Short Story #2-- Stuck

          Stuck    

             He woke up to the sound of a car honking its high-pitched horn. He was in his home, lying next to some woman whose name he didn’t even know. His head was pounding from all of the alcohol he drank last night. But this was nothing new, it was the same daily routine that he never seemed to get tired of. He heard the woman next to him starting to wake up, so he quickly laid back down and pretended to be asleep. He wasn’t looking for a committed relationship or and strings attached, so he was hoping if she woke up and saw him sleeping, she would just pack up and leave. That’s what the women usually do—just try to quietly leave as soon as they wake up. But this one, this woman, was different.

            She woke up and put her clothes on, but she didn’t leave. He was confused and in a way frustrated, but he kept pretending to sleep to see what she was going to do. She went to the bathroom to freshen up and clean her face. When she finished, she went back to the bed and laid next to him. She rubbed his hair to try and wake him up, and he decided to stop pretending to be asleep. “Good morning,” she said with a smile on her face. “Hey,” he sighed, “what are you still doing here?” She had a disgusted look on her face and replied, “Well I thought we could get to know each other. What are some of your favorite things?” He was so confused. He didn’t know how to get her out of his house.

            “Look… I have a lot of errands to run today. I’m just going to call a taxi for you.”

“Oh, that’s fine. I have to get to work soon anyways. I left my number on your dresser, just call me whenever you’d like.”

            As she finished her last sentence with a smile on her face, she walked out the door and shut it quietly. The slip of paper she left on his dresser had her number on it and her name. He was not planning on calling her and he was hoping that she wouldn’t come back to his house, so he threw her number away.

         

            After a couple of weeks, they had no communication at all. He continued on with his same daily routine of getting drunk and bringing a different girl that he didn’t know to sleep with in his bed.

            One day after coming home, he found an envelope at his doorstep. He looked around and didn’t see anybody there, so he picked the envelope up and walked inside his house and shut the door behind him. He immediately opened the envelope, and he found a pregnancy test that marked positive. He thought it was some kind of joke. “Who would send this to me? I’m not anybody’s father,” he thought to himself as he threw the pregnancy test away and washed his hands.

            He continued on with his daily routine, however in the back of his mind he kept wondering who sent him that envelope.

            A month later, he came home to find a blue and white baby rattle at his doorstep. He screamed aloud out to anybody who could hear him, “This isn’t funny! You need to leave me alone now.” He threw the baby rattle into the street and furiously walked into his house.

            Once every month for the following eight months, he came home to find a baby toy on his doorstep—each one was different every month. He didn’t know how to figure out what was going on, so he decided to just ignore it.

            The following month, he expected yet another baby toy. But, that’s not what was on his doorstep. There was a letter attached with it, and the letter read, “Hey, it’s me. So you never did call me. I don’t know what I did wrong. But this, this is ours. Last month the doctor diagnosed me with terminally ill cancer. There’s nothing that they can do. They say I don’t have much time left…so I decided to just end it before cancer did for me. It’s too late by now, I am already gone. Take good care of her for me, please. She deserves it.”

            He did not know whether to believe what he just read or not. He did not know what to feel except for sadness and confusion. He begun to walk inside his home, but before shutting the door, he picked up the letter and the basket holding the beautiful baby girl inside with him. 

Short Story #1-- "Saved"

Saved

            For some reason, the dog was never on a leash. She always saw the dog walking about thirty feet in front of his owner, but the owner did not seem to have much control of the dog. Over time, she began to see the dog looking dirtier and it had a slight limp on its front left leg. Paige knew that something had to be wrong.

            One day when she was coming home from school, her neighbor asked, “Do you know who owns a little black dog in this neighborhood? I saw the dog limping around, and it almost got hit by a car. There was nobody with him.”

            She was so frustrated with this whole situation of the owner not properly caring for his dog, so Paige decided to do something about this. She went for a walk around the neighborhood, trying to see if she could find the little dog. She was searching and searching and searching, but she just could not find him. So, she decided to give up. While walking back home, she heard a car honking its horn over and over again. Paige ran to the scene, only see the little black dog lying in the middle of the street. The dog was hyperventilating and looked like he had no strength at all. He acted as if he didn’t even care that the car could have run him over—like he just wanted to die.

            Paige immediately ran to the dog and scooped him up, laying him gently on the grass. She felt so sorry for the dog and was thinking of ways to help it. The dog was still whimpering and badly shaking, so she decided to take him back to her house to try and care for him. She laid him on some clean blankets, fed him, and gave him fresh, cold water, allowing him to just rest throughout the night.

            The next morning, the little dog was in a much better condition. He was wagging his tail and roaming around the house, although he still had his slight limp. Paige and the little dog were very much enjoying each other’s company. In the afternoon, however, the doorbell rang. When Paige opened the door, she saw the owner of the dog. “Some neighbors said you had my dog. I want him back. Now,” he said. Immediately, Paige slammed her front door shut and locked it. She knew she could not return the dog into the arms of his careless owner. The next seven minutes consisted of the man banging on the door, yelling for her to open the door and give him back her dog. He refused to leave.

            Paige and the little dog filled with fear, so she decided to call the police, “There is a strange man banging on my door and yelling at me, and he won’t leave me alone, please come quick!”, she said. When the police came, they held the man back and asked Paige to open the door, and as soon as she did the owner of the dog was yelling, claiming that she kidnapped the dog. One of the officers asked what happened, and Paige explained the whole situation truthfully. “I don’t believe that this man’s home is fit to properly care for this innocent dog,” said Paige.

            The two officers, the dog owner, and Paige all went to investigate the dog owner’s house to see if he had the essentials to care for the little black dog. Everything seemed fine and clean, until one of the officers touched the doorknob of a door hiding behind a curtain, and the dog owner said, “Do not open that door. You’ve seen enough.” The officer refused to listen to the dog owner and opened the door. He could not believe his eyes, and neither could the other officer and Paige. What they saw behind that door almost made them faint. “I told you not to open that door,” said the dog owner. 3 shots fired-- the first one hit one of the officers, the second hit the second officer, and the third hit Paige, and the 3 lifeless bodies dropped to the ground.

Old money, new money, and everybody else

In F. Scott Fitzgerald's "The Great Gatsby," it is apparent that the societies are divided up-- mainly upon wealth and how long you have had that wealth in your family. Specifically, there are people who live in West Egg, and people who live in East Egg. Those who live in East Egg are considered "Old Money," while those who live in West Egg are considered "New Money."

Old Money people were born into their wealth, therefore they would not be as "successful" as they were if it were not for their ancestors. These people are very much used to living classy, extravagant lives, so they are not as showy and flashy with their money as those who live in West Egg. Inhabitants of the East Egg seem to try harder to portray their living of "perfect lives." As many people do, they care very much of outsiders' perspectives on them. For example, they could be in a marriage where both partners are having an affair but will still try to display a good, perfect marriage so nobody suspects anything.

New Money people actually, in contrast to Old Money, worked hard for their money and wealth and would not be where they were if it was not for their working hard. Personally, I believe New Money is much more deserving of their wealth than those of Old Money because most of New Money people actually earned their money by entrepreneurship or some other type of work. Those who live in West  Egg are not very used to their wealth, like how Old Money people are, therefore they wear very flashy clothes, own bright, loud cars, and live in very extravagant homes.

Since this blog title is "Old Money, new money, and everybody else," I would have to say that the "everybody else" would be the workers, such as security guards, the orchesta, maids, chefs, and other staff members like this.

Thankful

I am thankful for a couple of people in my 7th period honors American Literature class, but the one I have chosen to write about is Stephanie. I just met Stephanie this year, because we share physical ed and English class. So far, I would have to say that she is a pretty good friend. For example, if I don't understand something that's going on in English class and ask for her help, she would help me understand and explain to me things like what we are reading. Not only does she help me with academics, but I'm grateful that I'm comfortable enough to be able to joke around with her and that she can joke around with me.
So overall, I am grateful for the things Stephanie has done for me and I am grateful for the friendship we share. :)

I Celebrate Myself

When I think about celebrating myself, I think of reflecting upon myself and being proud of the person I am today. Every person is unique and has their own special traits and characteristics that make them who they are-- whether the characteristics be ones that are good or ones that are bad. 
As I am asking my younger brother what qualities come to mind when he thinks of me, he says, "Talkative, goofy, crazy, smart, and funny." Whether these listed qualities are good or bad in somebody's perspective, I would agree that they are a part of what makes me me. I am not quite sure how I would be able to define and put into words the definition of who I am, but to name a few things that I see in myself and have heard other people say about me are compassionate, God-loving, generous, athletic, etc.
I can honestly say that I am so glad to be able to look back at myself and be proud of my accomplishments and the person that I have developed into today. 

Poe

American poet Edgar Allan Poe was not the typical poet. He was considered a part of the American Romantic Movement. I have not read much of a variety of poetry before, but his literature is nothing like what I have had experience reading. The best fiction writings of Poe are gothic and considered part of the dark romanticism genre.
Poe used a lot of symbolism in his work, for example in his poem The Raven, the Raven represents Lenore.
I researched what may have influenced the darkness of Poe's writing style and I read a short biography on him. From what I have read, Edgar Allan Poe has gone through much turmoil, such as the death of his mother, desertion of his father, and death of his wife/cousin. All of these losses may have put Poe in a dark, upsetting spot in life.
As of my opinion of the poetry and writings of Edgar Allan Poe, I think they are very interesting. Like I have stated before, I cannot say that I have read poetry like his before. He writes in such a deep, dark mood that captures my attention for some reason. Overall, I believe Edgar Allan Poe was a great writer with a dark past.

What Is An American?

The Merriam-Webster Dictionary defines an American as so: (n.) a person born, raised, or living in the U.S. I personally do agree with this definition, however I think it is too general. In my view, an American is one who appreciates this country, our customs, and truly feels like this is where they belong. I believe that the meaning of being an American goes much deeper than just what the definition says. 

Yes, by definition, an American is one who is from the United States. However I think there are instances in which there will be an immigrant from a foreign country coming to the U.S. wanting to become an American. Unfortunately, there will always be some born-and-raised Americans who will not accept those who wish to become Americans. For example, my grandmother and grandfather were born and raised in Hong Kong, China, but they came to the U.S. a little over 50 years ago to raise their family and to live a better life here. My grandmother has limited English, however she is a legal U.S. citizen. She considers herself an American, however when other people view her, they see her as another immigrant from China. My grandmother does not bother with what others think, but it bothers me that when people think of American, they cannot accept foreigners as so. 

So in my opinion, an American is a person who was born and raised in America. Nevertheless, if an immigrant comes here and lives here—whether they are a U.S. citizen or not—and feel like they are at home, I agree that they are American.