so my orignial story got deleted and my mom and dad didnt my new one so i just wrote about my horse...
If anything has changed my life it would be meeting Otto. Otto is my 15 year old 16’3” thoroughbred gelding. When my family first bought him I absolutely hated him, I thought he was a spoiled rotten brat. He was a retired advanced level event horse. He short listed for the Pan American games, qualified for Rolex, and would have gone to the Olympics if he had not suffered from a career ending injury. He was ranked in the top ten event horses in the USA and was ridden by Buck Davidson. Once retired he still held his star status so everywhere we went my mom and I were known as the un-worthy people who got to own Otto.
Even though Otto had “done it all” he was no walk in the park to ride. I could not ride him for the first three months we owned him and even after that I would constantly have to get off before he would decide it was time for me to get off. He did not want anything to do with being ridden by an 11 year old girl who could barley stay on his back and he frequently put in his two cents. I thought my life was hard the first few months of owning him but I did not understand that a magnifying glass would be put over my family for years to come. At about four months Otto and I began to develop our current relationship status. We took lessons and our tolerance for each other began to grow. We bonded through jumping, the higher we went the more we understood each other. Otto would jump almost anything, except for small jumps. Otto is like a human he feels that certain things are beneath him and little jumps are defiantly classified as beneath him. Most people I have met since owning him think I cannot ride and I just have a horse that will do anything I ask, and that is defiantly not the case. Otto and I have a weird thing going on, he is like my brother, we fight and we make up, I love him with all my heart but sometimes he annoys the heck out of me. He knows how to get what he wants and if he doesn’t get a treat or something that grabs his attention, he will kick, bite and hold up his leg until he gets it. He is the reason my mom and I are so close; we both love him so much that it keeps us together and peaceful. I talk to him and he listens, sometimes he even whinnies back. He is my best buddy and a great gift from God; every day I just have to remind myself that he is only mine temporarily and God will want him back one day. Every day with Otto is a precious blessing from God.
Showing posts with label Reflective Essay/Short Story/Magazine Article. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Reflective Essay/Short Story/Magazine Article. Show all posts
02 June 2009
30 May 2009
Reflective Essay
My father's parents divorced when he was very young. He was their only child, so when his mother remarried, my father was adopted by his stepfather, Jim.
Growing up, Jim ws my grandfather. I knew nothing else. I lived with my Nana and Pop-Pop on the days I was supposed to visit my dad. From the time I was 3 years old, the memories created with them took the place of any recollection I have of my dad. Jim owned the chain of Little Caesar's pizza shops. Each night when he came home from work, I went through his briefcase and found the receipt rolls. I took one end of the tightly wrapped, white bundle of fun and ran in the opposite direction of where I had left the roll on the floor. When I got to the wall on the other side of the room, I would look around, making sure nobody was around to catch me. Then I would spin and jump and throw the paper in the air. I stomped on it, tore it, spat on it, anything to hear myself giggle. At that point, life was perfect; I was alone for the most part, but that was the way I liked it.
As time went on, my grandparent's marriage began to fall apart. Jim divorced Nana and I was left, without a goodbye, to figure that out on my own. This separation brought my father back into my life. I was nine years old, still very alone, and like every little girl, needed a daddy. My father would visit Nana and I would stand in the kitchen, peeking around the wall into the living room, just staring at him. I wondered why he didn't want to talk to me, or hug me, or take me to his house. Hours would pass, but I would never get tired of listening to his voice. I imagined him asking me if I wanted to go out for ice cream with him. I longed for him to construct a caring sentence for me. My heart needed to hear words of compassion. I waited. I watched him tell Nana goodbye. I watched him walk away, close the door, pull his shiny, green pickup truck out of the driveway. Then I ran to the door and waited for his next visit. Alone, but hopeful.
Growing up, Jim ws my grandfather. I knew nothing else. I lived with my Nana and Pop-Pop on the days I was supposed to visit my dad. From the time I was 3 years old, the memories created with them took the place of any recollection I have of my dad. Jim owned the chain of Little Caesar's pizza shops. Each night when he came home from work, I went through his briefcase and found the receipt rolls. I took one end of the tightly wrapped, white bundle of fun and ran in the opposite direction of where I had left the roll on the floor. When I got to the wall on the other side of the room, I would look around, making sure nobody was around to catch me. Then I would spin and jump and throw the paper in the air. I stomped on it, tore it, spat on it, anything to hear myself giggle. At that point, life was perfect; I was alone for the most part, but that was the way I liked it.
As time went on, my grandparent's marriage began to fall apart. Jim divorced Nana and I was left, without a goodbye, to figure that out on my own. This separation brought my father back into my life. I was nine years old, still very alone, and like every little girl, needed a daddy. My father would visit Nana and I would stand in the kitchen, peeking around the wall into the living room, just staring at him. I wondered why he didn't want to talk to me, or hug me, or take me to his house. Hours would pass, but I would never get tired of listening to his voice. I imagined him asking me if I wanted to go out for ice cream with him. I longed for him to construct a caring sentence for me. My heart needed to hear words of compassion. I waited. I watched him tell Nana goodbye. I watched him walk away, close the door, pull his shiny, green pickup truck out of the driveway. Then I ran to the door and waited for his next visit. Alone, but hopeful.
27 May 2009
A short time ago, in a far away land called Sermantenia, there was a sixteen-year-old boy named Joe. This boy lived in the land all his life, and he never saw anybody like him. This boy was very smart, had red-ish hair, green eyes, and was tall and slender. He wore leaves as clothes. Joe always hunted for food and other people like him. He did not want to eat the people, he just wanted to see if there was anybody else like him.
One day, Joe was walking in the land and having a good time. He was running with his friends, which were all animals, because those were all the friends he had. Well, one day his “friends,” the bear, told him that people like him have found the land. Joe was so excited when the bear told him that. He is finally able to meet people just like him. Joe was also scared. He thought, “What if they are mean? What if they are just another creature?” As the men were searching the land, Joe was looking for them. There were many things going though his mind. “What are these people going to be like? What will they do to me? How will they speak? Will they understand me?” he wondered. All these questions were going though his head. While he was running and thinking with his eyes closed, he ran into the people that looked just like him. They were tall and strong. They had sharp claws that they called knives and balloons that popped that make very loud noises called guns. As he was eyeing them, they said “What are you looking at, small one?” Joe did not know what to say. The men picked him up and said again, “What are you looking at?” Joe stuttered and said, “N-n- nothing. I’m ju-just amazed to see people l-l-like me.” The men smiled and laughed, they and said, “Are you serious… you never saw anybody like you before?” Joe answered by saying, “No, sir.” The men looked confused and replied, “Well, umm, what is your name, young one?” “My name is Joe,” he answered. The other man replied, Nice name, mine’s Bookman John Bookman. How did you get here?” Joe was about to answer, then said, “I have know idea.” John was shocked. “You don’t know?! How could you not know- everyone knows where they come from!” Joe said, “Well, I don’t!” “Ugh, this is quite mad, my boy!”
The talking and yelling at each other went on and on. Then, suddenly, the bear, Joe’s friend, came and scared off John and the other men. Joe asked, “Bear, why did you do that?” Bear answered, “Because I was tired of the yelling and I could not sleep!” Joe and Bear both laughed together. Then, suddenly, Joe heard someone called his name about three or four times. It was Joe’s mom, Carmen. Then Joe woke up. Carmen yelled, “Joe, get up! You have to get up for school!” Joe thought the whole thing was real, but it ended up just a dream.
The End
One day, Joe was walking in the land and having a good time. He was running with his friends, which were all animals, because those were all the friends he had. Well, one day his “friends,” the bear, told him that people like him have found the land. Joe was so excited when the bear told him that. He is finally able to meet people just like him. Joe was also scared. He thought, “What if they are mean? What if they are just another creature?” As the men were searching the land, Joe was looking for them. There were many things going though his mind. “What are these people going to be like? What will they do to me? How will they speak? Will they understand me?” he wondered. All these questions were going though his head. While he was running and thinking with his eyes closed, he ran into the people that looked just like him. They were tall and strong. They had sharp claws that they called knives and balloons that popped that make very loud noises called guns. As he was eyeing them, they said “What are you looking at, small one?” Joe did not know what to say. The men picked him up and said again, “What are you looking at?” Joe stuttered and said, “N-n- nothing. I’m ju-just amazed to see people l-l-like me.” The men smiled and laughed, they and said, “Are you serious… you never saw anybody like you before?” Joe answered by saying, “No, sir.” The men looked confused and replied, “Well, umm, what is your name, young one?” “My name is Joe,” he answered. The other man replied, Nice name, mine’s Bookman John Bookman. How did you get here?” Joe was about to answer, then said, “I have know idea.” John was shocked. “You don’t know?! How could you not know- everyone knows where they come from!” Joe said, “Well, I don’t!” “Ugh, this is quite mad, my boy!”
The talking and yelling at each other went on and on. Then, suddenly, the bear, Joe’s friend, came and scared off John and the other men. Joe asked, “Bear, why did you do that?” Bear answered, “Because I was tired of the yelling and I could not sleep!” Joe and Bear both laughed together. Then, suddenly, Joe heard someone called his name about three or four times. It was Joe’s mom, Carmen. Then Joe woke up. Carmen yelled, “Joe, get up! You have to get up for school!” Joe thought the whole thing was real, but it ended up just a dream.
The End
26 May 2009
July 23, 2008
July 23, 2008. Not really a typical day in the life of Sam but not necessarily exciting. I was at the hospital with my aunt who had just had a surgery. And, of course, I was bored to death. Then, my other aunt (Timmy’s mom) told me that Tim and his brother were going to a VBS that night and asked me if I wanted to go. Yeah, I know…VBS. But it was for all ages so I went. And to this day, my life is being affected by that night.
The VBS was at El Shaddai Assembly of God. There is a branch of El Shaddai in Bethlehem called Epic Church (awesome name, right?). That is where Tim and his brother go to church and most of the people that go there were at the VBS. So that was the first important event that day: meeting all the Epic people. (Fun fact: one of them was in the car with us when I was picked up and nobody introduced us until we got there.)
My musical taste was also affected that week. Every day on the way to VBS, Andrew, Tim’s brother, was blasting Family Force 5 in the car. I hadn’t liked them before but I actually listened to them and now they’re one of my favorite bands. (As a matter of fact, I’m listening to them as I type this.) Also, at the VBS, Timmy told me about Andrew’s new band: Onset of Demise. Ok, so if you don’t know me: I hated screamo until I heard Onset of Demise. The first time I heard them was at a coffeehouse that took place at El Shaddai. There were two different coffeehouses that they played at, and at the second one, I met Chelsae Cianciatto.
This brings me to the most current effect of that day. Chelsae is one of the youth leaders at Epic Church. Epic had competed in a Fine Arts Festival with something called a human video the year before. The topic came up and Chelsae invited me to be in their human video. The next week I was at epic church for the first human video practice. Since Timmy had told me about human videos before, my obsession did not start then. But it did continue. Epic went to Fine Arts with two large human videos and one solo (me). Both human videos I was in were two points away from advancing to districts. But, that doesn’t mean it’s all over. In two weeks Epic is having a block party and we’re performing there, and this Friday I will be performing my solo human video in the freshman class talent show.
So now that I’ve bored you to death with how my life was changed by an invitation to VBS, you can go on with your lives. =D
The VBS was at El Shaddai Assembly of God. There is a branch of El Shaddai in Bethlehem called Epic Church (awesome name, right?). That is where Tim and his brother go to church and most of the people that go there were at the VBS. So that was the first important event that day: meeting all the Epic people. (Fun fact: one of them was in the car with us when I was picked up and nobody introduced us until we got there.)
My musical taste was also affected that week. Every day on the way to VBS, Andrew, Tim’s brother, was blasting Family Force 5 in the car. I hadn’t liked them before but I actually listened to them and now they’re one of my favorite bands. (As a matter of fact, I’m listening to them as I type this.) Also, at the VBS, Timmy told me about Andrew’s new band: Onset of Demise. Ok, so if you don’t know me: I hated screamo until I heard Onset of Demise. The first time I heard them was at a coffeehouse that took place at El Shaddai. There were two different coffeehouses that they played at, and at the second one, I met Chelsae Cianciatto.
This brings me to the most current effect of that day. Chelsae is one of the youth leaders at Epic Church. Epic had competed in a Fine Arts Festival with something called a human video the year before. The topic came up and Chelsae invited me to be in their human video. The next week I was at epic church for the first human video practice. Since Timmy had told me about human videos before, my obsession did not start then. But it did continue. Epic went to Fine Arts with two large human videos and one solo (me). Both human videos I was in were two points away from advancing to districts. But, that doesn’t mean it’s all over. In two weeks Epic is having a block party and we’re performing there, and this Friday I will be performing my solo human video in the freshman class talent show.
So now that I’ve bored you to death with how my life was changed by an invitation to VBS, you can go on with your lives. =D
Fallen
This is my short story. I own all the characters as well as the ideas in the story. This is a small portion of possibly one chapter in the book. it may not fit the requirments for a short story but it fits mine. I am still going to keep adding on to this as i write more and have more time to update the entry.
"Skye, are you comming over tonight?" my best friend Anne asked.
"Nope" I replied as I slammed my locker shut.
"Jeez, take a chill pill, Skye. What did your locker ever do to you? Why can't you come over?" Anne stated sarcastically.
"Anne, my locker didn't do anything, its just I'm upset. I want to come to your house but jerkface (stepfather) won't let me. He wants me home when he gets home tonight. I have no idea why but I have no choice. You know how angry he can get. I guess I'll see you tomorrow at work."
"Alrighty then, see you later." Anne said as she hugged me tight. I tried not to wince noticably as she inadvertantly put pressure on the tender skin on my shoulders.
"Bye! Love ya!" I told her as I slowly disentangled myself from her as I walked toward the front door of the school.
Once outside, I scoured the busy street for my ride home, but once again Bernie(my limo driver) was late. I deciced to walk home, it was only a few city blocks away and it was a beautiful day. As I passed Smitty's Cafe, I felt a dark presence arround me. I quickened my pace because I felt like I was no longer alone. I felt watched. I was about to step off the curb to cross the street when I heard someone shout my name. Automatically I spun around to see who had called me. No one was there but a few homeless people whom I doubted knew my name. I turned back arround in time to see a taxi cab run a red light and almost hit me where i was standing on the curb. I shivered and got the chills, just thinking about what could have happened had I been in the street. I don't know who or what called my name but I am so glad it happened. I quickly crossed the street and hurried home. I flung open the front door, went inside, and slammed it shut. I locked the last lock. Wow! That was strange. It was nothing but my overactive imagination, just relax, Skyler.
I silently entered the foyer, walked up the grand staircase and walked swiftly down the hall to my bedroom. My room was my santuary until Jerkface ruined it for me. I threw my book bag down on my bed and changed out of my stuffy, private school uniform into comfy clothes. when I was finally satified with my clothes I was waring a white cami, black hoodie and my favorite pair of black sweat pants. I carefully laid down on my bed not to jar my sholders and back. I rolled onto my right side and looked out my window, the sky was a mixture of cool hues of blues and purples, the street was busy with the hustle and bustle fo NYC was quieter than normal. I zoned out thinking about my life since Jerkface had gotten his claws into my mom. I have no idea why mom married Alex (jerkface) What on earth was my mom thinking? Sure Alex is rich but so what? Being rich doesn't mean anything. Ever since they muttered "I do? my life has changed and not for the better. I hate him and anything to do with him. He's such a perv. I hate spending any time with him alone with him. Alex charms others but not me and it bothers him so much. I guess because I don't worship him, Alex thinks he will break me of that by beating me up. He's only hit me twice but i'm starting to get scared. I know what he is doing is wrong but who do i tell? who would believe me? My mom...heck no; in her eyes he can do no wrong. Ugh! I don't know how much more I can take before I snap. One day when he hits me I'm going to fight back and one of us isn't going to make it......
Ring, Ring Ring, Riiinnnng, Riiiiiinnnnnnng! My phone went off. It was Alex, his text said: Have dinner ready for me when i get home.
I didn't respond to his text because it was pointless. I checked what time it was and jumped out of bed. It was 5:45pm and Alex would be home in 15 minutes. What do i do??? I ran down to the kitchen. I scrambled around the kitchen searching for stuff to make. I finnaly settled on making eggs, sausage and toast because it was fastest to make and those where the only food i could find. I had just finished placing everything on the dinning room table when Alex burst through the front door.
Once he saw what I had made, he started to flip out. "You dumb kid, I told you to make dinner not breakfast." he grabbed the bowl of eggs and puts it close enough to my face to feel the heat eminating from the bowl and states "Eggs are not dinner.'' Alex then proceded to through the bown across the room. he stormed out seconds later, telling me to clean up the mess.
"Fine whatever you say jerkface." I muttered under my breath.
"what did you just call me?" Alex asked menicilying.
"Alex I called you by your true name. Has no one ever called you it before? I guess not Jerkface." I have no idea where this courage came from. I knew i was in trouble and it wasn't going to be fun.
As the meaning of my words sunk into Alex's peabrain his face was a whirlwind of emotion. He did not say a word but the look on his face said it all; his whole face was contorted in rage. I tried to take run out of the kitchen but Alex caught me and pushed me back into the kitchen. He then proceeded to throw me across the kitchen. I hit the far wall so hard that I left a dent and I slid down to the floor.
"You ungreatful little witch. After everything I've done for you this is how you repay me? I don't think so. You are going to pay me the respect I deserve even if it kills you." he wispered.
"Skye, are you comming over tonight?" my best friend Anne asked.
"Nope" I replied as I slammed my locker shut.
"Jeez, take a chill pill, Skye. What did your locker ever do to you? Why can't you come over?" Anne stated sarcastically.
"Anne, my locker didn't do anything, its just I'm upset. I want to come to your house but jerkface (stepfather) won't let me. He wants me home when he gets home tonight. I have no idea why but I have no choice. You know how angry he can get. I guess I'll see you tomorrow at work."
"Alrighty then, see you later." Anne said as she hugged me tight. I tried not to wince noticably as she inadvertantly put pressure on the tender skin on my shoulders.
"Bye! Love ya!" I told her as I slowly disentangled myself from her as I walked toward the front door of the school.
Once outside, I scoured the busy street for my ride home, but once again Bernie(my limo driver) was late. I deciced to walk home, it was only a few city blocks away and it was a beautiful day. As I passed Smitty's Cafe, I felt a dark presence arround me. I quickened my pace because I felt like I was no longer alone. I felt watched. I was about to step off the curb to cross the street when I heard someone shout my name. Automatically I spun around to see who had called me. No one was there but a few homeless people whom I doubted knew my name. I turned back arround in time to see a taxi cab run a red light and almost hit me where i was standing on the curb. I shivered and got the chills, just thinking about what could have happened had I been in the street. I don't know who or what called my name but I am so glad it happened. I quickly crossed the street and hurried home. I flung open the front door, went inside, and slammed it shut. I locked the last lock. Wow! That was strange. It was nothing but my overactive imagination, just relax, Skyler.
I silently entered the foyer, walked up the grand staircase and walked swiftly down the hall to my bedroom. My room was my santuary until Jerkface ruined it for me. I threw my book bag down on my bed and changed out of my stuffy, private school uniform into comfy clothes. when I was finally satified with my clothes I was waring a white cami, black hoodie and my favorite pair of black sweat pants. I carefully laid down on my bed not to jar my sholders and back. I rolled onto my right side and looked out my window, the sky was a mixture of cool hues of blues and purples, the street was busy with the hustle and bustle fo NYC was quieter than normal. I zoned out thinking about my life since Jerkface had gotten his claws into my mom. I have no idea why mom married Alex (jerkface) What on earth was my mom thinking? Sure Alex is rich but so what? Being rich doesn't mean anything. Ever since they muttered "I do? my life has changed and not for the better. I hate him and anything to do with him. He's such a perv. I hate spending any time with him alone with him. Alex charms others but not me and it bothers him so much. I guess because I don't worship him, Alex thinks he will break me of that by beating me up. He's only hit me twice but i'm starting to get scared. I know what he is doing is wrong but who do i tell? who would believe me? My mom...heck no; in her eyes he can do no wrong. Ugh! I don't know how much more I can take before I snap. One day when he hits me I'm going to fight back and one of us isn't going to make it......
Ring, Ring Ring, Riiinnnng, Riiiiiinnnnnnng! My phone went off. It was Alex, his text said: Have dinner ready for me when i get home.
I didn't respond to his text because it was pointless. I checked what time it was and jumped out of bed. It was 5:45pm and Alex would be home in 15 minutes. What do i do??? I ran down to the kitchen. I scrambled around the kitchen searching for stuff to make. I finnaly settled on making eggs, sausage and toast because it was fastest to make and those where the only food i could find. I had just finished placing everything on the dinning room table when Alex burst through the front door.
Once he saw what I had made, he started to flip out. "You dumb kid, I told you to make dinner not breakfast." he grabbed the bowl of eggs and puts it close enough to my face to feel the heat eminating from the bowl and states "Eggs are not dinner.'' Alex then proceded to through the bown across the room. he stormed out seconds later, telling me to clean up the mess.
"Fine whatever you say jerkface." I muttered under my breath.
"what did you just call me?" Alex asked menicilying.
"Alex I called you by your true name. Has no one ever called you it before? I guess not Jerkface." I have no idea where this courage came from. I knew i was in trouble and it wasn't going to be fun.
As the meaning of my words sunk into Alex's peabrain his face was a whirlwind of emotion. He did not say a word but the look on his face said it all; his whole face was contorted in rage. I tried to take run out of the kitchen but Alex caught me and pushed me back into the kitchen. He then proceeded to throw me across the kitchen. I hit the far wall so hard that I left a dent and I slid down to the floor.
"You ungreatful little witch. After everything I've done for you this is how you repay me? I don't think so. You are going to pay me the respect I deserve even if it kills you." he wispered.
A Short Story: I Am Free
Short Story: I Am Free
I have done terrible deeds. I have done horrifying sins against others. I have no love. I have made innocent people go through torture. I have gone through suffering. Then he took it away, and they set me free. I may have been abandoned, but I was not trapped anymore. I am free.
My name is Barabbas.
It all started that morning. I thought it was the last day of my life. Well, truthfully, I knew my last day was coming, but I never thought it would be that day. I hadn’t thought about my execution; all I knew was my damp, musty, grimy, smelly jail cell. You see, I killed a man, and then resisted the authority. I feel no guilt, he deserved his fatal death: he stole my wife. My love left me. I was thrown into jail. Even though I was released, killing became my hobby, my life, my addiction. Seeing the fear in a person’s eyes right before their last breath gave me joy, satisfaction… the feeling of power. I have been thrown into jail many times now(I have lost count). I have gotten used to the hard, cold ground and the snarling, rude guards that gave me my stale bread and dirty water. This dreadful place, the jail cell, became my home.
It was a sunny morning, two days before the Jew’s precious Sabbath. I had just scratched another line on my jail cell wall. 106 days have passed by without a word of my release or my death sentence. I sighed and looked up through the barred window, yellow light found its way into the dark cell. I was surprised when the guards gave me a cell with a window. I assumed I would be thrown into a small cell with no windows or light. I lucked out this time. My window over looked Pilot’s courtyard; daily I could listen to the crowd's shouts of protest and the proud voice of Pilot. My cell was a bit too far away to hear what Pilot said, so I assumed the case through the crowds shouts.
Through my cell window I saw a massive crowd enter Pilot’s courtyard. The men and women screamed protests. Pilot walked out to the balcony overlooking the courtyard. The shouts of protest became louder at the sight of him. This should be good. The crowd is extremely unsettled, I thought with a smug smile. I attempted to get comfortable to watch the show.
The crowd became silent as Pilot raised his hand. I heard the voice of Pilot, but I couldn’t hear a word he said. There were too many people stuffed into the courtyard. The murmuring of the crowd stifled Pilot’s shouts. Pilot turned and talked to a bloody man held by two guards. His body was stripped of his clothing except for a small, dirty undergarment. Pilot turned back to the rowdy crowd and asked them something I couldn’t hear. I waited for their response, hoping it would clear up the mystery for me. They all shouted the last thing I expected, “BARABBAS!” I stumbled backwards, confusion flowing into my head. What do they want with me? I thought. Then through my window I heard the worst statement ever, “CRUCIFY HIM!” the crowd shouted with emotion. Terror mixed with agony raised within my body. Today?! No, it CAN’T be today! I must be dreaming. The guards haven't even said a word to me about this! I thought, denial masking my thoughts. “CRUCIFY HIM!” the crowd shouted even louder. I collapsed, not knowing what to do. Think, think! I tried to conjure a plan to escape, but the sound of guard’s feet sounding through the empty hallways distracted my already jumbled thoughts. Questions raced through my head: Why me? Why now? Why were they so mad? What have I done? Why me? The door clicked as the guard unlocked my cell. I did not want to leave. Sweat dripped down my dirt smeared face. The guard threw a discussed look and mumbled something. I could not hear what he said. I fought to stay in my now comforting jail cell. “No! Not today!” I screeched, pulling against the guard’s firm grip. My underfed body protested with pains in my tired legs and arms. “What is wrong with you?” the soldier growled with frustration. “You are being set free.” He yelled at me. I instantly stopped resisting the pull and stared at the irked guard. “What? Is this some kind of joke? I heard the crowd shout my name, and then shout, ‘Crucify him!” I said, short of breath, trying to grasp reality. The guard chuckled and said, “You lowlife, Jewish swine, the crowd chose to crucify the man called Jesus. They chose to set you free instead of this Jesus man.” He shook his head and jerked me out of my cell. I clumsily followed, dazed from the excellent news. “What did this Jesus do that made the crowd want me over him?” I asked, wondering how much lower a man could get. “He claims he is the son of the Jew’s God.” The guard said with a bored voice, hinting that he didn’t want to talk to me. We walked out of the prison and into the open. I blinked at the bright light of Pilot’s courtyard. The crowd had left and was heading to a distant hill. The guard shoved me out of the courtyard and stalked away. I looked around. I am free! I am free! I thought. I looked back at the angry crowd. I wondered about this Jesus man the guard was talking about. I looked at the empty road in the other direction, and then back at the road the crowd was on. Curiosity filled me so I walked toward the angry mob. As I reached the mob, I stood on my tiptoes trying to see what was going on. I walked closer and pushed past a few people. In the center of soldiers was a man carrying a wooden cross. This must be that Jesus the guard was talking about. I thought as I pushed closer. The man carrying the cross looked up and I our eyes met. His eyes, instead of hatred and emptiness, gave off a sparkle of hope. Warmth filled my body with a feeling unexplainable. I stopped, frozen, and the crowd passed me. Confusion filled my head, yet again. I ran back into the crowd, but I couldn’t see Jesus. He had fallen, the cross on top of him. That could have been me today, I thought. I turn away from Jesus, being beaten by soldiers. I ran the opposite direction. The crushing thought hit me again, but this time with more force and meaning:
I have done terrible deeds. I have done horrifying sins against others. I have no love. I have made innocent people go through torture. I have gone through suffering. Then he took it away, and they set me free. I may have been abandoned, but I was not trapped anymore. I am free.
My name is Barabbas.
It all started that morning. I thought it was the last day of my life. Well, truthfully, I knew my last day was coming, but I never thought it would be that day. I hadn’t thought about my execution; all I knew was my damp, musty, grimy, smelly jail cell. You see, I killed a man, and then resisted the authority. I feel no guilt, he deserved his fatal death: he stole my wife. My love left me. I was thrown into jail. Even though I was released, killing became my hobby, my life, my addiction. Seeing the fear in a person’s eyes right before their last breath gave me joy, satisfaction… the feeling of power. I have been thrown into jail many times now(I have lost count). I have gotten used to the hard, cold ground and the snarling, rude guards that gave me my stale bread and dirty water. This dreadful place, the jail cell, became my home.
It was a sunny morning, two days before the Jew’s precious Sabbath. I had just scratched another line on my jail cell wall. 106 days have passed by without a word of my release or my death sentence. I sighed and looked up through the barred window, yellow light found its way into the dark cell. I was surprised when the guards gave me a cell with a window. I assumed I would be thrown into a small cell with no windows or light. I lucked out this time. My window over looked Pilot’s courtyard; daily I could listen to the crowd's shouts of protest and the proud voice of Pilot. My cell was a bit too far away to hear what Pilot said, so I assumed the case through the crowds shouts.
Through my cell window I saw a massive crowd enter Pilot’s courtyard. The men and women screamed protests. Pilot walked out to the balcony overlooking the courtyard. The shouts of protest became louder at the sight of him. This should be good. The crowd is extremely unsettled, I thought with a smug smile. I attempted to get comfortable to watch the show.
The crowd became silent as Pilot raised his hand. I heard the voice of Pilot, but I couldn’t hear a word he said. There were too many people stuffed into the courtyard. The murmuring of the crowd stifled Pilot’s shouts. Pilot turned and talked to a bloody man held by two guards. His body was stripped of his clothing except for a small, dirty undergarment. Pilot turned back to the rowdy crowd and asked them something I couldn’t hear. I waited for their response, hoping it would clear up the mystery for me. They all shouted the last thing I expected, “BARABBAS!” I stumbled backwards, confusion flowing into my head. What do they want with me? I thought. Then through my window I heard the worst statement ever, “CRUCIFY HIM!” the crowd shouted with emotion. Terror mixed with agony raised within my body. Today?! No, it CAN’T be today! I must be dreaming. The guards haven't even said a word to me about this! I thought, denial masking my thoughts. “CRUCIFY HIM!” the crowd shouted even louder. I collapsed, not knowing what to do. Think, think! I tried to conjure a plan to escape, but the sound of guard’s feet sounding through the empty hallways distracted my already jumbled thoughts. Questions raced through my head: Why me? Why now? Why were they so mad? What have I done? Why me? The door clicked as the guard unlocked my cell. I did not want to leave. Sweat dripped down my dirt smeared face. The guard threw a discussed look and mumbled something. I could not hear what he said. I fought to stay in my now comforting jail cell. “No! Not today!” I screeched, pulling against the guard’s firm grip. My underfed body protested with pains in my tired legs and arms. “What is wrong with you?” the soldier growled with frustration. “You are being set free.” He yelled at me. I instantly stopped resisting the pull and stared at the irked guard. “What? Is this some kind of joke? I heard the crowd shout my name, and then shout, ‘Crucify him!” I said, short of breath, trying to grasp reality. The guard chuckled and said, “You lowlife, Jewish swine, the crowd chose to crucify the man called Jesus. They chose to set you free instead of this Jesus man.” He shook his head and jerked me out of my cell. I clumsily followed, dazed from the excellent news. “What did this Jesus do that made the crowd want me over him?” I asked, wondering how much lower a man could get. “He claims he is the son of the Jew’s God.” The guard said with a bored voice, hinting that he didn’t want to talk to me. We walked out of the prison and into the open. I blinked at the bright light of Pilot’s courtyard. The crowd had left and was heading to a distant hill. The guard shoved me out of the courtyard and stalked away. I looked around. I am free! I am free! I thought. I looked back at the angry crowd. I wondered about this Jesus man the guard was talking about. I looked at the empty road in the other direction, and then back at the road the crowd was on. Curiosity filled me so I walked toward the angry mob. As I reached the mob, I stood on my tiptoes trying to see what was going on. I walked closer and pushed past a few people. In the center of soldiers was a man carrying a wooden cross. This must be that Jesus the guard was talking about. I thought as I pushed closer. The man carrying the cross looked up and I our eyes met. His eyes, instead of hatred and emptiness, gave off a sparkle of hope. Warmth filled my body with a feeling unexplainable. I stopped, frozen, and the crowd passed me. Confusion filled my head, yet again. I ran back into the crowd, but I couldn’t see Jesus. He had fallen, the cross on top of him. That could have been me today, I thought. I turn away from Jesus, being beaten by soldiers. I ran the opposite direction. The crushing thought hit me again, but this time with more force and meaning:
I am free.
By: Jamie Bauer
25 May 2009
An Inspiration
It is unbelievable how one day a man whom you love so much is fine, and then the next he is on the brink between life and death. I have known Mr. Mark since I was eight years old and he is like a second father to me. He had been feeling tired for a while, but no one thought much of it. One day he went to the doctor and they told him his white blood cell count was not right. A few days later my mother told me he had leukemia; I broke down into tears.
He was put in the hospital and I was sent pictures of him being his normal self nothing but smiles! It gave me a false sense of reassurance. A few weeks later I went to visit him in the hospital. I was nowhere near prepared. I saw him lying in his bed bruised and so weak that he could barely sit up. I put on a fake reassuring smile. Once is stepped out of the hospital room I broke down into hysterical tears. I wish that was the worst that I saw him, but each time I came back he was worse and worse. He could not move, he sat there shaking in his bed literally waiting while the poison was injected slowly into his veins. How the doctors explained it was that they needed to kill a weed but in order to do that they had to kill everything and start fresh. In other words kill hi slowly but leave just enough of him so hopefully he could recover. This did not sit well with me. At that point I could not comprehend how killing him in anyway could help. It made no sense to me. When I thought he could not be any worse I would be shocked to find him just a little bit closer to death. Each time I visited him I could barley loom at him because I didn’t want to start crying and have him worry about me. Towards the end I was sure that he was going to die, that I would never have my Mr. Mark again.
Even when he was at his worst: bruised, shaking, pale, and lifeless he managed to be the sweetest patient. You could tell there was something different about him; he wished he could spend more time with his family but that if it was his time to go it was alright. He knew exactly where he was going and if God told him it was time he knew it was the right thing. He let his light shine in the darkest of situations and showed God to people when he was almost on his deathbed.
He is a remarkable man and this experience changed my life. You need to let the ones you love know how much they mean to you, and you can shine for God anywhere. Mr. Mark is an inspiration and a hero to me. I wish I could be more like him, so selfless and fearless. Throughout this whole ordeal when I visited him he would say things just to make me smile, as he lay in his bed shaking and sweating incessantly. He is in remission, and has recently gone back to work as a firefighter. Hundreds of people were praying for him; so if nothing else this shows everyone that God hears our prays!
He was put in the hospital and I was sent pictures of him being his normal self nothing but smiles! It gave me a false sense of reassurance. A few weeks later I went to visit him in the hospital. I was nowhere near prepared. I saw him lying in his bed bruised and so weak that he could barely sit up. I put on a fake reassuring smile. Once is stepped out of the hospital room I broke down into hysterical tears. I wish that was the worst that I saw him, but each time I came back he was worse and worse. He could not move, he sat there shaking in his bed literally waiting while the poison was injected slowly into his veins. How the doctors explained it was that they needed to kill a weed but in order to do that they had to kill everything and start fresh. In other words kill hi slowly but leave just enough of him so hopefully he could recover. This did not sit well with me. At that point I could not comprehend how killing him in anyway could help. It made no sense to me. When I thought he could not be any worse I would be shocked to find him just a little bit closer to death. Each time I visited him I could barley loom at him because I didn’t want to start crying and have him worry about me. Towards the end I was sure that he was going to die, that I would never have my Mr. Mark again.
Even when he was at his worst: bruised, shaking, pale, and lifeless he managed to be the sweetest patient. You could tell there was something different about him; he wished he could spend more time with his family but that if it was his time to go it was alright. He knew exactly where he was going and if God told him it was time he knew it was the right thing. He let his light shine in the darkest of situations and showed God to people when he was almost on his deathbed.
He is a remarkable man and this experience changed my life. You need to let the ones you love know how much they mean to you, and you can shine for God anywhere. Mr. Mark is an inspiration and a hero to me. I wish I could be more like him, so selfless and fearless. Throughout this whole ordeal when I visited him he would say things just to make me smile, as he lay in his bed shaking and sweating incessantly. He is in remission, and has recently gone back to work as a firefighter. Hundreds of people were praying for him; so if nothing else this shows everyone that God hears our prays!
Reflective Essay
So, I'm not entirely sure what a reflective essay is, but here's my best attempt:
As I sit here in the emergency room, a song runs through my head.
"Joy unspeakable that won't go away. Just enough strength, to live for today. So I never have to worry what tomorrow will bring, 'cause my faith is on a solid rock, I am counting on God. I am counting on, I am counting on God" (by Desperation Band)
Right now, these lyrics mean so much to me. I know that I cannot handle what lies ahead without God's strength, and my future rests solely in his hands. I'm reminded of a "dojo rule" I had to memorize for karate: "Endure hardship, for it builds character." Two years ago, I went on a backpacking/canoeing trip, and sprained my ankle the first day. The only way I managed was through God's strength. But I remember being on the trail in intense pain, just quoting to myself over and over, "Endure hardship for it builds character." But hard as it was, that trip taught me so much.
And so, as I sit here, once again in intense pain, I realize that I do trust God in this. I don't know what's going to happen, I have no idea what the next few days will hold, but I have no control over it, and worrying won't help at all. I truly am "counting on God."
As I sit here in the emergency room, a song runs through my head.
"Joy unspeakable that won't go away. Just enough strength, to live for today. So I never have to worry what tomorrow will bring, 'cause my faith is on a solid rock, I am counting on God. I am counting on, I am counting on God" (by Desperation Band)
Right now, these lyrics mean so much to me. I know that I cannot handle what lies ahead without God's strength, and my future rests solely in his hands. I'm reminded of a "dojo rule" I had to memorize for karate: "Endure hardship, for it builds character." Two years ago, I went on a backpacking/canoeing trip, and sprained my ankle the first day. The only way I managed was through God's strength. But I remember being on the trail in intense pain, just quoting to myself over and over, "Endure hardship for it builds character." But hard as it was, that trip taught me so much.
And so, as I sit here, once again in intense pain, I realize that I do trust God in this. I don't know what's going to happen, I have no idea what the next few days will hold, but I have no control over it, and worrying won't help at all. I truly am "counting on God."
Childhood dreams
I lunged forward summoning up the last little bit of my strength and reached for the green speck in the corner of my vision. This battle had been going on for at least an hour. Originally, there were five of us, but now it was just Kris and me. That green cloth had been evading me, but I was determined to be the victor. It was do or die, now or never.
I died. Kris reached for my tiny ankle and pulled my black sock off just seconds before I reached his foot. The sock war had ended. Kris was still wearing his green sock and the rest of us were defeated and sockless. “You put up a good fight, sis.” My brothers and the other brothers (Kris and Sean) said, trying to ease my battered ego. No one ever expected me to win; I was the youngest by far and the only girl.
We traded Pokémon cards; we camped out in my background; we played king of the hill; we spent hours blowing up tanks on Nintendo 64; we made sheet forts that invaded the entire downstairs. We were kids with a flawless childhood. The five of us invented countless games that didn’t even make sense to anyone but us.
My experiences with my brothers and these two boys shaped the rest of my life. Through them I learned quite a bit about the beauty that God created in life and people. Kris and Sean’s dad was best friends with my dad in college. Growing up, I could barely differentiate between them and my real brothers. We only stayed with them a few times a year, but we made up for that by having fun 100% of the time we were together.
Through our shared experiences, the five of us formed a bond that time and distance cannot break. Females tend to connect mainly through talking, but these relationships taught me how to also connect simply through sharing life and laughter. We could spend five hours doing nothing but play video games and I’d feel like I knew them better than if we had spent a day talking about serious things.
Even though I haven’t seen Sean or Kris in years, I know I can talk to them about any problem and I would trust them with my life. When we finally connect after being apart for a long time, it really is just like we were together yesterday. Kris may finally be taller than me, but in our hearts I’m still six and he’s still nine.
Anyone who is good friends with me will know that I have a huge weak spot for animals. Simply holding a tiny kitten will make my eyes become teary. That love of animals started with Sean and Kris’ two dogs. They had a lively golden retriever named Astro and an almost blind mutt named Fang. I’m actually a cat person now, but as a kid I couldn’t imagine loving any animal more than I loved Astro. Astro would wrestle and hug me, and when my parents told me it was time to go home I’d run back inside to say goodbye to the dogs one more time.
Sean was probably the first guy I ever had a crush on. It was the silly dream of a five-year-old, but it was the world to me then. We both still joke about being meant for each other, but in reality we’re both simply grateful for an amazing friendship. Psychologists talk a lot about how your childhood and family define who you are later in life; I actually believe it. These boys taught me how to have amazing friendships.
I’m so thankful that God gave me memories like these to cherish for the remainder of my life. I look forward to someday in the future watching all of our kids play together and laugh; maybe I’ll buy a golden retriever and maybe our kids will teach us some new games.
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