Over time the legend disintegrated into nothing more than a myth, for the young mockingbird was just a troubled soul.  As years passed his pleas for help were no longer heard; they were  a piece of history and weren’t to be reckoned with.  The mysterious tale thrives through the wondering minds of the children of Maycomb.  Blurred memories echoed through the town…was Boo still alive?

"Six-and-a-half feet tall, dined on raw squirrels and any cats he could catch, his hands were blood-stained; what teeth he had were yellow and rotten; his eyes popped, and he drooled most of the time"(19)  The gruesome descriptions of the monster, Boo Radley had became had spiked the curiosity of many.  Rumors spread quicker than a jack rabbit in front of a prairie fire, and the story twisted into a falsehood; the truth vanished.  The injudicious people of Maycomb hadn’t any idea that they were killing a mockingbird.  For Boo was only disguised as a blue jay, concealed by lies of the prejudice citizens. 

A mockingbird is an innocent, harmless creature that does nothing more than sing beautiful songs, but is also a mimic, capable of imitating the songs of other birds and even certain nonhuman sounds. Boo Radley does not mimic the actions of other human beings, but many residents of Maycomb perceive him as if he did.  Boo does not have a character of his own, only the personality he has portrayed.    

"You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view . . . until you climb into his skin and walk around in it,"(32) Atticus states.  Thus illustrating the perception that until you live a day in the life of Boo Radley you can’t judge his past; he doesn’t live in the past anymore. 

Furthermore the people of Maycomb may see Boo as a terrifying monster but inside he is just a timid phantom.  He exists but isn't seen by most people, rather hidden from the outside world; when he does come out of his house he sneaks around, unnoticed.  Some may call him an outcast but he is only a hesitant ghost, regretting his mistake that cost him his trust with others.  In fact, as his name suggests, Boo Radley represents the presence of an ethereal creature in a town of ordinary folk. In spite of the harsh judgment, Boo is ghostly in the sense that he is a good soul who is invisible to the flawed world around him.

The story ends with the reading of a book by Atticus, The Grey Ghost, another symbol perhaps for Boo Radley, whose "face was as white as his hands and his grey eyes were so colourless" (276), a description fitting to one of a ghost. Before she falls asleep Scout describes the story which happens to be about someone falsely accused of doing something he never did, exactly like Tom Robinson and Boo Radley, the two mockingbirds of the story so wrongly treated by others. The closing of the novel with another symbol for the two victims of human malice suggests the power Harper Lee sees in symbolism, which carries the message better than words. "In fact, words are well adapted for description and the arousing of emotion, but for many kinds of precise thought other symbols are much better”(J.P.S. Haldane).  Perhaps this is the reason Harper Lee chooses to declare her rejection of prejudice and racism through the use of symbols -- because they are more effective than words. 

A Clean, Well-Lighted Place

Hemingway's "A Clean Well-Lighted Place"  acts as a straightforward, dispassionate piece, and has the vibe of an unfinished short story. On the other hand, by digging deeper into the tone you can see how  meaningful this story is. The reality is hidden underneath the emotional darkness, loneliness, and depression caused by the nada, the nothingness. 

Darkness is the primary element that must be revealed when analyzing the theme of the story. The symbol of an vacant, hollow life, surrounds the elderly man and the oldest waiter. They both are victims of dread, loneliness, misery, and "nada." They suppose a "clean well-lighted cafe" a retreat from the empty night. For them, the cafe with its luminosity and cleanliness is the haven in darkness, where they can overlook their worries. The eldest waiter says, “This is a clean and pleasant cafe. It is well lighted. The light is very good". Unfortunately, the illumination which calms their nerves and brings warmth to their souls is only temporary. Their lack of confidence does not allow them overcome the devastating darkness in their lives

Hemingway leaves the readers with nothing,  possibly to enhance the vibe of "nada" and comprehend the connections between darkness, loneliness, and depression. 

ANWR Research Paper

The world’s oil supply isn’t renewable.  Knowing that, I think we need to improvise and create alternatives that don’t consume oil.  This unrenewable resource is a necessity in our daily lives; once it’s gone we will have to adjust rapidly.  That is why I think we need to start changing the way we manufacture things, to waste less oil.  Taking small steps towards a more stable environment is the best option for the United States.  Because now that oil in the United States is running low, we are relying on other countries to supply us with their resources.  Harming wildlife, creating pollution, and wasting resources is what is harming our planet.  Change is the first act we need when solving this growing problem.  Drilling for more oil isn’t solving the problem; it is creating more problems.  Although 750,000 jobs were promised with the drilling process in Alaska, in reality when the oil drilling is over there won’t be a need for these workers.  Oil drilling isn’t the best answer to solving this problem; it’s an excuse. 

                
The economical pros of this project are turning heads across the nation.  A rumored 750,000 jobs will be created if the government can drill for oil.  Supposedly prices are going to quickly drop if oil is found.   Evidently along with that, revenues will be enhanced.  That’s not all, an alleged 4.2 billion dollars will be made.  How should we know this is the truth?  How do we know this isn’t a scam?  What happens when the oil runs out?  All of the job opportunities will have vanished, prices will rise, and revenues will disappear.  We’ve only been hearing one side of the story.

                
With economical values comes risks for the environment.  The wellbeing of the ANWR animals will be at stake once this harmful project commences.  Habitats will be destroyed, along with innocent animals that will be ripped away from their homes.  Pollution concerns are another major con of drilling for oil.  Hazardous fumes, construction sites, and waste will be produced in the refuge.  Nature will soon become a destructive industrial site.  A refuge is supposed to be a safe, stable environment for animals to live.  The animals may not be able to survive with the chemicals in the air and the pollution covering their homes.  For the sake of the animals we need to rethink our drilling decision, because the jobs are temporary, the revenues won’t last, and low prices are only momentary.  But the harm done to the wildlife and environment is permanent. 

                
Many people across the nation have realized the benefits and disadvantages of drilling for oil in the ANWR.  It has been brought to the attention of citizens throughout the nation.  People are amazed by the job creation and the amount of money being raised, but that is only one side of the story.  On the other hand people haven’t realized the negative effects this project can have on the environment.  Like I said before, the effects on the environment are permanent.  Once we drill for oil we can’t take it back.  Citizens of the United States can’t seem to see past the money, jobs and revenues.  But once you can see past the advantages you will realize the problems.    

                
In my opinion drilling for oil is an excuse.  The government is aware that one day the oil supply will run out.  We as Americans choose to use all of the oil at a rapid pace.  Instead of wasting oil maybe we can invent new alternatives that can enhance technology and energy efficiency.  This time the inconveniences outweigh the profit, proving that there are other options that can improve our economy and our planet.

Black & White

Author's Note: For this point of view piece I had to change my perspective to enhance the voice of Carrie Ann, from House At The End Of The Street.

                Colorless birds harmonized to the eerie melody.  Faded willow trees whisper and dance in the breeze.  The children giggle and prance on the blistering pavement.  Gazing through throw the dusty window, her eyes dreary and exhausted.  Condensation moistened the glass, as her fragile fingers traced a heart.  The heart that once beat.  The heart that once laughed.  The heart that once loved. 

                Black and white,  the world was spinning.  Reality had become a distant dream, now out of grasp.  Feelings and emotion were lost in her foggy remembrance, blurred by horrid memories.  Lost in deep thought, brooding about life.  Left in history, reliving her past lives.  Painful flashbacks pondered through her dark mind, leaving her gasping for words, fighting back tears.  Hours pass, night falls, the morning sun glistens, seasons come and go. 

                Life didn’t stop for me.  It goes on, we have to adjust.  I notice the little things, because I know they won’t be there forever.  Tomorrow holds no promise.  Forever is a fantasy.  Eternity does not exist.    The bruised apple, dangling from the tree, floating through my mind.  One day that rosy, red apple will have fallen.  It will have collapsed into the bitter, unbreakable despair.  Beaten and turned away.  As seconds pass thoughts shift and feelings grow fainter.  Nothing is forever.  Because what you have today may not be there tomorrow.  Everything is only temporary in life. The everlasting love I once had is no longer.  Never get used to anybody, I’ve learned they can leave you at any moment.  In the end, all you really have are the memories they have granted you. 

                Sometimes it’s better to keep quiet than to tell others how you feel.  Because it hurts when you know they can hear you, but cannot understand you.  Some days I need to be my own hero, because nobody sees the world quite like I do.  Abandoned in my own world of curiosity and vagueness.  Head locked in place, gawking up at the empty ceiling.  Hollow and vacant, like myself.  Gathering my train of thought I hoist myself to my frail feet.  Shoulders slumped I unlock the cellar door, and wind my way up the wooden staircase.  As  I pass the family portraits I feel a tear trickle down my clammy cheek.  I try to keep my focus attentive as I make my way toward the back door.  Pausing to peer up at the twinkling stars, painted across the mysterious, blue sky. 

                 We’re like shooting stars, we fall to let someone else’s wish come true. 

               

                  

Façade

Author's Note: I chose the theme of trying to fit in for a good cause.  I wanted to show an example for society, others, and self through the theme of this essay.  

Why try to fit in if you were born to stand out?  If everyone was the same the world would be a tedious place.  Be different.  Be spontaneous.  Be you.  Be the sore thumb that got hammered by a heavy mallet a couple of times.  Be the sole bird that flies the opposite direction of all the others, because it hasn’t any idea it’s winter.  Remember that you’re braver than you believe, stronger then you seem, and smarter than you think.  Imperfection is beauty, madness is genius, and it’s better to be absolutely ridiculous than absolutely uninteresting. 

                A new name, a different city, a fresh beginning.  Hiding under the hood of a sweatshirt, trying to blend into the crowds.  Being somebody who you aren’t.  Faking an identity.  Throwing everything you once treasured into the scorching flames, that have eaten away your memories time after time again.  Remembrance of who you once were and who you have recently become.  This was the ritual of John Smith, from the book I am Number Four.  Sheltered by lies, concealed by appearance, and drowned in secrets.  These secrets were sworn upon, for they would reveal the extraterrestrial myths to be existent.  With glowing palms, telepathic powers, and speed faster than a racecar, John Smith spent his life hidden from the outside world.  For he knew that if he were to be exposed his cover would be blown, once again.   John knew he had to survive, not for himself, but for the defense of the planet he originated, and for the sake of the society on planet Earth.  Deep inside, he knew that the fate of Lorien was in the palm of his hand.    

                 Lives depend on the mistakes, regrets and decisions of the ancestry of the ancient tribal legends.  Destiny and prosperity had been passed through the ancestral tree, and had been left in the hands of Edward Cullen from Twilight and,  and his siblings.  The belief and trust now altered with each of his decisions.  Throughout time, rituals distorted, clans shifted, and mysteries were hidden.  Although much changed, the overall desire was still intact.  This deep craving was a gruesome thirst, not only for power, but for blood.  When this nomadic vampire coven arrives in Forks, their secret must be concealed; for Edward Cullen this is an unattainable task, as he falls into a dark romance with mortal, Bella Swan.  Edward has a supernatural gift for reading people's minds.  From the first time he met Bella, he was immediately attracted to her because her thoughts were unreadable.  Since Edward's transformation into a vampire, he had never fallen in love nor believed that he needed to. He later realized that his existence was completely pointless and hollow. Yet in Bella he finds compassion, affection, acceptance and care.  Letting his feelings take advantage of him, he lets his guard down.  Allowing her to see past his pale face and into his profound, bottomless soul.  Protecting Bella, concealing his emotions, realizing life is more than hiding in the shadows.  Finding that Bella’s security was up to him, he knew was her only force field.  

                Panic and terror danced up her spine, leaving her breathless, gasping for words.  She gazed down at the crumpled paper, her sweating hands jittering with terror.  It was her turn to face the truth.  Stacy Brown knew she didn’t have enough time to change her fate.  But she did know that she would have to soon face what was in store for her. Stacey uses her Wiccan religion to enhance her natural abilities in order to investigate crimes, disappearances, or issues that arise in her daily life.  The menacing nightmares, the brutal murders on campus, the eerie notes that piece together the mystery.  Frightened, Stacy couldn’t take the dread any longer.  For the past month she had been just another face in the halls.  Her colorful personality fading away to grey, as her once bold smile was transforming to a frown.  Her friends slipping away one by one, but it was for the better.  Protecting herself from the harmful outside world was the only way to stay alive, murder was the option that she chose not to think about.  Feeling all alone, Dreading to hide away for another endless day, sinking into the grasp of her darkest nightmares.  Knowing what the future held….agony aching with every passing minute.  Facing problems on her own because death was nothing to be reckoned with.  There was only one option left…to be brave and stand up for herself.  Facing her fears was like jumping off a cliff into the grip of despair.  Guarding herself.  Being her own best friend.  Realizing the facts.  Riddling the clues.  Solving the mystery.

Snowcapped mountains plummet into the icy seas.  Northern Lights twinkle across the darkened skies.  The midnight sun creeps among the stars, luminating the world below.  Overlooking the  blossoming valleys of Ryfylke lies Preikestolen, a mountainous range with some dangerous drops yet breathtaking views. 

Over ten thousand years ago this distinctive cliff was formed, when a massive glacier reached the rock formation and settled there.  As time went on, water from the glacier soaked into the crevices of the rocks, breaking off colossal boulders that would later drift away with the glacier.  This is what caused the cliff to have such steep downfall.  From 1,982 feet above sea level, Preikestolen is nearly a sheer dropdown, because of the enormous glacier that structured it.

In 2006 over 90,000 people visited Preikestolen in the four summer months.  As you can see Preikestolen has economic values as well as natural beauty.  This major tourist attraction draws in people all over the world.  Groups come for hiking, photography, vacation, or even just the magnificent views.  Yet on the other hand this hazardous slope is extremely treacherous.  There aren’t any gates or boundaries, you could literally prance off the edge without any concern.  Believe it or not there have been no sighted accidents at Preikestolen. 

The only down side about having a lot of tourists is pollution.  Tourist littering could cause damage to Preikestolen.  A  natural landform like Preikestolen could become trashed if we pollute without worry.  Animals’ homes would be threatened by garbage and intoxicating fumes.    

This mountain plays a very important role in Norway’s culture.  It is one of Norway’s natural landforms that is visited all throughout the year.  Preikestolen is unique because it is a plateau on top and a cliff on the sides.  This is part of Norway’s culture because it attracts people from all over the world while providing a natural habitat for animals and nature.

Prediction: White Is For Magic

Author's Note: I predict that Stacey will face troubles with the mysterious figures that haunt her in her dreams.  I used a quote from the book to show why I predicted this.

                 Trembling I face the truth, my end was near.  I couldn't hold it off any longer.  No more tears.  No more nightmares.  No more fighting.  My time was now, I had to finally give in. 

                “Stacy!  Come out, come out wherever you are,” chuckles a raspy voice.  My knees buckle as I struggle to find my feet.  The splintering rope burrows its way deeper into the crevices of my ankles.  Quivering I force myself through the growing pain, I wasn’t about to give up after all I’d fought for.  Heart pounding, head throbbing, ankles blistering, my icy fingers flutter across the rigid brick wall.  Ancient cobwebs twinkle across the cellar ceiling, reflecting off the moon, glimmering amongst the stars, painted across the night sky.  My last memory.  Before midnight.  Before dawn.  Before death.

                “Ashes, ashes they all…fall…down,” lulls a voice, sweet as honey.  Barely able to keep my eyes open I distinguish shadows lurking, plotting my death.  Out of the darkness a silhouette of a young girl appears.  The girl closes in on me, cornering me, pinning me against the brick wall, my life flashing before my eyes.  Everything becomes as silent as the grave, until I hear her moist breath on the back of my neck.

                “What do you want from me?” I plead, my face as white as a ghost.  Her fingers twine their way through my sweating hair.  My eyes are squeezed tight together, unwilling to accept death. 

                “Open your eyes, Stacy Brown!” the innocent voice suddenly croaks.  My eyes snap open, revealing a deathly face.  Her white, lace nightgown is tearing at the seams.  Black as night her charcoal eyes bleed into mine.  Tangled like seaweed her blonde hair hides most of her unforgiving face.  A faint smile creeps across her face.

                “Stay away from me!” I screech, feeling  a tornado swirling in my stomach. 

                “I’ve finally found you, and now you’re mine.  Join me, or face your grave,” a scowl grows across her colorless expression.  I don’t know how to respond.  She has me in her command, under the trap. 

                “You can’t control me,” I yelp, holding back tears. 

                “Try me,” her eyebrows raise.  Her fragile arms flail into the foggy cellar air.  As she begins to chant her voice becomes as husky as a crows’.  Those black, beady eyes begin to illuminate.  Brittle and weak her body hovers above me.  A familiar chant echoes, bringing tears to my eyes.  My vision becomes blurred as tears race down my rosy cheeks.  Memories flood my mind, as more voices sing in harmony to the dreadful lullaby.

                “Miss Mary Mack, Mack, Mack, all dressed in black, black, black.  She has a knife, knife, knife stuck in her back, back, back.  He cannot breath, breath, breath.  She cannot cry, cry, cry.  That’s why she begs, begs, begs.  She begs to die, die, die,” A choir of gruff, appalling voices murmur the horrid lullaby.  The song forces me to remember my past.  Forces me to face the truth.  Forces me to realize I had gotten myself into this.  I glance up into the girl’s eyes, the radiance blazes into soul.  Lifting my forehead towards the ceiling I sense the evil vibrations veering through the murky air.  Trapping my inner thoughts and emotions.  Showcasing my true identity.  Making my entire body quake with terror.  A sheer coat of sweat moistens my forehead, as I zone off into a daze.  Realizing I was now part of her army of death ridden souls.