The twist - A Culminating Experience

A plot change in a story can have a drastic effect upon the lives of the characters within. An author of a story is not bound by a conventional plot arc and can alter the course of it in an instant.The Story of an Hour" by Kate Chopin follows the final moments of a woman, named Mrs. Mallard, who has just discovered that her husband has been killed. In this plot twist, Mrs Mallard discovers that her husband has not been killed but is in fact alive and  well. Upon seeing that her husband lives, Mrs Mallard falls to the ground dead of a heart attack. Chopin's plot revolves around a false pretense that Mrs Mallard is free; liberated from her oppressively described husband. Chopin writes how "she had loved him;yet often she had not"(Chopin 14); leaving the reader with the feeling that Mrs. Mallard is living in an unhappy time in her life. The reader feels great relief in the knowledge that Mrs. Mallard will be able to find some peace and tranquility that she would otherwise miss. In addition to Mrs Mallard's shock, the reader is also taken aback after being informed that her husband is not dead, and that her life will be the same as it alwaysbeen. The death of Mrs Mallard reverses the tone of this short story, leaving an oppressed woman dead, and an oppressive husband free.

Objectifying: Subconscious or Nah?

Throughout Jamaica Kincaid's "Girl," Chimamanda Adichie's "The Thing Around Your Neck" and Flannery O'Connor's "Everything that Rises Must Converge," the significant issue of subtle and often subconscious objectification of other genders and races remains at the forefront of the stories' conflicts. Jamaica Kincaid's "Girl" brings to light the pertinent issue that is objectification through the degradation of the protagonist. With each individual instruction and reprimand, the protagonist's mother further establishes dominance over a girl believed by society to be inherently inferior to others by the very nature of her identity as a female. The fact that the protagonist is expected to do so much for her family and for men with no respect in return displays the nature of this girl's community: women are taken for granted and seen as little more than household objects. In this way, Kincaid reveals the socially unbalanced essence of human civilization, and how that results in clear objectification. Adichie's "The Thing Around Your Neck" demonstrates the often subconscious objectification of people of other races and genders. Akunna's boyfriend appears knowledgeable about Africa, and respectful of her, but sometimes his "love" for her seems solely because of her heritage. He objectifies Akunna and uses her to learn more about her culture, and to help convince himself and others that he is a forward-thinking man. Although the character is not trying be racist, it doesn't come off that way. In this way, Adichie shows that racism and objectification can be either intentional or unintentional. Objectification of races is also a prevalent theme in the short story "Everything That Rises Must Converge," written by Flannery  O'Connor. Throughout the short story, the main character; Julian, subconsciously objectifies black people. He uses the issue of race to make his racist mother uncomfortable, and also to prove a point and to convert her into a "non-racist." Although he does make many efforts to engage in conversations with black men, the way he does this subconsciously makes it seem that he sees them as objects, in a way to test himself. Objectifying races is frequently as offensive to many people as racist actions and remarks. In modern society, the objectification of those who are different is a prevalent issue. To be a tolerant society, it is important to imagine others as more than objects.

Objectification of women in short stories

A highly controversial topic in today's society–the objectification of women– is a reoccurring topic in many short stories. The objectification of women acknowledges the social standards of a woman's appearance through the eyes of others. Women are often described by their physical features and clothing choices in a sexual manner. An example of a story that references the theme of objectification and over sexualization of women is John Updike's "A&P". In "A&P", three girls walk into a supermarket in their bathing suits. They receive judgmental looks because of their lack of clothing. Sammy–a worker at the cash register makes comments on the girls. At one point, he comments on what one of the girls is wearing: “With the straps pushed off, there was nothing between the top of the suit and the top of her head except just her, this clean bare plane of the top of her chest down from the shoulder bones like a dented sheet of metal tilted in the light. I mean, it was more than pretty.” (Updike 113). Most of Sammy's comments are on the girls bodies. This shows that these girls were seen as sexual objects, because of what they were wearing.

A Middle Finger and a Smile

Gabriel Garcia Marquez, a famous writer of magical realism, would often pose for pictures with a Bright smile and a middle finger pointed towards the camera. This may seem odd, but that is exactly the point.  Magical realism, a writing tool used by writers like Garcia Marquez, would be written as though everything is perfectly normal, but not everything is, in order to make the distinction betewen fantasy and reality less clear.  Magical realism is often about more that just fantasy, however, and is frequently used as a tool for discussing bigger issues, such as politics, sociatal normalities, or even the struggles of adolescents. "A Very Old Man With Enormous Wings," demonstrates the use of this tool very well.
  Gabriel Garcia Marquez's use of magical realism within the story of "An Old with enormous wings" is to explain humans natural tendency to be more accepting with what's normal although something different can be just as interesting and engaging.  Marquez is able to convey this issue through the use of a foreign old angel who is not declared miracle by a catholic priest due to the Angels inhibility to speed Latin. The Catholic Church “spent their time finding out in the prisoner had a navel, if his dialect had any connection with Aramaic, how many times he could fit on the head of a pin, or whether he wasn't just a Norwegian with wings”(Garcia Marquez 4).This demonstrates the Marquezes feelings towards the writing community and how the community refuses to accept foreign texts as classics.  Through Marquez's short story the reader can begin to understand larger issues in human nature
  Gabriel Garcia Marquez effectively uses magical realism in his stories, and although the stories may seem like harmless tales, they manage to convey the author's take on bigger issues. Magical  realism is used by Garcia Marquez as a sort of code- where the author can write in fiction, and yet still write meaningful commentary on society

Don't Get Your Hopes Up

Life is like a high school party. The short stories "The Thing Around Your Neck," by Chimimanda Ngozi Adichie; "Araby," by James Joyce; and "A&P," by John Updike all reflect that life is inherently disappointing due to high expectations.

"The Thing Around Your Neck," a short story by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, explores defects in the perception of the American Dream. Akunna is a Nigerian who views her life in the United States as worse than her previous life in Africa. This is largely due to a series of unfortunate events which do not correspond with her family's promises of wealth. In reality, Akunna is much more fortunate in this new life than she was in Lagos, Nigeria. 

James Joyce's "Araby" is another short story in which the protagonist is torn aport by failed expectations. He spends days glorifying the bazaar where he is planning to buy a gift for the girl he is infatuated with. However, because of his drunken uncle and rude salespeople, he arrives at the bazaar late and cannot find a present that is desireable enough for his love. 

"A&P," a short story by John Updike, tells the tale of a cashier named Sammy who quickly falls for a customer. He quits his job (after his manager embarrasses the girl) in an attempt to get her attention. Sadly, his grand gesture goes unnoticed. Sammy realizes how difficult life is going to treat him after this hopeful stunt.

These short stories reflect one of life's most prominent patterns: rejection. Whether a person is let down due to broken promises, unsuccessful expeditions, or fruitless love pursuits, guilded expectations always end up warping reality

Social Issues in Short Stories

Ever since the creation of written language, literature has been a powerful tool as a catalyst for social change. The power of literature can span from changing the course of a major period of history, like the Qu'ran did during the Abbasid Caliphate, or representing a time of social restructuring, like To Kill A Mockingbird does for the 20th century. Many authors today use short stories as a way of making readers aware of current issues around the world, one such issue being the existence of racism. Racism is a hugely relevant issue in our world today and eradicating it is arguably one of the most pronounced struggles in modern America. Such a widespread issue leads to a multitude of short stories that promote awareness of racial inequality, as well as the closely related topics of gender inequality and classism. Authors such as Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, Sherman Alexie, and Flannery O'Connor use short stories to expose various aspects of racism through their writing, especially in the forms of colonialism, privilege, and white supremacy. The internal and external conflicts of the characters within the stories "The Thing Around Your Neck," "What You Pawn I Will Redeem," and "Everything That Rises Must Converge" are effective portrayals of an issue that is prevalent in modern American culture. The goal of such authors (as well as others) is to raise readers about racism in America and advocate a shift towards a more equal society. 

Originality is the Key to Success

All of the world's most accomplished authors have their own unique writing style, and at the same time have been able to revolutionize the writing community, the most prominent being: James Joyce's "Araby", Jamaica Kincaid's "Girl", and Gabriel Garcia Marquez's "A Very Old Man with Enormous Wings". Time and time again, these authors are able to use their unique writing styles to have their readers ponder these contemporary issues.

Joyce is able to employ his childish side in his writing, but at the same time also put in "enigmas and puzzles" (James Joyce). He also was known for using writing tools such as: imagery, realism, epiphanies, and stream-of-consciousness to engage his readers in his stories and create a vivid image in their minds as well as a new perspective on the reality of life. He hits the reader with a sense of realism, and at the same time creates a dirty image in his or her mind all in a couple of sentences.

Jamaica Kincaid utilizes her writing in order to convey her feministic views. Throughout "Girl", Kincaid writes from a maternal perspective, almost dictating what appears to be her daughter. Stylistically, the motherly figure in the story gives life advice to this daughter-like figure showing her how to do things such sewing, growing okra, and  how to catch fish. Specifically, when Kincaid says, "This is how to bully a man; This is how a man bullies you" (Kincaid 53), she uses her writing style to convey female equality and empowerment. Overall, Kincaid conveys her own personal views through her stylistic writing.

Gabriel Garcia Marquez uses a technique called magical realism to emphasize people's treatment of what is foreign, or different. Magical realism is an art in which myth and fantasy mix with reality to blur differences between reality and fantasy. The old man is exploited by the townspeople, and treated as an oddity, while his identity is questioned because of his confusing and difficult to understand story. On the other hand, the spider woman has a clear story and moral, therefore no one questions her identity. Therefore, Garcia Marquez is emphasizing that in reality, people tend to accept a simpler explanation, rather than a complex but perhaps more truthful explanation. Therefore, Garcia Marquez uses this fantastical example to make his readers think about their treatment of others.

Many authors have been successful because they have unique and interesting writing styles. Authors such as James Joyce, Jamacia Kincaid, and Gabriel Garcia Marquez have used their respective writing styles, such as imagery and humor, magical realism, and using the entire story to convey her idea throughout.

As Time Slows

She wept in the imaginary hour.

An Occurrence At Owl Creek Bridge

The end is rapidly approaching you. 

Death’s imminent and there’s no escape.

A Soldier Approaches

The fire won't light; “Whose there?”

Neck

necks can never be un-snapped

This Never Made Sense

The man who survived: an angel

"PTSD"

"How many men grandpa?" "Too many."

A Warning

“No one may touch the railroad.”

The Inevitable

Death always catches up to you

Illusions

A weary traveler spots an oasis...

Truly

    His escape had never truly occurred.

Peyton and his wife

"Bye!”
 “Have fun at poker Honey."

Hanging for Reputation, Not Retaliation

Or so Captain relayed to everyone.

All's Fair In Love And War

War: man's excuse to play god.

That Night

Telegraph didn’t call him a hero.

Sad stories

I'm so sorry wife and kids

Fantasy can't take you from reality

dust in wind

"Civil" Disobedience: wind blowing, leaves swirling, bodies swinging.

What follows?

Dead man with a concious mind. 

Chance, the only thing that isn't thrown out of the window

Serendipity favors the live and well. 

Brave Dreams

Brave dreams, brave intentions, hopeless situation.

Aftermath

She holds her child and weeps.

Bitter Breath

Sister’s bitter sleep breath wakes me up. “Get up, I need to show you a secret.” I am pulled from my cocoon and instructed to tiptoe so Dad doesn’t hear us playing in the secret. The stairs creak and Sister shushes me and I rub my hands over the goosebumps on my legs. When she opens the door I get chills. The ground is higher and glowing in the dark, little clouds are waving themselves in a frenzy. The sky had fallen! I whimpered so Sister took my hand. “Surprise!” She stole Mom’s coat and ran from me into the sky. I stood cold in the doorway, watching the wind push her down. I should have shown Dad the surprise secret, too, and maybe he would have told Sister not to go out. She waves her limbs but the clouds are too sticky. I see less of her frantic movements and more clouds. Clouds clouds clouds. I step onto the porch and my foot is stung. I scream, I cry, but the wind yells louder. Dad doesn’t come but Sister sits up. She is not Sister anymore, she is a glowing monster and she reaches for my hands. I run inside and slam the door then click the lock like I had seen Sister do before. I sprint upstairs and I don’t care that the stairs creak and my goosebumps won’t go away but I just let them be. I wrap myself back up in my cocoon and I leave the curtains closed so Monster can’t look in. “Honey,” Dad whispers into the room. “Why are you running around? You’ll wake your sister.” I can’t tell him about Monster or else he’ll be mad. I make a little noise so he knows I heard him and then his feet pat back across the hall. I have never been up so late, maybe the sky always rises in the morning and Monster will turn back into Sister when the clouds go back home. I go to sleep hoping that bitter Monster breath doesn’t wake me up.

The Room

They told me I was to spend a night in the Room. My grovelling did little to convince them otherwise. A solution the colour of acid was injected into my bloodstream, and my world blurred, darkened, and, finally, receded.

As my consciousness trickled in, I became aware of my prostrated and shivering self. Feeling disorientated, I stood groggily to observe my unknown surroundings, choking back a gasp as I discover I am not alone. The Room is austere and forbidding with its doorless walls of sterile white, and standing by one stark wall is a figure - a figure with my clothes, my hair, my face. My knees buckle and I crumple to the floor, scrambling to put distance between myself and the monstrosity before me. Without hesitation, my doppelgänger mimics my actions precisely. Swallowing my panic, I still my movements, opting to remain motionless in my squatted position. The figure follows suit and ceases its squirming motions immediately. I breathe a sigh of relief, comforted by the fact that it at least appears to be harmless. Deciding that I am not in immediate danger, I pick myself up from the ground and experimentally raises a hand towards my doppelgänger. Predictably, it reciprocates the gesture - however, in reverse: I raised my right and it raised its left. I reach for my doppelgänger’s hand, it doing likewise, but my fingertips met a cold, smooth surface instead . It appears as if a clear glass wall separated us, and I realize the Room is half the size I thought it was. 

“Can you hear me?” I whisper. My doppelgänger mouths my question with me, but did not offer a reply of its own. 

I give up my attempts at communication with my doppelgänger. It, like me, appears to be confined to the Room. I close my eyes and tried to will time to hurry. Time always passes more slowly in the Room. 

Delusional Rebirth

Pray then hope, free for now.

The end.

His life flashed before his eyes.

Delusion

Three, two, one. Just kidding--darkness.

Alternate

It was what he had wanted.

A Chance Perhaps?

It was only a hopeful dream.

Eternal

But your dreams can never die.

Mr Rainbow

The walls are white. My bed is white. The tiles, the ceiling, my gown, even my pills; all are white in color. There are no paintings, not a single window, and nothing to numb my thoughts. There is not a single escape from the white room. Nothing to trick my mind, not even for a brief moment into the far fetched idea that I’m somewhere else. Prison would’ve been better quite frankly. In prison there are colors, the outside, and normal talking. In the hospital there’s therapy, with Ms. Lifton. I’m supposed to learn to be social, something that’s apparently attainable with a few pills every few hours. That isn’t normal talking though. Normal talking is something normal people do for pleasure or even courtesy, not necessity. One of me wants to be normal, but the other me fights that urge. Other me likes the white room. It likes the ear piercing silence of it.  Above all, I know other me doesn’t want other people round, and that includes me. Mr. Rainbow helps me escape for a while, but only if I earn it. If I scream, flail and take pokes at my own well being long enough the men dressed in white run in to “save” me. More white, but along with that white comes Mr. Rainbow. As I slide my arms through his singular, cloth sleeve the hairs on the back of my neck straight up. I’ve earned it. The men in white pin me down, and I hear Mr. Rainbows leather straps beginning to slip into notches. All seven of them, Richard, Olaf, Yelard, Garrett, Bryan, Ivan and Vic are in their fifth notch and I can feel Mr. Rainbow’s cocoon like cloth envelop my perception and body. The Men in white then pick me up, but I couldn’t for the life of me tell you where they take me afterward. When I’m surrounded by Mr. Rainbow other me is no more and I have my escape. Everytime he brings me to the same escape, and nothing makes me happier. I’m back in the family summer house, and as soon as I turn the dull brass door knob clockwise my two little girls and wife all come to the door. Other me didn’t like them one bit, they were too much company in his mind, a danger to his sanity. It doesn’t matter when Mr. Rainbow guides me though, for he is no where to be found. My kids and Wife aren’t red anymore, there’s no mallet in my hand and they always forgive me on this escape. The world is filled with color and for a brief point in time the walls, the bed...nothing is white. 

The Flu

The Flu

Max Fine

When the doctor asked me how I was feeling, I let out a sigh. I knew it was time, but I kept my worries to myself. I answered in a mostly truthful fashion, knowing; dreading, what was about to happen. The doctor reached into a side cabinate, partly hidden by the examination bench, and, as he opened the door, I caught my first glimpse of it. It was a long ethereal tube, filled with a liquid so blue, that it transended the boundries between the whole, fufilling blue of the sky, and the deep, dark, boundless blue of the deepest oceans. Upon further inspection, the ethereal flask and the sky-ocean blue created a mysterious glamor that could inspire awe or terrior depending on the eye of the beholder. Finally, perching on the flask was one long silver spire. This was the crown, perched atop the king of concoctions, symbolizing my demise. As the doctor brought it closer, I knew. I knew that pain was next. The doctor discarded the empty flask, a husk of its former glory, waiting for its next victim.

A World Unknown

“Its mountains and valleys expose a new world,” they said with wide eyes. “It allows you to see into someone’s soul. Whether it is the positive things that give them joy or the bad things that hang off of them, dragging them down like bricks with every step. You have the ability to file through someone’s life, analyzing every aspect of it. It opens up a world unknown with its unique golden figure.” They handed it to me, glinting while reflecting the light from the window. I squinted my eyes avoiding the sharp light. “In the palm of your hand you hold so much power,” they warned, “there is no telling where you are headed. You may see good, bad or nothing at all. But be careful with this power, what is inside will surprise you.” I closed my hand as I tried to picture this world they were speaking of. Focusing on my breathing, I turned away anxious to find out what I would discover

Warm

They hover above my head when I go to sleep, a million tiny orbs glowing and pulsating, brightness doubling when I look away. I don’t normally use them, but they have this silent hum of light in the dark, not audible but almost tangible. If I squint my eyes, the light splinters and shoots off in thin spikes, trails away and disappears. They dance in the corners of my eyes like stars and blur and fade into an ambiguously directed line, an unclear glow out of my direct line of vision. The metal bed frame looks harsh and raw next to their soft flicker, the bed’s black a contrast to their white-yellow. If I turn my head a certain way, I can see their reflection in the window, as they appear to soar outside the glass, away with every slight twitch of my eyes. A thousand small eyes float quietly in the black of the room, resting their stare on me as I sleep and although I know they can’t really see me, I can almost feel the weight of their gaze, and somehow it’s warm.

Taking Flight in the Night Sky

Mason was well known for not being outgoing and was always spending time to himself. One day as he walked home alone—headphones in ear—he saw a man waving to him. He ran over right away thinking that the man was in danger, but the man just handed him an object that just slid into his hand, so light that it felt like it wasn’t actually there. The scruffy looking man nodded and carried on in another direction. Mason was left bewildered and staring at it, full of creases and wrinkles. Then a gust of wind pushed it out of his hand flying in the night sky, rising and then falling, swaying and spiraling. Meanwhile, Mason ran after this flying object, soon losing it when a few more appeared in the night sky battling for a spot in the night sky, until it made a soft landing on the side of the road.

Knowing What You Know

Round like the sun, but black like the night, it stares back at me. I know such an entity is rare in these times, but it does not know. It seems to know very little, it could know anything. That is its purpose, to know a specific something. It seemed, or rather, it seems impossible, yet, here it is. I think it’s a wonder, a marvel. But the reality is that time has rendered it obsolete. But the beauty of obsolescence is that, doing what I do, it can be ignored. I can use the knowledge trapped in the blackness.

Like everything, this thing has a purpose, a goal to achieve, a message to send, an operation to achieve, a song to sing. It does so in a roundabout, but pure way. It does not lose sight of its own fidelity. This thing however, has a second face, another side , giving a completely different message from the same sender. Such an item, then, purposes a bridge from few to millions. It carries its purpose, its song, on its face, leaving it there for all to see. It is wonderful. It is marvelous. But it is one of perhaps a billion. So it is no wonder that I should posses several. It was born into brilliance, yet knows only the song it is meant to sing.

Dun dun dun

If the sunlight weren’t encircling it on the rickety dull brown table I probably wouldn’t have noticed it. But, there it was, of a creamy, fluffy complexion and poised in such a way that I worried it would lift up and lurch at me. I pushed the small table over in hopes that it might get up and crawl away. It slid off, landed lightly on the floorboards but made no attempt to escape. Instead it laid curled over itself in a state of paralysis. Satisfied, that it was not alive I grasped it between my fingers. Motionless in my fingers, it softly bent to the contours of my hand. One end of it was ripped, or maybe it was open on purpose, but the hole was big enough for me to stick my hand in. The tiny sack had nothing in it but I imagine it would be used for that. After looking inside I realized the magnificence of this object, I could use it for—ugh, what is that smell! 

Dancing Animals

    A deep sea of bright red exploded across the flat canvas. A kaleidoscope of butterflies flowed around the pale angelic being. Snakes slithered gracefully toward the light, weaving through the sea of falling rose petals. It’s high tide as the sharks fall down from within, slamming and tapping and slamming and tapping, disappearing under the wings of cardinals. Snakes are reawakened and begin to dance around the young swaying cherry blossom tree. Tall and lean. Strong and confident.  Then the sharks and the snakes moved as one weaving through the  infinite field of red daisies, stamping and twirling together. The heavens above shine a light on them. Casting a women’s silhouette  into night, the echoes of their fun matching the rhythm of a far off spanish tune.

Changing the Earth

I picked the object up off of the dirt. It was heavy at first, but I adjusted to the weight easily. The shaft was hard and smooth; the bottom was cold. I put it into the ground and picked up the Earth. It occurred to me that with this device I could change the Earth. For the next hour I changed the Earth. I moved part of the Earth over by the great, blue ocean. I moved another part of the Earth onto a grass field as long as the eye could see. I moved part of the Earth next to a tree that looked like it went up through the heavens and kept going. With this device I changed how aliens would view the Earth, if they ever came. My device changed the way animals moved from place to place and how plants grew from their seeds. When I had finished I placed the object back down on the dirt where I found it. It was someone else’s time to change the Earth. 

First man on Mars

30 seconds till liftoff. The first man on Mars. He thought of what awaited him in the near future, and at the same time, thought of how he would be received by his family and peers when he returned. A million thoughts raced through his head, and time seemed to slow down. 20 seconds till liftoff. He thought of his parents, who had up until this point in his life, helped him get this far. He thought of his peers, who had provided support and encouragement through his best and worst points. 10 seconds till liftoff. Lastly, he thought of himself. He remembered the small, innocent, and naive boy that he used to be. At that moment, the thought of his childhood sparked a realization of what he had been carrying in his right pocket and what his father had entrusted him with to hold dear with him for the entirety of his life. He pulled it out of his pocket for one last quick glance before he was launched into the stars. Even in his remaining seconds, he studied it hard. The overhead lights reflected off of its shiny, metallic surface. His own reflection was distorted by the bowl-like indentation in the object. He ran his fingers up and down the handle as if trying to remember the feeling and shape of the object. Finally, coming back to reality, he placed it carefully back in his pocket. He strapped on his helmet. 5...4...3...2...1.

By The Creek

She found it by the creek, the one she was forbidden to visit. Every day she begged her mother to take her to the creek she heard all the stories about. After vehement refusal from her mother, the girl finally snuck out to the creek at the break of dawn. Faint sunlight barely streaming through the dense forest, she stumbled over rocks and roots on her way. At last, she arrived. Tired and out of breath, she plopped down on a mossy rock. A glint of silver caught her eye under the muddy leaves. Curiously, she reached around past the soggy dirt and pulled out a bracelet. It was not much to look at, but the girl seemed drawn to it by an unseen force. She fastened it on her wrist and admired it. Upon doing so she thought she detected a faint voice in the distance summoning her. Assuming it was her mother, the girl hastened back towards her house. Once safely back home, out of breath, the blustery wind whipping against the window she questioned her mother on calling her. Confused, the mother replied she hadn’t even noticed the girl was missing. The girl began to detect faint murmurings and craned her neck around to see if they had house guests. When no one appeared at the door, she was perplexed. Dismissing her thoughts, the girl hurried up stairs to get ready for school. Throwing on her clothes and grabbing her bag and a banana for the road she left the house. Sliding into her desk mere seconds before the first period bell she was certain she could hear people speaking. Casting off the notion as silly and thinking it was just her classmates muttering to each other she settled in for the lecture. The professor enters and the class goes silent. The voices the girl hears grow louder as the class gets quieter. She discreetly scans the classroom for another peer who may be experiencing the same thing as her. Soon she begins to panic. While no voice save for the teacher’s is heard by the rest of the class, a clashing cacophony of chaotic cluttered chatter overwhelms her senses. At last she can bear it no longer. A shout erupts from her mouth demanding silence. All eyes now on her, she flushes with embarrassment. Receiving a stern look from the lecturer, she is sent to the principal’s office. Horrified, she gathers her belongings and trudged down the hall to meet her apparent imposing doom. This is it. The end. It’s surely approaching. She must be going insane and losing her mind. She wonders if they will send her to an asylum. Racking her disorderly brain for an answer to her plight, she begins to feel woosy. She collapses to the floor. Then, darkness.  

The Luster it Once Had

They could see it clearly thought the trees. As the young men emerged from the woods they became encompassed in the full presence of the tower. They creeped out of the woods, into the dirty wooden sea, and around the rusted steeds. As they got closer, the more it towerd over their small frames and completely cast them in its shadow. They surround its worn down territory, one of them on each side. They grabbed a hold of its long limb and began to pound it with all their strength. The limp whipped back and forth, side to side, and around and around as the tower cried in strain, for it has lost the strength and luster. They pounded it with their adolescent fists and laughed in amusement until, finally a victor emerged and the tower stood entangled in its own weighted limb. The victor, smiling with pride, stated, "Dinner will be ready soon, we should go." They other boy replied with a nod, and they shoved off in the direction the came as the evening sun set thought the trees. The tower sat it the dim light more broken than it was before, but the boys would be back the next day.

Basement

The sun was about to go down, and he decided in the short amount of time he had left before dinner, he would finally explore the basement. All summer long, the boy had played in the apple orchard with his friends. This past summer was particularly torrid and the orchard became a refuge of shade for the youngsters. Now his friends had gone, and there was only a short time left before school. His aunt and uncle had been lenient with him throughout his stay, but their one big rule was that he shouldn’t go in the basement without them. He had refrained from exploring over the past two and a half months, but now his curiosity was to the point of almost making him itch.

There were two entrances to the basement that he could enter from. He could either enter from the inside the house and run the risk of being caught by his uncle or try to use the hatch that was by his aunt’s hedges. The hatch was unlocked, but while he was opening it, it creaked and made an unimaginable amount of noise, and yet his aunt and uncle didn’t seem to notice. The steps leading down to the basement were wooden and filled with cobwebs. The basement was musty and humid and it took the boy’s all not to sneeze. He found a light switch, switched it on, and subsequently closed the hatch. A small dim bulb towards the far left of the basement turned on, and the boy followed it. As the boy drew closer to the light source he noticed that it was flickering and much brighter than he originally thought. Not only that, but there were two bulbs and the bulbs were shaped like halos. The halo-bulbs were upright, and the flickering of the bulbs took place in the space inside the halo. The boy felt an urge to touch the bulb; the same urge that draws flies to lights, and children to touch stoves. He took his hand, callused from months of outdoor play, put his hand on the halo-bulb and felt the electrical energy pulsing through the metal. Suddenly he thrust his hand through the first halo, and to his horror it appeared in the space between the second halo-bulb.

Unidentified

It bewildered her, the powerful screen. It seemed to create hyper-realistic images right before her eyes. And not just images, films too. These changed every time she encountered it, although they always included the same main character. She would escape from her dwelling daily to come and observe this magical thing of beauty. It lived in the woods behind her home. She had found it there and intended to leave it there. She told nobody of it, afraid that she would be called a liar; or perhaps she thought she would be mocked and teased. Besides, it was her special secret and she wished to keep it that way. 

New Air

It seemed to disappear. It was gone into thin air within seconds. First a misty room, then nothing. Faded into the air and was gone. We saw it and could not touch it. It seemed almost like a being on its own. It needed no doctoring, and we could almost put it anywhere. But no touching. It was like nothing we had never seen. We could not feel it, but we could feel its chill. It had no texture, just a misting essence that we all saw, then never saw again. The feeling of it around our ankles was like none other. It felt like a cold air that could pull you down through the floor and down, down, down. It gripped you the way hands do when you meet someone new. You knew it would not  hurt you because it was just a misty air, but you couldn’t be sure...

Captivation

He sat directly in front of it, starstruck and jaw wide open at the fascinating scene that attracted his stare. Never before had the man been so captivated throughout his mundane and prosaic existence. The phenomenon this man was witnessing was an inanimate object; however, seemed to be teeming of life and vivacity. A mystifying fever was radiating from the substance, seemingly burning off the flesh of the worn and drab man. However, this phenomenon simultaneously extracted heat as it radiated it. The more the man felt the emission from the object, the closer he wanted to be to it, and the more lively he felt. The object was drawing out the man’s little liveliness he had left and filling him with new, pacifying energy. His eyes locked into place and his body froze completely, although he was filled with warmth.

The Box

     She walked in carrying a white box. The box was in the shape of a squashed rectangle, and it was coated in a geometric pattern consisting of red squares and strange squiggly lines. I immediately became curious as to what was in the box, so I approached it (with caution, as its contents may have been dangerous). As I drew closer to the box, the air became thick and warm, almost as if it was charged with some sort of otherwordly energy. I began to take deep breaths through my nose, and my limbs became heavy and my mind cloudy. It was almost as if I had entered a haze, like in the moments just before a dream ends and the dreamer awakens. Whatever was in the box undoubtedly had some sort of unearthly powers that dulled the senses.
    I emerged from my haze when the girl pried the box open. Her action seemed to occur in slow motion, and I was raptly attentive. Immidiately, another strong wave of thick air almost blew me backwards. Inside the box was a glowing orange circle that resembled the sun. Like the sun, I wanted to look away but could not. The circular thing was captivating, and it grabbed me and drew me near. I even dared to reach out and touch it. It was scalding, and I pulled my hand back. The girl smiled and then reached her own hand into the box. I wanted to tell her to stop, that the strange circle would burn her too, but it was too late. She latched onto the circle with her fingers and tore off a piece of it, leaving a gaping, tooth-shaped hole. After she was done, the box snapped shut like the maw of a carnivorous beast. The girl seemed unaffected, but I though that the box seemed angry. I backed away, never taking my eyes off of the box. Eventually, long after the girl had left the room, I felt my eyelids drooping and stopped worrying so much about the strange box and its powers. The squares on the box were starting to blur, and I knew it was time for me to go to sleep.

Adventures

A wedding cake of dust billowed around the object, which swirled endlessly into a dark hole. A perpetual musk, created by the toils of a man who had attempted Herculean tasks, surrounded it like a phantom cape. Running his hand across the bottom, he admired the feel of dolphin skin on his palm, also getting the sense of the squid’s tight grip around his hand, while his fingers traversed over crevasses and climbed up hills. Moving up the object, he encountered a canvas dirtied with mahogany, sprayed liberally like a paint gun, with blotches applied unevenly. The webbing above was fortified like castle walls, yet flexible as a yoga practitioner and soft as silk. His fingers were caught in the spider’s web above, and the more he struggled, the tighter the binds became. In particular, an area of the was shaped like handcuffs, being large enough for him to fit his waists through, yet hanging like a noose and growing ever tighter the longer he let it stay. From here, his hands ventured down into the dragon’s den, and rebounded off the ground of the bounce house. The snorts of the sleeping dragon were all he had to nourish his hands, while they explored the insides of a den fully without treasure. Finally, at the lowest point in this den, his hands reached a dead end, and he withdrew, satisfied with his inspection. As his hands ventured out, he unconsciously wrinkled his nose, suddenly annoyed by the odor which was the witch’s concoction. He took one last look at its infinite darkness, contradicted by the streaks of shooting stars flying through, seemingly content to leave it in the same position as it had been in earlier, and squelching his reminiscent thoughts as he left.

Darkness

When the girl returned home from school at six o'clock in the evening, none of her family was to be found in her house. She walked through the front door and when she gently closed it behind her, the hustle and bustle from the outside world at rush hour was silenced, and the air was still. The room was dim, and hung with the felling absence and alienation. The girl thought that she might have heard something move in the room, but she figured that it was merely her imagination dancing in the midst of the extreme quiet. She warily proceeded across the room and searched through the murkiness for the thing that would defeat the cold and dark being lurking in atmosphere. Her fingers trembled as they crept across the shadowed walls; searching for the one weapon that she had against the presence masking the room. When she finally found it, she immediately put it into use, so that the space was suddenly flooded with light and warmth. At that moment, her feeling of fear and loneliness was stifled by the new, dominant company deluging into the room. 

Disoriented

 The man walked through the dark house in search of his enemy. As he went from room to room, he didn’t see or hear anything. He was about to exit a room when there was a flash of lightning behind him along with a loud roaring noise. The flash became a constant light, brighter than the sun.  He spun around, but he had no idea what was happening, the light was changing colors and the noise was at a deafening volume. He heard voices all around him, he thought he was going mad. He could have sworn he knew what was happening, but he was too disoriented to realize exactly what was. Before he had the time to gather his wits, he was snatched up by his enemy. Only then, when he was being dragged out of the room, and his eyes had adjusted, he realized what tool of sorcery he had just fallen victim to.

Survivor

Survivor

Something didn’t seem right. He told me to wait for him; that was five hours ago. I clasped the cool metallic handle clad with string, my life-line. It’s curve was threatening if not self-incriminating. The tooth of a dragon that could be revealed at a moments notice. The hard boxing glove that could be the difference between me and my impending fate. As I gripped tighter I could feel my index finger slide deeper and deeper down into the ring binding to my hand. It was all I had, it was my father’s. I held the cat’s claw between my fingers with caution, I did not know what would follow. I heard a noise behind me; a rustling in the leaves; I lunged to the side behind cover and paused. I breathed. “just like he showed me,” I reminded my hands. I was the poised panther with my claws extended. I lurched forward. The stone from hell had a mind of its own, before I was aware of what had happened, it was too late. I looked into the eyes of my savior, the man who would never again return to his family; the man who would never again enjoy a drink at the bar. I looked into the eyes of my savior slipping away.

Gone

It lurks in the corner, unnoticed, until one day, it's gone, and its absence is like a dense and dusty cloud that stifles the room. The shadow it once cast upon the lonely walls ceases to exist. It's servants' hands are now forever burdened with the mud of the earth, the impure, that which stinks and festers. No longer will it eat up the mire. No longer will it obediently take what it is given. The Hole to the other world, a labyrinth of the unseen and forgotten, has closed--or rather, moved. The wrinkles in its dark skin, the folds in the film that was the barrier between its Body and the Hole, are now only faded memories. Sighing, its servants reminisce about the days when their humble master waited patiently to be filled. It was a gracious master, truly, when it still was; the way in which it accepted what was considered worthless so willingly was proof of that. What was even more was that it had been an utmost reliable presence, as it had never vanished before. Consuming all it was offered, the bottomless Hole was filled often, but never for long. Soon there was a new skin, one that had miraculously sunk itself into the Body overnight. Alas, what a tragedy! What unjustness! Such is the sudden loss of a lonely ruler. Once mundane and forgotten, it is now defined by the fear of its nonexistence.

Please

  The girl begged her mother for two of the largest sparkling pieces of copper and nickel that she had with her.  After a few seconds of her daughters incessant pleading, the mother relented and gracefully picked the round, glistening pieces from the pocket in her pants and placed them in the chubby hands of her daughter.  The girl pranced over to the towering device of metal and glass and stared, long and hard.  A lion from the jungle was staring from the corner.  A bunny from the meadow stuck out in the middle.  A fish from the deep blue was in the back.  After a short while, her eyes became transfixed on the midnight and snowy penguin in the front.  Had it just made its way from the South Pole?  Did it swim well?  How did it use its beak?  Answers, the girl thought.  She needed answers.  The girl carefully inserted the pieces from her mother into the sky high machine and precisely navigated the device to the exact location of the penguin.  Not too far this way, not too far that way.  She quickly ran to the other sides of the contraption to check for accuracy.  "Perfect," she thought, and she pursued the mission further.  The hand wavered over the top of the penguin and grasped it right around the stomach.  The girl quickly took a breath in and bit her lip, anxiously, as the hand holding her penguin swung perilously back and forth.  After what seemed like an eternity, the hand stopped over a deep hole and released the penguin, which plunged into a world of darkness for just a second before the girl grabbed it and brought it to the light.  She smiled and held her new friend tight, for her questions of but a minute and a half would now have answers.

FBS football coach salaries

The average FBS football coach makes $1.75 million dollars before bonuses. While the coaches are very good at their jobs, they do not deserve that much money. Not when they are making it off of their players who aren't compensated at all. The classic rebuttle to this line of thought is "THEY'RE GETTING AN EDUCATION. YOU CAN'T PUT A PRICE ON THAT". However anyone who propagates this notion is oblivious to what really goes on. For major college sports like football and basketball, the term "student athlete" can be a misnomer. Three years ago UNC admitted that they had been giving their basketball players grades for classes they were not attending. That means that NCAA runs a multimillion dollar industry and the students are only compensated with a room and 3 meals a day. There is no easy fix to this problem but if the schools are not going to give the students any money, the students should be allowed to make money off of themselves. Johnny Manziel should not get in trouble for selling autographs. 

Story of 6 Hours

It really is bizzare that in 2014, the police would just assume that someone was someone because of their name.  There are about 30 people in the U.S. named Justin Priest, and the police just assumed it was one.  Not only did the other Justin have a different birthday, and different age, but he even had a different middle name.  The parents must have been very distraught, and it is unlikely that they aren't going to be very upset with the police department.  They probably could even sue for the emotional distress that this cost them.  It's also uncanny how similar this story is to "Story of an Hour."

Collegiate Football Salaries

Paying collegiate athletes is unnecessary due to the fact that a league exist where football players are already paid. In this article it addresses compensation within the world of college football, specifically highlighting the salaries and incentives of top coaches, the money made in television rights and how the athletes themselves are not paid. However, the article fails to mention the fact that these football players are in college, that there is another league where the players are paid based on their success. If these players are good enough to believe they should be paid, they should go into the NFL.  These players should not play because the basis for collegiate sports is the fact that they don’t get paid. Paying these college football players would basically create an additional professional league. An additional football league is unnecessary due to the fact that one already exists, one that these players could join, removing the necessity to pay collegiate athletes.

Color Brave

Talk of race is often put on the back burner. Even Choate students have expressed their thoughts on how they think diversity day is "unnecessary", when really we need more of these types of events. The modern problem with race is that most of it is subtle or subconscious. We don't notice all the micro aggressions said or all of the uneducated remarks we make about race. The worst part is that we probably had good intentions, but being color brave will help fix that. Creating more diverse tables at tables in the dining hall would be a small change at Choate, but would have a vast impact on the atmosphere of school’s community. Creating more diversity in schools and organizing more days similar to Diversity Day across America can help teach people how to be color brave. In general, we need to be more educated and aware of each other. Putting yourself out there and being color brave is just one way to do that. Similar to what Mellody Hobson said during her Choate talk, we want to get to a place where diversity is not a surprise. We need a place where the normality is not a board of white males running all the companies in America. The world needs to be color brave and diverse.

“Football Coach Salaries”

  It is an absolutely terrible idea to give student athletes salaries. In the article, the author compares the players to the coach, but there are no similarities between the two. The athletes are playing for free for multiple reasons. The student may have already gotten an athletic scholarship worth thousands of dollars to come and play for the school, the player is given the opportunity to play for the team, which allows him to be scouted by the NFL, where he would potentially make millions a year, or/and he has a love for the game and is playing, because it is what he enjoys more than anything. There is no reason to compensate an athlete, because that student has already gotten an incredible amount from the program. The coach however, does deserve fair compensation. The coach has a particular skill set, which he uses to get a job and salary just like any other occupation. The coach could just as easily go to the NFL, so the colleges must make their team more attractive by having luxurious benefits and enormous salaries. A skilled coach means a better football program, which in turn makes the school more attractive to potential athletic recruits who could boost the team revenue by helping the school win games.It is more than fair to compensate the coaches as they currently are, but the idea to compensate students is honestly proposterous.  

College football Coaches Pay

College football coaches are currently making more money than they did five years ago. College football has recently signed multibillion dollar television contracts and the coaches are seeking the benefits. Players are not allowed to be paid in college sports. Players are only attracted to schools based on coaches, reputations, and facilities. A single coach such as Nick Saban at Alabama can completely transform a football program. A better football program sells more tickets and jerseys and brings it a bigger total revenue. The chancellor at Alabama said, "Coach Nick Saban is one of the best investments The University of Alabama has ever made." Not all college football coaches are worth the millions of dollars they make, but many of them certainly deserve every penny.

Staying Positive

Keeping a positive mindset throughout life is an important thing that many people struggle to do. It is a normal part of life to be sad, mad, angry, or just have negative feelings, and being able to control those emotions is vital to leading a successful, happy life, according to Nadia Goodman, in the article entitled, “How to train your brain to stay positive”. Teenagers in particular experience fluctuating emotions and feelings of positivity and negativity. As stated by Goodman, people have a general bias towards negative aspects of life, as opposed to focussing more on the positive parts of it. Although accepting failures and setbacks is vital to development, revolving solely around negativity ultimately is a detriment to improvement. Also mentioned in the article, most if not all of the time, there is more good that occurs in life than bad, and being grateful for those good occurrences is one strategy to a positively oriented life. Secondly, developing self confidence in one’s abilities and reaffirming those claims is also crucial to being positive. Lastly, as Goodman puts it, “challenging negative thoughts” and opposing otherwise self deprecating or self loathing comments or ideas is the final strategy to ensure a positive outlook on life.

http://zite.to/1reOVK6

Discomfort

In her Ted Talk, Melody Hobson perfectly describes how, the U.S. in paticular, can move even further away from racism. Her main point regards color blindness, and how we are taught to ignore the problem of racism instead of fixing it. No one is born with the mindset that one race is better than another; it is a learned way of thinking. Hobson supports her claim with statistics such as, "Even though white men make up only 30% of the population,they hold 70% of corporate borad seats." There are too many statistics like Hobson's example for them to be ruled out as coincidence. Hobson also very briefly mentions being uncomfortable around people from different places. Many people do not have the ability to travel to exotic places whenever they please and may not encounter many people outside of where they are from. This makes them unfamiliar with foreign cultures and people, and unfamiliarity can lead to discomfort. Discomfort connects back to color blindness because discomfort is the reason we ignore racism and don't want to talk about it. But if people of all different races and backgrounds can step out of thier comfort zones to handle the problem of racism and discrimination, then extensive amounts of progress could be made on the issue.

Don't Pull All Nighters

The author makes a strong point backed by scientific research, but lumping everyone's brains into one category seems slightly unrealistic. How a person chooses to study and prepare is up to the comfort and ability of that individual. Study breaks are helpful to clear the mind and take a brief lapse in brain exertion, but many students can easily get off task and distracted. Once kids have stopped doing something mentally strenuous, it can be difficult for them to start up again after a break. Approaching the task at hand in bits and pieces and one step at a time can help reduce the stress caused by studying. Sleep is an essential component in excelling in academics. Pulling an 'all nighter' to cram before an important assessment hurts rather than helps a student. The brain struggles to function after lack of sleep and focus then wanders during a quiz or test. Not every person approaches learning the same way. 

http://well.blogs.nytimes.com/2014/10/06/better-ways-to-learn/?_php=true&_type=blogs&_r=0

The Regressiveness of Color Blindness

The purposeful disregard of race, otherwise known as color blindness, is neither effective nor progressive. As TED Talk speaker and chairwoman Mellody Hobson succinctly put it, “Color blindness doesn’t mean there’s no discrimination...it means we’re ignoring the problem.” The censorship of race signifies the end of the active acknowledgment of racial discrimination, but not the erasure of institutionalized racial prejudices. These prejudices, as well as perceptions of race, are rooted in history, and will continue to exist in the societal worldview due to the acumulative nature of perception vs. history. Color blindness promotes apologist beliefs on racially motivated atrocities throughout history ranging from slavery and genocide, to more contemporary concerns such as racial profiling and violent hate crimes. As Hobson stated, racism is often treated as the “conversational equivalent of touching the third rail.” Although discussions over race can be uncomfortable, it bears repeating unawareness of racial differences is not an enterprising solution to racism, and that acceptance of its existence is crucial for equality to someday be realistically attained.

The Advantage of a Courteous Argument

There is a fine line between simply standing up for your views and blatantly bashing the opinions of others. Even though the viewpoints of two people may be complete opposites, it is still necessary to maintain a respectful attitude towards opposing ideals in order to retain a relevant position in the discussion. Tracy Clark-Flory wrote an article titled “Ready to Marry, But Not for ‘Wife,’” that was published online on salon.com. In it, Clark-Flory explores the underlying meanings of the words “husband” and “wife” as well as their former patriarchal connotation--ones that modern couples have been eager to abandon. In an initially reasonable and polite manner, Clark-Flory included several quotations from couples stating their efforts to separate the words from their previous definitions. This changed, however, when the article included a quotation from a same-sex couple that preferred to use the words “particularly in the presence of Christian bigots” (Clark-Flory 1). The usage of the word “bigot” to describe people with Christian values seems both rude and unnecessary--the notion that it is acceptable to generalize all people with a certain belief is startling given the author’s supposedly “progressive” and “groundbreaking” views. Surely the author would have been equally offended had someone with an opposing opinion written an article about him or her that called him or her a “(insert term here) bigot.” This article is formidable proof of the importance of courteous debate in attempting to avoid ignorance. Although the author was able to provide a compelling argument for eliminating sexist notions in the words “husband” and “wife” in the beginning of the article, the inclusion of a offensive quotation later on was at risk of greatly decreasing the article’s overall appeal and credibility.

There is no "Better" Way to Learn

Tara Parker-Pope's New York Times article "Better Ways to Learn" tells students how they should study. Pope argues that students should space out their studying and begin reviewing the material many days- or even "a month"- in advanvce. She also argues that students should change their "study environment" periodically. While this may help with studying, it is not a realistic goal for students of today. Many students find out about their tests mere days before, and they have other homework assignments to complete during this time. Not only do students have all this work, but they also need to sleep. Pope agrees that sleep is an "important part" of productive studying. However, how are students supposed to finish their homework and get enough sleep? While Pope's points are valid, she does not realize the struggle that students have to keep up with their work on a daily basis.

Collage Athletic Coaches Paid too Much

How can collage football coaches get paid so much, while teachers are paid so little? There is such a discrepancy between academic and athletic pay, even though one benifits society way more than the other. In this article http://www.newsday.com/sports/college/college-football/fbs-college-football-coaches-salaries-are-perks-are-soaring-newsday-special-report-1.9461669 … the discrepancy is clearly shown. If the “best” teacher was payed as much as the “best” football coach, then the academic sector of the US would far outrank that of any other country in the world. Currently, the countries with the best educational systems value teachers in that sence. A teacher must work just as hard as a football player in practice, if not harder, to earn a spot at a good school. While this principal is not yet grasped by the US, (and probably never will be) other countries greatly benifit from the exalted status of teachers to the same degree that athletes are exalted in America.

Family's rules to avoid racism

This article, written by Lawrence Otis Graham, displays the disgusting racism that prevails in our current society. To avoid the suspicion that he faced in his youth for doing nothing wrong whatsoever, Graham spent his life building a solid economic base on which he raised his family while teaching his children to follow certain rules. Graham and his wife instructed their children to go to such extremes as only wearing t-shirts when participating in athletic activities, and even then making sure the name of a respected school was written across it. While these measures are drastic and severe, it is revolting that anyone would ever need to resort to them to avoid being pulled over by the police for being a “black man driving an expensive car,” or being called a derogatory name. The fact that this kind of racism is still prevalent in today’s world is awful, but at the same time, Graham’s methods instill a kind of fear in his children. By making such strict rules, he is telling his children that racism is inevitable and that they should change to avoid it, instead of teaching them to deal with problems. He uses money and status which most people don’t have to cover up a problem with which many people struggle, and while it is understandable that he would go to such lengths because of his experiences growing up with racism, he should be working to solve the problem and not simply avoid it by dressing nicely.

Malala wins peace prize

Malala Yousafzai, a 17 year old girl from the middle east just became the newest recipient of the Nobel Peace Prize. Malala received the coveted prize for assisting the advancement of middle eastern society by giving women the opportunity to receive an education, just as their male counterparts do. What makes Malala special, other than her efforts to the education of women, has to do with where she is making these efforts. In certain areas of the middle east, like Iraq, the government is oppressive when it comes to women. They have far fewer rights and certainly aren’t given the opportunity to receive an education. Malala, facing violence, and even surviving an assassination attempt, has helped progress an aspect of society that she views as vital and important. She received this peace prize not only for her advancements in education, but her bravery. 

Is school bad?

Many articles recently have been explaining why school is not always the best option for education. However, without the basics of schooling, a decent education would be almost impossible. Many fundamentals of education such as formulating ideas and writing come in the high school years. If a student was to drop out in high school, he or she would miss many of these important lessons. The article states, “People who forgo school build their own infrastructures.” This statement may be true, but the infrastructure provided by schooling may end up better than someone’s own infrastructure. Also, many people may not be able to such solid infrastructures. Many schools now take this view into account when creating their curriculums. This means that schools are now taking different paths and try to accommodate a student’s needs as much as possible. This is one of the reasons why school still is a critical part of education and creates the foundation every person needs in order to achieve success.

Justin Priest dies in car crash, oh wait… sorry!

http://www.bbc.com/news/world-us-canada-29578331

The above article recounts the events leading up to the moment where Justin’s parents were crying and thanking the Lord on a crisp Alaskan morning. This so called ‘miracle’ was shown after the parents learned that it was not  their son who had been killed in a car crash, but indeed another man with the same name, but a different birthday. This event should, under no circumstances, be considered a miracle. The fact that Karen and Joy Priest did not lose their son is obviously a joyous outcome to what had initially started as the worst day of their lives. This story, however touching, is still tragic. Even though Karen and Joy may not be having the worst day of their lives, another family has still lost a son, a brother or a husband. To call such an event a miracle is only part of human nature. Of course, no one wants it to be their son who has died, but the tragedy is not made any better in the grand scheme of things if another son is killed in Justin’s stead. The article is a real life parallel to Kate Chopin’s “Story of an Hour,” where Mrs Mallard’s husband is reportedly killed in a train accident; however her husband is in fact alive and well. The article only illustrates the firm idea in human nature; “Better him than me,” a sad but true statement.

Nudes: Whose Fault is it?

In the last week Snapchat has been hacked leading to 4.6 Million users photos being posted online. In the BBC News article “Nude ‘Snapchat Images’ put Online by Hackers”, Dave Lee exposed the reality of this hack. One of the app’s major attractions is the idea that pictures, text and videos all disappear after a few seconds, which is now known to be untrue. Many people use this app to send uncensored pictures of themselves to people for many different reasons. No matter who these pictures are being sent to, this action is very dangerous. In the large amount of hacked photos there were bound to be some ones that were inappropriate but is the hacker at fault or is it the sender? Lee writes, “As half of its users are aged between 13 and 17, there is concern that many of the images may be of children” (Lee 1). Because of the ages of the majority of the users, if nude pictures were involved of these underaged kids, there is the possibility of infringement of the law seeing as these photos classify as child pornography. In this case, the child would be at blame for taking the picture, not the hacker. It may not seem fair for the child to be at blame in this situation because of their lack of knowledge and their ignorance, but it is their fault in terms of the law. From an ethical standpoint it isn’t his or her fault for trusting the claims of the application as well a the receiver but sending nude photos is almost always has a negative effect on the sender. Sending nudes through social media never ends up positivey effecting the sender. The receiver most of the time doesn't do what you ask with it, and there is always the possibility of it spreading and returning in the future. In many cases the law gets involved and a person’s livelihood may be lost. Teenagers should stop sending nudes through the internet because it always has a negative impact on his or her lives in the future because of the possibility of them getting leaked and exposed to much of the world.

Should the users or hackers be blamed for the leaking of pictures on Snapchat?

http://www.bbc.com/news/technology-29569226

Snapchat is an app on which a user can send pictures to other users for a limited amount of time before they disappear forever... or so they think. The article on BBC titled "Nude 'Snapchat images' put online by hackers" by Dave Lee explores the recent situation of pictures, many of which are nude, from the app snapchat being leaked by third party apps. The article takes the right stand in explaining that the users who's images were leaked were victimized by the hackers, and that it was a violation of their privacy. Another stand that the article could have taken was to say that it was was the user's fault for sending the nude pictures in the first place. However, according to the guidelines of snapchat and the privacy the app promises, users should be able to send what they want with a reasonable amount of confidence that they will not be leaked. The victims of violated privacy should not be blamed for acting the way that they did in the first place, because it was their choice.

New Found Study Habits Can Improve Comprehension

For a student in high school new learning tactics are always important. Studying can be one of the hardest types of work to do. In Benedict Carey’s new book “How We Learn: The Surprising Truth About When, Where, and Why It Happens,” he explores this topic. The common mistake to cram information for tests never works. This is true for any student, and the subject matter “learned” never stays in the brain. Studying twice, once right when the assignment is given, and once the night before is a much smarter and more efficient way to approach tests and quizzes. Changing the location of study also helps the brain from getting distracted from the material at hand. Going from inside to out, for example, makes the brain less distracted from staying in one place and more focused on the subject matter. This type of study is beneficial to all students, and should be taught and implemented in more school across the nation.

An Amazing Senior Portrait: Pet Edition

Before responding to a yearbook photo with a pet, Draeven Rodriguez needs to be recognized as one of the coolest seniors anyone could ever meet. Just by seeing his yearbook photo, you are able to sense his cool vibes. His cat’s name is even Mr. Bugglesworth. There is no sarcasm in this writing whatsoever. Draeven’s picture was not only rejected by his school, but he was later joined by his school Principal with her chihuahua. As a reader, reading that Draeven’s school rejected his yearbook portrait was a bit of downer. In senior yearbook photos, you should be able to express yourself (without going too over the top), no matter how weird it may seem to the school authorities (once again as long as you are not going so over the top). He was eventually joined by his school’s principal with her pet chihuahua making an impressive senior portrait. Draeven’s perseverance and the principal’s friendliness make a great team for getting Draeven’s photo into the yearbook this year.

Snapchat Remains Safe

3rd party apps are responsible for the leak that reportedly released elicit photographs, supposedly taken from the messaging service “Snapchat.” According to the BBC’s Dave Lee, “Snapchat” representatives stated: “‘Snapchatters were victimized by their use of third-party apps to send and receive Snaps, a practice that we expressly prohibit in our Terms of Use precisely because they compromise our security.’” Yet, Price’s article seems to insist that the users who had their photos leaked, who were in violation of Snapchat’s Terms of Use, are not responsible for this leak. Price included another quote, this time from Mark James, a security consultant at ESET: “‘For [Snapchat] to just turn around and say ‘It’s the users’ fault,’ does seem harsh.’” Price hints that it is the fault of Snapchat that a third-party app is insecure. However, if the users had been using the main, free Snapchat app, they could have avoided the release of their sensitive images.

How NOT To Talk To Girls at a Party

wikiHow has an answer for everything.  Their article, "How To Talk To Girls at a Party," contains three descriptive steps on how to talk to girls at parties, from making a smooth entrance to a graceful exit while still leaving a lasting impression.  Despite the easy to follow writing style and the compelling graphics, the article is absurd.  Step 1 is to "Strike Up a Conversation" by "getting noticed...introducing yourself...opening with a light topic... [and] making the girl laugh."    Going over, introducing oneself and then letting the conversation go where it may is just fine.  Step 2 is to "Keep the Girl Interested," which includes "asking a few questions...not dominating the conversation...being charismatic...[and] using the party to stir the conversation."  One doesn't have to "be" charismatic or anything other than themselves when they meet new people.  Step 3, how to "Finish Like a Champ," includes "leaving her wanting more...asking her out if things are going well...[and] making a graceful exit if things aren't."  The key is to just talk and let it feel natural, so asking a girl out if things are going well and leaving if they aren't especially is self explanatory.  "How To Talk To Girls at a Party" totally neglects the fact that interacting with other members of the human race, regardless of gender, never follows a simple 1-2-3 pattern as the article does.  Ones' social skills aren't gained from reading an article about how to be social, but rather from actually going out and being social.  Humans are interesting and unpredictable people at times.  Going out and getting real world experience in interacting with girls at parties will prove that no two female party encounter are alike and therefore put this article to total shame.

"Better Ways to Learn"

Lara Parker-Pope's “Better Ways to Learn” presents a strong argument that studying in several separated sessions can improve performance on tests as well as make the information learned more permanent. Nowadays many students cram study: they memorize material the night before the test, and it quickly is forgotten. This is because the brain marks the information as unnecessary. “Another technique is called distributed learning, or ‘spacing,’ and it’s a particularly relevant aspect of brain science for ambitious students. (Parker-Pope)” Parker-Pope goes further to compare it to watering a lawn; watering in intervals produces better results than watering all at once. Although it sounds as if it could take more time, scientific research proves that this method of studying is more reliable and results in better long term memory of the subjects. By using this approach to studying one can become a better learner and student. Another valuable lesson from her article is the benefit of sleep. On a more detailed level, “the first half of the sleep cycle helps with retaining facts; the second half is important for math skills. (Parker-Pope).” 

Readers Misunderstanding Themes and Morals

"What You Pawn I Will Redeem" is a short story in the point of view of an alcoholic and homeless Native American man named Jackson. Throughout the story he tries to find money to buy back his grandmother’s regalia that he saw in a pawn shop window. The story is filled with mistakes and foolish behavior due to his alcohol addiction. In the story, themes and morals could be easily confused. Alexie's short story doesn't have a solid moral, if it did, the story would be significantly different because it would have made its lesson blatant. One could come up with a moral to “What You Pawn I Will Redeem” by using one of its overarching themes. “I sat up and looked around. I was lying on the railroad tracks… I should have been a railroad track pizza, a double Indian pepperoni with extra cheese. Sick and scared, I leaned over and puked whiskey” (Alexie 41). An example of this would be saying that the moral is "don't drink alcohol" referring back to the theme of the effect of alcoholism. The story never explicitly tells the reader not to drink but he or she can learn something from the theme making it seem as though they are the same. 

Themes and Morals: The Frequent Mistake

In the short story, "What You Pawn I Will Redeem," by Sherman Alexie, there is a theme of alcoholism in Native Americans. Throughout the story the protagonist Jackson Jackson uses his money to buy alcohol rather than saving up to buy back his grandmother’s regalia. Jackson initially sees the regalia in the window of a local pawn shop and thinks that it once belonged to his grandmother. The pawn shop owner offers him a deal of $999, and gives him 24 hours to come up with the money. “'How much for whiskey shots?' I asked the bartender, a fat white guy. 'You want the bad stuff or the badder stuff?'​ 'As bad as you got.'​ 'One dollar a shot.' I laid my eighty dollars on the bar top” (Alexie 37). Jackson clearly has a greater desire to drink rather than to save his eighty dollars and buy back his grandmothers regalia. While reading the short there is no clear moral that can be taken from the text. Other themes, besides alcoholism, appear such as friendship. This difficulty in finding a moral, yet ease in finding themes show an obvious difference between the definition of the two words. 

Moral vs themes

The short story What You Pawn I Will Redeem tells the story of a homeless Indian man who tries to raise 1000$ to purchase a family heirloom. One aspect of the story that differentiates themes and morals is the theme of alcoholism. What made alcoholism the theme of the story was the fact that it was prevalent in the main character and plot line. It explained why the main character acted in certain ways and made certain decisions, such as picking a fight with a sober bartender. The moral of the story is found through an anecdote that tells of a drunk family member killing Jackson's grandfather. The destructiveness and danger that alcohol can bring upon ones life is the moral of the story. Although the moral relates to the main theme of alcoholism, the theme itself does not inadvertently provide a clear lesson. That clear lesson is found within that particular anecdote within the story.

Theme Vs Moral

The short story, "Guests of the Nation" by Frank O'Connor shows a clear theme; however, does not show a clear moral, again proving that themes and morals are not synonymous. Throughout the short story, the theme develops as a dilemma between a higher command, and moral. The exposition explains how two British soldiers are captured by the Irish Republican Army. Quickly, the two British soldiers become friends with the three members of the IRA. In the rising action, the members of the IRA find out that British soldiers had executed a few Irish hostages. This meant that the IRA members had to execute the two British soldiers. At this time, they had to make a decision; whether to follow their moral codes, or follow their duty. “Why did any of us want to plug him? What had he done to us? Weren't we all chums? Didn't we understand him and didn't he understand us? Did we imagine for an instant that he'd shoot us for all the so-and-so officers in the so-and-so British Army?" (O'Connor 23) The Irishmen clearly are confused and unsure of the situation. They have been commanded to kill two of their really good friends, which is a tough decision for anyone. The author decides to choose duty over moral, by having the IRA members shoot the both British soldiers. In this short story, there is no clear lesson that can be taken away, which means there is no also no clear moral. This short story again proves that morals and themes are not synonymous

Themes and morals

The moral in the story "What You Pawn I Will Redeem" is that when one works hard toward a goal, he or she will succeed, even if the outcome is not as expected. The protagonist goes on a long search for money to buy the regalia, leading to Jackson eventually being given the regalia even though he doesn’t have all the money he needs. However, this is not a theme of the story. A major theme in this piece is that of loss; the reader learns that Jackson Jackson lost his grandmother and grandfather before the beginning of the story, and throughout the narrative the reader is told about the disappearances of minor characters such as Junior, the three Aleuts, and several others. Their deaths are not expanded upon, and are merely stated and then forgotten, such as in this line: “I heard later that [Junior] had hitchhiked down to Portland, Oregon, and died of exposure in an alley behind the Hilton Hotel” (Alexie, 37). While both the theme and the moral are important aspects of the story, they are not synonymous. The moral is generally short and somewhat straightforward, a message about how to go about life. Themes, meanwhile, explore less obvious characteristics of the narrative, subtle but powerful facets of the story that give the story a quality of depth.

Morals vs. Themes

In the short stories “What You Pawn I Will Redeem,” “Guests of a Nation,” and “Story of an Hour,” there are main themes that each story deals with, but no clear moral. These three stories exemplify the seperation between the two because the three lack a moral. By not having a moral, but having a theme, there must be a difference between the two because if they were the same, lacking one would mean lacking the other. A theme is a topic that a moral takes a side on, and is impartial to different conflicting groups. In contrast, a moral takes a particular side on a theme, and can change from character to character. While occationally interchangable, a moral and a theme are completely different, and should never be confused again.

The Teaming Themed Theatrical Theis

'What You Will Pawn, I Will Redeem' by Sherman Alexis presents a repeated theme throughout the story, but no clear set of morals that should be followed. The main character, Jackson Jackson, can not seem to save up enough money to buy back his grandmother’s regalia, he spends all his money as soon as he earns as soon as he earns it. The story has a commonly repeated theme of charity, ranging from people helping out Jackson, to Jackson helping out his friends. Even the pawn shop owner helps Jackson gather money to afford the regalia, even though he would lose money, he says to Jackson," here's twenty bucks." Many people would confuse this theme and think that the moral of the story is to give charity to those in need, this is not the case. A set of morals that could be deducted from the story could be that charity does not always help someone in need, sometimes, the needy must pick themselves up.

Understanding Theme and Moral

“What You Pawn I Will Redeem” explores the theme that Native Americans have difficulty running a modern life. In Seattle, Jackson Jackson interacts with numerous other homeless Native Americans from many regions of North America. All of them have the common problem of busting whatever money they earn on alcohol.“Rose of Sharon, Junior, and I carried our twenty-dollar bill and our five dollars in loose change over to the 7-Eleven and bought three bottles of imagination" (Alexie 31). Even though the three friends have a difficult goal, and need all the money they can get, they spend their initial money on alcohol. The moral of the story, however, states to feel as though one has succeeded, one must work to achieve a goal. “‘I’m on a mission here. I want to be a hero, you know? I want to win it back, like a knight’” (Alexie 42). Jackson Jackson explains this thinking to the “good” cop, Officer Williams. Even if Williams had the money to give, Jackson wouldn't take it. 

The Non-Synonymous Relationship Between Morals and Themes

Contrary to the popular belief of some, morals and themes are not synonymous but instead two completely different ideas.  A moral is something the reader learns or takes away from a story, while a theme is an ongoing idea or main point of a story.  The ideas behind morals and themes have been analyzed in three short stories: "The Story of an Hour," by Kate Chopin, "Guests of the Nation," by Frank O'Connor, and "What You Pawn I Will Redeem," by Sherman Alexie.  In the three short stories that were analyzed, no two morals or themes were synonymous.  "The Story of an Hour," deals with a moral of the less surprises in times of trauma, the better, and a theme of freedom from a spouse.  "Guests of the Nation," did not necessarily have any clear moral but instead evident themes of loyalty and betrayal, and "What You Pawn I Will Redeem," contains several morals and themes, including being responsible about one's money as a moral and the struggle to survive as a theme.  In conclusion, the myth that a moral and a theme are synonymous is a large misconception and can easily be debunked just by analyzing texts, as has been done with "The Story of a Hour," "Guests of the Nation," and "What You Pawn I Will Redeem."

Living for Yourself

In "The Story of an Hour" the recurring theme was freedom; the wife's short-lived "freedom" of her husband, or the freedom from marriage. On the other hand the wife died of being overjoyed by her "freedom" right before her non-deceased husband walked into the house. The moral of the story is that you should always be living for yourself rather than living in his shadow. “There would be no one to live for during those coming years; she would live for herself. There would be no powerful will bending hers in that blind persistence with which men and women believe they have a right to impose a private will upon a fellow-creature.” (Chopin 14). The wife felt that during her marriage she had to live in the shadows of her husband, and due to the time era she couldn't really live as herself but as the person her husband would want her to be. The moral and the theme once again are different.

Theme and Moral

In literature, themes and morals are not synonymous. In “What You Pawn I Will Redeem,” there is a theme of wasted effort. All the main character’s effort allows him to earn no money in the end. The moral of the story, however, is exemplified in what happens after the character earns no money. The pawn shop owner gives the main character his grandmother’s regalia regardless of how much money he earned. This demonstrates the story’s moral, that sometimes it’s better to do the right thing, rather than the fair thing, as exemplified by this quote from the pawnbroker: “You did win it. Now take it before I change my mind.” (Alexie 45) The theme and moral are different, but they work together to convey the message of the story.

Themes vs. Morals

Another example of a story in which themes and morals can be mistaken as synonymous is “The Story of an Hour” by Kate Chopin. In this story, the character Mrs. Mallard is informed about the recent death of her husband. Mrs. Mallard is portrayed as a sensitive and emotionally weak woman. Although people were careful in breaking the news to her, she was still utterly devastated when she initially heard about her husband’s death. However, she eventually saw the good in the situation: that she was then free from her husband. When mrs. Mallard realized that she was free, she had a “feverish triumph in her eyes, and she carried herself unwittingly like a goddess of Victory" (Chopin 14). Mrs. Mallard feels liberated, as if she is no longer living under the shadow of her husband. Then, the story takes an unexpected turn and the indeed alive Mr. Mallard returns. Mrs. Mallard then ironically dies, of shock, and “a joy that kills” (Chopin 15). An instance of a theme in this story is freedom: illustrated in mrs. Mallard’s unexpected feeling of liberation after her husband dies. However, this is not a theme, or a lesson that one can take away from reading this story. An example of a lesson that a reader can learn from reading “The Story of an Hour”  is that although some marriages may seem perfect and joyful, they can be engaged with feelings of oppression, often especially felt by only one of the partners. 

Themes versus Morals

A distinction exists between the theme of a story and the moral of a story. It is easy to confuse these two elements of a story due to their common property that they are often inferred by the reader; however, they can vary vastly in goals, uniqueness to stories, and ways of expression. An author uses a theme to unify a story and its content, whereas a moral is used to present a virtue or ethical ideal to the reader. A story’s theme is also closely tied to the story itself and usually cannot be applied to other works of writing, while morals are more of a blanket statement and can relate to many stories at once. The way by which these two elements are expressed deviate as well: a theme is usually discovered by the reader after close analysis of the particular setting, characters, and plot events of a piece of literature, but morals are usually much more apparent and easy to detect. Such differences cause the theme and moral of a story to be incredibly diverse, as shown in short stories such as “The Guests of a Nation,” “The Story of an Hour,” and “What You Pawn I Will Redeem.”