually follow the conversation. It’s quite amazing if you think about it, really.

So, although we may not be perfect, nor anywhere near normal, we’re still family.
“The family. We were a strange little band of characters trudging through life sharing diseases and toothpaste, coveting one another's desserts, hiding shampoo, borrowing money, locking each other out of our rooms, inflicting pain and kissing to heal it in the same instant, loving, laughing, defending, and trying to figure out the common thread that bound us all together.” ~Erma Bombeck

Introduction to indept. Piece #2 – the sounds

I wasn’t sure how to start my second independent piece. So, in a desperate attempt to avoid writing the Rick Reilly assignment I searched, none other than, google. More preoccupied with my real interests I started searching random topics, among them pianos, concerts, art, music, and surrealism. Upon searching pictures of surrealism I came to a picture that was particularly noteworthy. It was of a man thing playing a piano that was vanishing into thin air. The solitude of the man against the surrounding background was quite interesting to me. I decided to depict my interpretation of this through my writing. I knew I wanted to include something about the man’s hidden face and his contorted disposition. Although it didn’t come apparent to me that the background was dissolving, I decided to put that in my piece anyway. I like music as well, so the piano fit in well with my interests. The part in my story about notes beckoning musicians to play them was inspired by Beethoven, who would “listen” to the piano and then play the symphonies that the piano would create. The sounds was meant to show the power music has over everyone and everything.

independent piece #2 -- the sounds

The man sat there in front of the baby grand. His fingers were gently resting on the black and white keys, gnarled but nimble. The distortions of his face could not be made out in the dark lighting, for only a single red florescent light masked the room. All that could be seen was a piano and the silhouette of a man, but that was all that mattered.

He concentrated on the piano, music is not made by picking notes and stringing them along, it is made by the instruments. The man rested his head on the dark, cold wood of the baby grand. The notes flowed from the depths of the piano, they begged to be sounded. The man sat erect again. Slowly he moved his hands. History was soon to be made, this man, was a mastermind.

Sounds, the likes of men could not fathom, coursed from the piano. The notes flowed with such a riveting chokehold that it enveloped the listener in a state of musical bliss. The gripping revelation brought about by this sole man was as significant as the savior returning to his people. He let the notes flow freely from the piano, not adding human interference to the pure, simple sounds. Slowly it could be seen that the shadows surrounding the man began to move. They were dancing. The light flickered and the air began to stir, something momentous was happening. The ground morphed, the tiles began to rise. They broke free of the floor and trembled in their might. Their worn olive color shivered with the robustness of the sounds.

The man threw back his head, letting a gasping laugh out. His dark hair veiled his eyes, but the luminosity of his pupils could still be seen. His eyes were ablaze with the pride of his talents. He was enchanted with his doings, his ultimate supremacy. The world, moving because of him, was his to claim. Outside, the mountains loomed, the sky swirled, the shadows danced, all from the enormity of this man. As the notes continued the world grew more and more aggravated. Now, the rivers gushed, the trees quaked, the valleys fell. Dusk would come soon, hopefully with it would come tranquility.

Soon the sounds shuddered to a slow pace, the man, tired from the stress, was slowly halting his playing. Dusk, sure enough, was coming and as expected, the world calmed. The shadows stopped, the mountains stood, the rivers trickled. The man was done, his time was up.