Wednesday, September 15, 2010
Saturday, June 12, 2010
Friday, April 23, 2010
The Sorceress: The Secrets of the Immortal Nicholas Flamel
by Micheal Scott.
It is a sequel to the last book in the series which is called 'The Magician'.
The book continues the story of the legendary twins Josh and Sophie on their adventure to save the earth from the evil elders. Of course, Nicholas Flamel was there to guide them towards doing so, however, he has lost his immortality and only have a few week left until he turns old and crumples and dies.
I thought that the book was good until the writer introduce William Shakespear (happy birthday) and Billy the Kid as immortal beings, living in our modern society.
Aside from that, the book is quite interesting and is full of cliff hangers, making the readers want to read more.
I do recommend others to read this book, however, they should read the first book of the series, which is called 'The Alchemist' first.
P.S: I don't like writing personal statements.
Monday, April 5, 2010
When dogs cry - Markus Zusak
When dogs cry, also known as Getting the girl, is a novel for young adults written by Markus Zusak - the author of the Book Thief. Starts off with Cameron Wolfe - quiet and confused in the Wolfe family. Not a soccer star like his brother Steve. Nor a charming fighter with a new girl every week like his other brother Rube.
Rube is always the one who gets all the girls. Not
And everything changes: winning, loving, losing, the Wolfe brothers, and
Better than any reality TV show, this book is not recommended for those with small dogs or those who are offended easily. It is definitely recommended for you.
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Thirteen Reasons Why
By: Jay Asher
This book is centered around the suicide of Hannah Baker, a seventeen-year-old girl who took a handful of pills while her parents were away from home. Everyone is left in shock when she does not return to school the next day, and the mystery is repeated throughout their minds: why did Hannah kill herself?
Two weeks after the incident, Clay Jensen receives a package on his doorstep with no return address. Inside it is a shoebox, and inside that are seven audiotapes, each side labeled with its own number. In all, there are 13 sides. And guess who the tapes were left by? Hannah Baker.
With each tape that Clay listens to, her reasons behind the suicide are explained and places the blame on 13 particular people- one being himself. As he gets closer to the last tape, he slowly uncovers the secrets of Hannah's life, and the reasons why she took it.
I think that the book is very well-constructed and has an easy layout to read between the seperate dialogues of Clay and Hannah (over the tape.) The story line really pulls you in, and when I began I couldn't put the book down after that.
It's a must-read for anyone our age, anyone! The plot twists very smoothly and the scenes all fit together, but it can be creepy at times and make you feel like someone is standing behind you.
All in all, the novel is amazing and one of my favorites this year!
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
The World To Come
Since I am bored and just finished a book, I decided to blog about it.
This is an interesting book because it is very similar to one of the book that I've read, which is called Generation-X.
It seems to be fragments of memories that has been put together. At first the book is hard to understand but as it progress, everything seems to make more sense. Benjamin Ziskind is the main character and he's a depressed game show researcher whose twin sister remains his only adult friend.
Also, Benjamin happens to steal a one million dollars painting by Marc Chagall. This is because he was sick of everything that is going on in his life and upon recognising the painting that used to be on his wall, he grabs it and run.
And at this moment, everything seems to be broken down to little stories.
Overall, I think that this book is deep but it is too broken up. However, I do recommend others to read this as well.
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Amendment
Sorry- here is the link for the writing example levels:
http://nationalstrategies.standards.dcsf.gov.uk/node/305573
and here is the one for the reading levels:
http://nationalstrategies.standards.dcsf.gov.uk/node/305525
enjoy
remember- think what level you are, what skills you can use. Then think and write in your own words what you could do to imporve a level. These students are your peers, your rivals if you like- do you think you could do better?
http://nationalstrategies.standards.dcsf.gov.uk/node/305573
and here is the one for the reading levels:
http://nationalstrategies.standards.dcsf.gov.uk/node/305525
enjoy
remember- think what level you are, what skills you can use. Then think and write in your own words what you could do to imporve a level. These students are your peers, your rivals if you like- do you think you could do better?
Amendment
Sorry- here is the link for the writing example levels:
http://nationalstrategies.standards.dcsf.gov.uk/node/305573
and here is the one for the reading levels:
http://nationalstrategies.standards.dcsf.gov.uk/node/305525
enjoy
remember- think what level you are, what skills you can use. Then think and write in your own words what you could do to imporve a level. These students are your peers, your rivals if you like- do you think you could do better?
http://nationalstrategies.standards.dcsf.gov.uk/node/305573
and here is the one for the reading levels:
http://nationalstrategies.standards.dcsf.gov.uk/node/305525
enjoy
remember- think what level you are, what skills you can use. Then think and write in your own words what you could do to imporve a level. These students are your peers, your rivals if you like- do you think you could do better?
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
As discussed in class....
Link to the National Strategies website where you will be able to find examples of writing and reading from levels 4-8:
http://nationalstrategies.standards.dcsf.gov.uk/node/132293
The documents also contain moderators' explanations and are well-worth reading.
http://nationalstrategies.standards.dcsf.gov.uk/node/132293
The documents also contain moderators' explanations and are well-worth reading.
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Monday, February 8, 2010
Sunday, February 7, 2010
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Diary Entry
I woke up at 7:30am, which is much later than usual time I get up. I ate breakfast with cereal and milk. I changed my cloth and put on a coat which is really ridiculously red... I packed my backpack, put on shoes and run because I was late, I was in rush.
I run through the street and bump in to someone. We fall down. At first I didn't know who it was but I got up first and when I was about to say sorry, I saw his face. It was a boy who is a son of principle of my school. I was fine but he seems like not fine..... I was scared if he got any injured. I pray for that he didn't have any inured. However even I prayed he was bleeding on his knee..... He was standing up and trying to say something but before that, I run away from him because I didn't want any damage to myself or to my family.
I go in to the classroom and tried to act fine as I didn't do any wrong. I heard that he's finding the person who bumps to him today morning.... I think the reason that I didn't get catch at that time is because I was not wearing that ridiculous red coat....
Afterschool I was hurry to go back to home before he finds out me. But unfortunately someone was calling my name so I turn around. The person who called me was him!!!! Oh god! Help me!!!I think god was not in my side that time. He came to me with is friend and asked me."Are you the idiot person who bumped be in the morning and make me to get injured?!!!” I sad quietly...” I'm so sorry.... i was not mean to do...” "Shut up!!" he shouted at me. I was scared. He pushed me and I fall down. Then he started to hit and kick me. I could not do anything because I don't want any hurt or sad thing happen to my family cause of me.
When I came back to home, my mom asked me what happened but I told her that I’m fine. I will never ever forget about this day by writing right now in my diary. I will sometimes later, when I become more powerful than you, I will revenge to you. You will regret later.....
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
perspective- diary entry
As usual when the dawn rose up, I got dressed, ate breakfast, and got ready for the school. But that was just the morning! Well, my afternoon was great which almost made me think that today is a lovely day until it… really happened. That afterschool was a horrible day for Jack since I dared John to beat him up this evening so I could make a video and post it on YouTube.
The afternoon finally came. As John told, I got to follow Jack to see where he went. After the bell rang, I walked behind Jack but suddenly he turned and had a look around. I was sure that he knew there would be something wrong. As he walked along the side of the street, he passed a beautiful park with a colorful playground and a big grass pitch which made him really relaxed.
I hid behind the tree which was a bit further away from Jack. Suddenly from the bush, there were two guys jumped out.
“Aye kid!”
I’ve heard that voice before. That was right! It was John. Without saying anything else, he immediately punched right on Jack’s nose which made me start to feel really interested. I came closer and closer, I saw Jack was dizzy but he still tried to hit John back but hopeless, there came Justin. He came from behind and had a powerful kick to Jack’s back. Jack fell off and bumped his face to the ground, his glasses were broken and the piece of glasses stuck into his eyes so he wouldn’t see anything as he was in a really terrible pain. I started to be horrified! I was scared to get my camera out but I did after I looked around and saw that there were many people standing around and stared at Jack without helping. Some of them mocked and laughed at him and some of them also made a video. They were as violent as me so I didn’t really care much about being helpless. I got my camera on my hands but I still refused somehow. What if the viewers think that I’m so cruel when I saw it and I couldn’t help? I stood there, staring at the violent, forceful…interesting fight. Finally, I gave myself another thought. If I film it, I might get more than a thousand views as this fight was so cool. I might explain that I am a girl and I couldn’t help otherwise they would beat me up too. Yes! That was a great idea. I started to film it after I thought clearly about it. Again I saw them keep kicking Jack, punching him and one more thing that I didn’t expect to happen, stealing. John took out Jack’s old brown wallet and his gold watch, he opened it and immediately took all of the money and his lunch card then he threw the wallet to Jack’s face. I couldn’t believe what I just saw as everyone knows that John was a really nice boy, and everyone knows that Jack was a rich arrogant boy but today, Jack was beaten up by John and Justin. I turned my camera around, seeing people still laughing, still mocking, and still cheering. I was a bit afraid! What if the teachers find out that I was involved? I had another thought. John stole those items from Jack was not in my plan, Jack’s body was bleeding which was also not in my plan, people stood around and seeing me who was one of the helpless people was not a part of my plan either. I started running away from the crowd and tried to get home.
On the way home, I couldn’t stop thinking about what I just have done. I had another feeling which was not scared, but guilt. It was such a shame if I got to face him tomorrow at school. I was not able to do anything at that time to help him. But I could just simply come and stop them, tell them that they’ve won the game because they really did what I dared. But I didn’t.
The afternoon finally came. As John told, I got to follow Jack to see where he went. After the bell rang, I walked behind Jack but suddenly he turned and had a look around. I was sure that he knew there would be something wrong. As he walked along the side of the street, he passed a beautiful park with a colorful playground and a big grass pitch which made him really relaxed.
I hid behind the tree which was a bit further away from Jack. Suddenly from the bush, there were two guys jumped out.
“Aye kid!”
I’ve heard that voice before. That was right! It was John. Without saying anything else, he immediately punched right on Jack’s nose which made me start to feel really interested. I came closer and closer, I saw Jack was dizzy but he still tried to hit John back but hopeless, there came Justin. He came from behind and had a powerful kick to Jack’s back. Jack fell off and bumped his face to the ground, his glasses were broken and the piece of glasses stuck into his eyes so he wouldn’t see anything as he was in a really terrible pain. I started to be horrified! I was scared to get my camera out but I did after I looked around and saw that there were many people standing around and stared at Jack without helping. Some of them mocked and laughed at him and some of them also made a video. They were as violent as me so I didn’t really care much about being helpless. I got my camera on my hands but I still refused somehow. What if the viewers think that I’m so cruel when I saw it and I couldn’t help? I stood there, staring at the violent, forceful…interesting fight. Finally, I gave myself another thought. If I film it, I might get more than a thousand views as this fight was so cool. I might explain that I am a girl and I couldn’t help otherwise they would beat me up too. Yes! That was a great idea. I started to film it after I thought clearly about it. Again I saw them keep kicking Jack, punching him and one more thing that I didn’t expect to happen, stealing. John took out Jack’s old brown wallet and his gold watch, he opened it and immediately took all of the money and his lunch card then he threw the wallet to Jack’s face. I couldn’t believe what I just saw as everyone knows that John was a really nice boy, and everyone knows that Jack was a rich arrogant boy but today, Jack was beaten up by John and Justin. I turned my camera around, seeing people still laughing, still mocking, and still cheering. I was a bit afraid! What if the teachers find out that I was involved? I had another thought. John stole those items from Jack was not in my plan, Jack’s body was bleeding which was also not in my plan, people stood around and seeing me who was one of the helpless people was not a part of my plan either. I started running away from the crowd and tried to get home.
On the way home, I couldn’t stop thinking about what I just have done. I had another feeling which was not scared, but guilt. It was such a shame if I got to face him tomorrow at school. I was not able to do anything at that time to help him. But I could just simply come and stop them, tell them that they’ve won the game because they really did what I dared. But I didn’t.
Dear Diary - Attacker
Entry 1st February 2010:
Oh what a day it's been... I failed my Maths test. 26%. Is that even possible? I'm pretty sure I only got marks for writing my name! I got the lowest score in the year, leave alone the class! I was laughed at by the teacher and the students. Nerds. They all have no lives and I know i'm still better then them. Anyway, one guy, Mark, got 99%. He made a huge show of mock sorrow that he didn't get that 1% more. He's just mocking me, and he was asking for a hard punch in the face. I didn't deny him of what he deserved, and I got James to beat him up after school. Boy, it felt good! He finally got what he deserved! Everyone was looking upon me as if I was a hero, an idol that should be followed. We should teach those who get everything for free a lesson, and the hard way if we must. Why should the Nerds get so much credit? He won like 3 awards in the awards ceremony last year, for what? NOTHING! He doesn't even try! He just thinks that he's too cool for me, when I'm better than him in ALL the sports. When i'm playing for Man-U he'll be sorry. He'll be sorry that he ever thought he was too cool for me.
Well anyway, now that i've taught him a lesson, i'm in trouble. That little goody-two-shoes told the principal and now I have a months detention. Who cares anyway, I can still use my phone behind his back, that old fool. I hate him. Why does he have to be on Mark's side? See my point! He gets EVERYTHING! What do I get? Detention.
I haven't told Mum yet. She wouldn't care anyway. She's always drunk. Ever since dad walked out, she's been drinking non stop. I have a hunch she also takes drugs. Who cares anyway. What do I have to live for?
After my detention finished, he laughed at me. He'll never learn. I'll kill him one day, I swear I will. There's not enough room on Earth for both of us. One of us has to go, and the weakling will go first.
On second thought, I should just kill myself. Get it over with.
I'll make him pay one day, for all the damage he's done. It felt so good to punch him, a rush of adrenaline. The ends justifies the means in this case, and he will pay dearly, if I have to go down i'm dragging him with me.
Oh what a day it's been... I failed my Maths test. 26%. Is that even possible? I'm pretty sure I only got marks for writing my name! I got the lowest score in the year, leave alone the class! I was laughed at by the teacher and the students. Nerds. They all have no lives and I know i'm still better then them. Anyway, one guy, Mark, got 99%. He made a huge show of mock sorrow that he didn't get that 1% more. He's just mocking me, and he was asking for a hard punch in the face. I didn't deny him of what he deserved, and I got James to beat him up after school. Boy, it felt good! He finally got what he deserved! Everyone was looking upon me as if I was a hero, an idol that should be followed. We should teach those who get everything for free a lesson, and the hard way if we must. Why should the Nerds get so much credit? He won like 3 awards in the awards ceremony last year, for what? NOTHING! He doesn't even try! He just thinks that he's too cool for me, when I'm better than him in ALL the sports. When i'm playing for Man-U he'll be sorry. He'll be sorry that he ever thought he was too cool for me.
Well anyway, now that i've taught him a lesson, i'm in trouble. That little goody-two-shoes told the principal and now I have a months detention. Who cares anyway, I can still use my phone behind his back, that old fool. I hate him. Why does he have to be on Mark's side? See my point! He gets EVERYTHING! What do I get? Detention.
I haven't told Mum yet. She wouldn't care anyway. She's always drunk. Ever since dad walked out, she's been drinking non stop. I have a hunch she also takes drugs. Who cares anyway. What do I have to live for?
After my detention finished, he laughed at me. He'll never learn. I'll kill him one day, I swear I will. There's not enough room on Earth for both of us. One of us has to go, and the weakling will go first.
On second thought, I should just kill myself. Get it over with.
I'll make him pay one day, for all the damage he's done. It felt so good to punch him, a rush of adrenaline. The ends justifies the means in this case, and he will pay dearly, if I have to go down i'm dragging him with me.
attacker- by Sally Bui
Dear diary,
I've never been so scared. What if I was caught by the police? What if David was dead? What if I was put into jail? Who would take care of my old mother and little brother? How I wish I could turn back time to redress all of this mess and be more forgiving towards him! God, please be on my side and bless me through this chaos...
----
Today, I finally found the fat boy, after two months of searching in futility. The one that had bullied my poor brother two months ago, just to steal the little money that he had. The one that had injured my poor brother so severely that he had to be sent to the hospital for a month. The one that, nevertheless, escaped and never got punished. Until today.
It all happened this morning. After eating breakfast, I pranced my way to school. Suddenly, I saw the boy. Obnoxious with a sinister grin on his face, he trod heavily along the street. A plethora of vindictive thoughts flowed through my mind, leaving me undetermined of what to do. A swift moment after, he was gone. Irritated at myself, I came around asking people about the boy, and eventually found out that he was David. Yes, I thought to myself, so I know who you are now, be prepared to pay for the pain that you caused my brother two months ago.
During break time, I put an anonymous letter in David’s locker which told him to meet at the park nearby. It was the exact same spot where my brother had been beaten and brutally contused. Then, I waited with impatience for school to finish in order to seek revenge for my brother.
Lunch time came. Two more lessons. 1 hour. 10 minutes. 1."RING!!!", there rang the last bell of the day. I packed away my stuff and started sprinting to the park. He wasn’t there yet. I panted and gasped for air. My shirt was permeated with sweat. My heart was pounding fast. Abruptly, I looked up, and saw his corpulent body approaching. He was holding the letter and looked around, bewildered and perplexed, in search for me – the person who sent it. Then, he noticed me, and asked if I was the sender of the letter. I didn’t reply. My head was heating up with agitation and animosity. My body was shaking, not with fear, but with wrath and indignation. Without saying a word, I stormed towards him with a strike of abhorrence straight on his abdomen. He let out a shriek of pain, and fell down onto the ground. The odious arrogance on his face disappeared, and was replaced by an expression of excruciating distress. Utterly enraged, I grabbed him on his collar and threw him onto the ground where he writhed in agony and began to assault him.
The dissonance of agonising squeals and resentful shouts had attracted many people to the tumult. Yet, no one intervened. They knew him too well. Yes, they knew he deserved the punishment. Actually, there was no way to stop me now. I was too drunk and intoxicated with grim and hatred. The monster in my body was raging, thirsting for revenge. I kept kicking, hitting, buffeting frantically, and the bully – who now looked like a pathetic piece of cloth – was crying for help and mercy. Yet, no one intervened. They knew him too well. They knew he deserved the punishment.
Suddenly, David let out a shrill shriek and stopped struggling or screaming. His eyes were closed. I panicked. Was he dead? My body trembled with fear. What if he was? The previously silent crowd began clamouring and evacuating the place, leaving me behind, frightened and worried. I panted heavily and tried to calm myself. Then, slowly, I bent over him to feel his breath. All of the sudden, his eyes were opened wide and that obnoxious grin plastered on his face. He sprang up, trying to hit my head with his fist. I was struck aghast for a sleet moment, but I dodged that strike just in time. Provoked by his despicable ruse, I gave him one last strike on the head and...
..."crack". Blood was spurting out everywhere. He blacked out. This time for sure.
For the second time, I panicked, my hands trembling in hysteria. This was not part of my plan.
Lying in front of me now was not a ferocious bully who had injured my brother but a vulnerable being, defenseless and barely conscious. My fury had vanished. Instead, conscience and regret overwhelmed me. I had no more fervour to avenge my brother, but became appalled and disgusted at myself. It started to rain. I looked down at my hands.
Blood. Salty and red. Something was dropping spasmodically on the ground. Was it the rain or the filthy blood on my hands? My vision was too blurred to see clearly which it was. My head was spinning frenetically. Was this what I really wanted? Was this what he really deserved?
Feeling nauseated, I sprinted home as fast as I could. The rain was getting heavier, heavier, heavier. All of a sudden, the siren from a police car howled from behind.
As I was running, tears began to roll down from my eyes. I had never been so scared.
I've never been so scared. What if I was caught by the police? What if David was dead? What if I was put into jail? Who would take care of my old mother and little brother? How I wish I could turn back time to redress all of this mess and be more forgiving towards him! God, please be on my side and bless me through this chaos...
----
Today, I finally found the fat boy, after two months of searching in futility. The one that had bullied my poor brother two months ago, just to steal the little money that he had. The one that had injured my poor brother so severely that he had to be sent to the hospital for a month. The one that, nevertheless, escaped and never got punished. Until today.
It all happened this morning. After eating breakfast, I pranced my way to school. Suddenly, I saw the boy. Obnoxious with a sinister grin on his face, he trod heavily along the street. A plethora of vindictive thoughts flowed through my mind, leaving me undetermined of what to do. A swift moment after, he was gone. Irritated at myself, I came around asking people about the boy, and eventually found out that he was David. Yes, I thought to myself, so I know who you are now, be prepared to pay for the pain that you caused my brother two months ago.
During break time, I put an anonymous letter in David’s locker which told him to meet at the park nearby. It was the exact same spot where my brother had been beaten and brutally contused. Then, I waited with impatience for school to finish in order to seek revenge for my brother.
Lunch time came. Two more lessons. 1 hour. 10 minutes. 1."RING!!!", there rang the last bell of the day. I packed away my stuff and started sprinting to the park. He wasn’t there yet. I panted and gasped for air. My shirt was permeated with sweat. My heart was pounding fast. Abruptly, I looked up, and saw his corpulent body approaching. He was holding the letter and looked around, bewildered and perplexed, in search for me – the person who sent it. Then, he noticed me, and asked if I was the sender of the letter. I didn’t reply. My head was heating up with agitation and animosity. My body was shaking, not with fear, but with wrath and indignation. Without saying a word, I stormed towards him with a strike of abhorrence straight on his abdomen. He let out a shriek of pain, and fell down onto the ground. The odious arrogance on his face disappeared, and was replaced by an expression of excruciating distress. Utterly enraged, I grabbed him on his collar and threw him onto the ground where he writhed in agony and began to assault him.
The dissonance of agonising squeals and resentful shouts had attracted many people to the tumult. Yet, no one intervened. They knew him too well. Yes, they knew he deserved the punishment. Actually, there was no way to stop me now. I was too drunk and intoxicated with grim and hatred. The monster in my body was raging, thirsting for revenge. I kept kicking, hitting, buffeting frantically, and the bully – who now looked like a pathetic piece of cloth – was crying for help and mercy. Yet, no one intervened. They knew him too well. They knew he deserved the punishment.
Suddenly, David let out a shrill shriek and stopped struggling or screaming. His eyes were closed. I panicked. Was he dead? My body trembled with fear. What if he was? The previously silent crowd began clamouring and evacuating the place, leaving me behind, frightened and worried. I panted heavily and tried to calm myself. Then, slowly, I bent over him to feel his breath. All of the sudden, his eyes were opened wide and that obnoxious grin plastered on his face. He sprang up, trying to hit my head with his fist. I was struck aghast for a sleet moment, but I dodged that strike just in time. Provoked by his despicable ruse, I gave him one last strike on the head and...
..."crack". Blood was spurting out everywhere. He blacked out. This time for sure.
For the second time, I panicked, my hands trembling in hysteria. This was not part of my plan.
Lying in front of me now was not a ferocious bully who had injured my brother but a vulnerable being, defenseless and barely conscious. My fury had vanished. Instead, conscience and regret overwhelmed me. I had no more fervour to avenge my brother, but became appalled and disgusted at myself. It started to rain. I looked down at my hands.
Blood. Salty and red. Something was dropping spasmodically on the ground. Was it the rain or the filthy blood on my hands? My vision was too blurred to see clearly which it was. My head was spinning frenetically. Was this what I really wanted? Was this what he really deserved?
Feeling nauseated, I sprinted home as fast as I could. The rain was getting heavier, heavier, heavier. All of a sudden, the siren from a police car howled from behind.
As I was running, tears began to roll down from my eyes. I had never been so scared.
Diary entry of an attacker from Sally
Dear diary,
Today, I finally found the fat boy, after two months. The one that had bullied my poor brother two months ago, just to steal the little money that he had. The one that had injured my poor brother so severely, that he had to be sent to the hospital for a month and missed his school trip. The one that, nevertheless, escaped and never got caught by teachers, nor polices. Until today!!!
It all happened this morning. After eating breakfast, I pranced my way to school. Suddenly, I saw the boy. Obnoxious with an evil grin on his face, he treaded heavily along the street. A plethora of vindictive thoughts flowed through my mind, leaving me undetermined of what to do. A swift moment after, he was gone. Irritated at myself, I came around asking people about the boy, and eventually found out that his name was David. Yes, I thought to myself, so I know who you are now, be prepare to pay for the agony that you had given to my brother two months ago. During break time, I put an anonymous blackmail in his locker, in which told him to meet at the park nearby. It was the exact spot where my brother had been beaten and bruised brutally.
Lunch time came. Two more lessons passed. 1 hour. 10 minutes. Finally, the last bell of the day rang. I abruptly packed away my stuff and started sprinting to the park. He wasn’t there yet. I panted and gasped for air. My shirt was permeated with sweat. My heart was beating fast. Abruptly, I looked up, and saw his obese body approaching. He was holding the letter and looked around, confused yet cautiously, in search of me – the person who sent it. Then, he noticed me, and asked if I was the sender of the letter. I didn’t reply. My head was heating up with anger and hatred. My body was shaking, not with fear, but with antipathy and indignation. Without saying a word, I wanted to beat him up right away; but, he stopped me by telling that the rule of the universe had been known for many years: the big one beats up the smaller one. Then, he kept on insulting and showing contempt for my little brother. Therefore, I and my friend decided to teach him a lesson. I grabbed him on his collar and threw him onto the floor; then, I started to kick the over-weight boy all over his body. The boy put both his arms over his face defencelessly and soon a powerless and vulnerable expression appeared on his face. I kept on striking the boy and immediately after, I realised that some curious students had been watching the fight from the beginning. However, none decided to help the heavy, fat boy; because he had been very arrogant and merciless towards everybody.
Finally, he looked so pathetic just like a dog, which had been punished for being naughty and disobedient. I and other students left him there; crammed with dirt and mud and isolated on the ground.
Diary Entry-Perspective from Bystander
It was 6am in the morning and my alarm was going wild. Birds were singing outside the splintered window joyfully as the sky darkened. After I finished my breakfast and got dressed, I swung the bag onto my left shoulder gradually and stepped out of the house. I liked the piece and quiet in the early morning as usual but today something was different, it was too quiet and my instinct told me that something bad might take place. Anyhow I ignored my senses and continued down road, the journey to school is about 6 blocks and as always nothing interesting happened on the way until I reached Walnut Street.
From a dark corner at a close range, I saw Jenny and Lam walking slowly toward me, Jenny is alright but when I look at Lim’s eyes it was as if she was trying to make my brain explode with her evil glare. She was really mad at me these days because I sort of criticized her boyfriend, Pal too much. With no choices left to choose I promptly turned away and act like nothing happen and kept on following the path to school. I walked about another block when I steadily glanced over my right shoulder and JESUS CHRIST! She was still staring aggressively at me. I was left with no choice but sprint for my life away from that ‘Satan evil look’. I am way too young to die, I don’t even have a car yet!
The running stopped when I heard a familiar voice screamed and saw a group of students assembled across the street. I ran over and took a look. It was Charlie and Greg, they were beating up and poor defenseless kid. From another perspective where there were less bystander grounding the fight, unfortunately Pal face came to the light as the two bullies pounding on him repeatedly…
It was rather irritating from what I was seeing but how could I blame them when I was just looking and taking pictures as they were? If I left then, I’ll arrive at school early and force to meet the devils whose ran the school and that even worse than got beat like Pal, if I attempted to help them which I won’t then I’ll probably end up like him or even worse. Usually my consciences would gave advises for situation like this but this time they don’t , after long years of training they decided to take a step back for once and assumed I would make the right decision.
So I just stood there and watch…
It was 6am in the morning and my alarm was going wild. Birds were singing outside the splintered window joyfully as the sky darkened. After I finished my breakfast and got dressed, I swung the bag onto my left shoulder gradually and stepped out of the house. I liked the piece and quiet in the early morning as usual but today something was different, it was too quiet and my instinct told me that something bad might take place. Anyhow I ignored my senses and continued down road, the journey to school is about 6 blocks and as always nothing interesting happened on the way until I reached Walnut Street.
From a dark corner at a close range, I saw Jenny and Lam walking slowly toward me, Jenny is alright but when I look at Lim’s eyes it was as if she was trying to make my brain explode with her evil glare. She was really mad at me these days because I sort of criticized her boyfriend, Pal too much. With no choices left to choose I promptly turned away and act like nothing happen and kept on following the path to school. I walked about another block when I steadily glanced over my right shoulder and JESUS CHRIST! She was still staring aggressively at me. I was left with no choice but sprint for my life away from that ‘Satan evil look’. I am way too young to die, I don’t even have a car yet!
The running stopped when I heard a familiar voice screamed and saw a group of students assembled across the street. I ran over and took a look. It was Charlie and Greg, they were beating up and poor defenseless kid. From another perspective where there were less bystander grounding the fight, unfortunately Pal face came to the light as the two bullies pounding on him repeatedly…
It was rather irritating from what I was seeing but how could I blame them when I was just looking and taking pictures as they were? If I left then, I’ll arrive at school early and force to meet the devils whose ran the school and that even worse than got beat like Pal, if I attempted to help them which I won’t then I’ll probably end up like him or even worse. Usually my consciences would gave advises for situation like this but this time they don’t , after long years of training they decided to take a step back for once and assumed I would make the right decision.
So I just stood there and watch…
Perspective homework (final. Ignore the first one, that was really bad)
Every morning I wake up and I think the same thing. Damn, I’m still alive. I have realized over the past few years after I entered middle school that life is cruel. You never get what you want and everybody hates you. Whatever you do is never good enough for anyone and sometimes you just feel like dying. That’s how I feel every single stinking day. You might be wondering why I’m saying this. You might even be thinking that I’m such a pessimist. Well, let me tell you my story and maybe you might change your mind.
Ever since I was three, I’ve hated my dad. He was always out late getting drunk and clubbing. I always remember mum telling me and Jake to go to sleep while she waited up for dad. I would then be woken up in the middle of the night by dad barging in through the front door at about 2 in the morning. I would stand at the top of the stairs and listen to them fight. I was too young to understand what they were talking about and right now, I can’t remember anymore. I just remember the fights usually ended with something slamming and then I would sneak quietly back to the room Jake and I shared. I would wake up in the morning to find dad gone, again and mum with a bruise on her face.
Poof. 12 years later I’m 15 and dad is still the same jerk that he always was. Since I turned 10, he barely came home. When he did, he’d argue with mum for a while, hit her then take the money. That’s what he always comes back for, money. Not to see how we’re doing. Not to apologize to us for what he has done. For money. So that’s the background I come from. Since my mum always had to work to support us and Jake was in university overseas, I was usually left alone at home. I had no social life what so ever in school because I thought everyone was the same jerk that my father was. I didn’t talk to anyone in school. After a while, people didn’t even bother talking to me too. Sometimes, people would poke fun at me or call me names but I didn’t care. I stopped caring about 6 years ago.
That day was like any other day. I woke up, went to school. On the way home I saw Dylan and Sam walking by me. They were the school bullies, no one dared to go near them. They are the type of people who expect you to move out of the way when they walk by. Everyone was scared of them so they just avoided them. I, on the other hand did not really care. So what? They’re just boys who throw their size around to scare people off. I kept on walking. They didn’t look happy. When I walked past, whether it was an accident or not I bumped into them, but I kept on walking. 2 seconds later Dylan grabbed me by my collar and growled at me.
“Watch where you’re going.”
“You bumped into me not the other way round.”
That did it. Dylan pulled me towards him and breathed in my face.
“Do you want to die today?”
His breath stank, but I didn’t flinch. I think that got him mad because then he threw me to the floor. I wasn’t scared and that surprised me. Most people would be terrified and would run away as soon as they could. Dylan then reached into my pocket and took my wallet. Before he could withdraw his hand, I grabbed it. I must have grabbed it pretty hard because he had that surprised look on his face.
“Give it back...” was all I mumbled.
Dylan then used his other hand to punch me in the face. Then all hell broke loose. Sam soon joined Dylan to beat me up. The grip Dylan had on my wallet loosened and I snatched it back. They were still beating me up. I didn’t try to fight back. Not because I was scared that they might overpower me. I could easily take them because dad used to hit me when I was younger and I had to learn how to defend myself when he did since the cries of my mum weren't good enough. I just let them hit me for one reason only. I didn’t want to live anymore. I was thinking, hoping in fact that they would kill me. That my life sucked and that I would be better off dead. Mum would only have to work to support Jake and she would also have money to give to dad. Besides I was just one person. What did my life matter? Soon enough, everything went blurry and I blacked out.
I woke up lying on my bed. It took me a while to register my surroundings. I was upset that I wasn’t dead but glad that I was still alive. Someone must have called my mother and brought me back as my bruises were already yellow from the medicine that someone put on it. I tried to remember what happened. Dylan and Sam were beating me up because I stopped them from stealing my wallet... My wallet! I searched frantically in my pockets for my wallet but I couldn’t find it. Then I found it on my bedside table. Dylan was after the money in my wallet but that was not why I stopped him. I took it from beside me and opened it. In one of the pockets was a picture. In that picture was me when I was a year and a half old, dad when he wasn’t an alcoholic yet, Jake was still the goody two shoes he used to be and mum when she was relaxed and happy. The money in that wallet didn’t matter, only that picture. I don’t remember much but that picture tells me everything. That once upon a time, we were a family. A happy family. I’ve had this photo since I was 9. I always keep it with me because I hoped that one day, we could be like that again. I still do. Like always, tears rolled down my cheek...
Ever since I was three, I’ve hated my dad. He was always out late getting drunk and clubbing. I always remember mum telling me and Jake to go to sleep while she waited up for dad. I would then be woken up in the middle of the night by dad barging in through the front door at about 2 in the morning. I would stand at the top of the stairs and listen to them fight. I was too young to understand what they were talking about and right now, I can’t remember anymore. I just remember the fights usually ended with something slamming and then I would sneak quietly back to the room Jake and I shared. I would wake up in the morning to find dad gone, again and mum with a bruise on her face.
Poof. 12 years later I’m 15 and dad is still the same jerk that he always was. Since I turned 10, he barely came home. When he did, he’d argue with mum for a while, hit her then take the money. That’s what he always comes back for, money. Not to see how we’re doing. Not to apologize to us for what he has done. For money. So that’s the background I come from. Since my mum always had to work to support us and Jake was in university overseas, I was usually left alone at home. I had no social life what so ever in school because I thought everyone was the same jerk that my father was. I didn’t talk to anyone in school. After a while, people didn’t even bother talking to me too. Sometimes, people would poke fun at me or call me names but I didn’t care. I stopped caring about 6 years ago.
That day was like any other day. I woke up, went to school. On the way home I saw Dylan and Sam walking by me. They were the school bullies, no one dared to go near them. They are the type of people who expect you to move out of the way when they walk by. Everyone was scared of them so they just avoided them. I, on the other hand did not really care. So what? They’re just boys who throw their size around to scare people off. I kept on walking. They didn’t look happy. When I walked past, whether it was an accident or not I bumped into them, but I kept on walking. 2 seconds later Dylan grabbed me by my collar and growled at me.
“Watch where you’re going.”
“You bumped into me not the other way round.”
That did it. Dylan pulled me towards him and breathed in my face.
“Do you want to die today?”
His breath stank, but I didn’t flinch. I think that got him mad because then he threw me to the floor. I wasn’t scared and that surprised me. Most people would be terrified and would run away as soon as they could. Dylan then reached into my pocket and took my wallet. Before he could withdraw his hand, I grabbed it. I must have grabbed it pretty hard because he had that surprised look on his face.
“Give it back...” was all I mumbled.
Dylan then used his other hand to punch me in the face. Then all hell broke loose. Sam soon joined Dylan to beat me up. The grip Dylan had on my wallet loosened and I snatched it back. They were still beating me up. I didn’t try to fight back. Not because I was scared that they might overpower me. I could easily take them because dad used to hit me when I was younger and I had to learn how to defend myself when he did since the cries of my mum weren't good enough. I just let them hit me for one reason only. I didn’t want to live anymore. I was thinking, hoping in fact that they would kill me. That my life sucked and that I would be better off dead. Mum would only have to work to support Jake and she would also have money to give to dad. Besides I was just one person. What did my life matter? Soon enough, everything went blurry and I blacked out.
I woke up lying on my bed. It took me a while to register my surroundings. I was upset that I wasn’t dead but glad that I was still alive. Someone must have called my mother and brought me back as my bruises were already yellow from the medicine that someone put on it. I tried to remember what happened. Dylan and Sam were beating me up because I stopped them from stealing my wallet... My wallet! I searched frantically in my pockets for my wallet but I couldn’t find it. Then I found it on my bedside table. Dylan was after the money in my wallet but that was not why I stopped him. I took it from beside me and opened it. In one of the pockets was a picture. In that picture was me when I was a year and a half old, dad when he wasn’t an alcoholic yet, Jake was still the goody two shoes he used to be and mum when she was relaxed and happy. The money in that wallet didn’t matter, only that picture. I don’t remember much but that picture tells me everything. That once upon a time, we were a family. A happy family. I’ve had this photo since I was 9. I always keep it with me because I hoped that one day, we could be like that again. I still do. Like always, tears rolled down my cheek...
Perspective Homework
Today i was abruptly woken up by my loud alarm clock and what made it even worse was that it was 5 minutes before school started. As you can see i am a person who is a heavy sleeper, lazy, and very fierce. I have only friends that are just like me. I an my friends are the only type of people were we get everything our way. All my classmates are all either nerds or geeks who are always into computers. I am the scariest person in school everyone is so scared of me that even before i even touch them as i approach them they bribe me with quite a reasonable amount of cash.
Today, I actually felt like beating up a person and get money. I figured that this idea is the best and quickest way to earn some money to by some stuff. Guess what today i managed to beat up this boy who was a nerd that was rich so I and my friends went to him.
This is my story:
After school as I came a cross a busy street full of children I saw this boy who looked quite rich with a lot of trendy items. I suddenly told my friends to tell them that that boy can help us pay for our lunch for the next three weeks so... I decided that we beat him up and get the money. My friends all agreed and so we approached him and used a trick to take him to an isolated area and beat him up. It was as easy as bending a paper. Before we even touched him he gave us money, actually he gave us even more than we expected. We soon left him with a cheap shot down under. He screamed in pain as we ran away as quickly as a cheetah.
As i walked home I suddenly felt a very strange feeling a very strange feeling indeed. I felt this feeling called guilt. I have never felt like that before. As I approached home I thinked about it. I thought it very carefully. As i was doing my homework, i suddenly felt tingles down my spine. I suddenly looked back to what i did. I felt guilty??? I don't know why? I felt so bad . I feel like i want to return that money and turn over a new leaf. I was too concerned as about my friends as i was known as the scariest person in school and then suddenly in a flash becomes a good person and give the money back. I felt very strange and confused.
We got to find out sooner or later we will wait and see. till tomorrow.
Today, I actually felt like beating up a person and get money. I figured that this idea is the best and quickest way to earn some money to by some stuff. Guess what today i managed to beat up this boy who was a nerd that was rich so I and my friends went to him.
This is my story:
After school as I came a cross a busy street full of children I saw this boy who looked quite rich with a lot of trendy items. I suddenly told my friends to tell them that that boy can help us pay for our lunch for the next three weeks so... I decided that we beat him up and get the money. My friends all agreed and so we approached him and used a trick to take him to an isolated area and beat him up. It was as easy as bending a paper. Before we even touched him he gave us money, actually he gave us even more than we expected. We soon left him with a cheap shot down under. He screamed in pain as we ran away as quickly as a cheetah.
As i walked home I suddenly felt a very strange feeling a very strange feeling indeed. I felt this feeling called guilt. I have never felt like that before. As I approached home I thinked about it. I thought it very carefully. As i was doing my homework, i suddenly felt tingles down my spine. I suddenly looked back to what i did. I felt guilty??? I don't know why? I felt so bad . I feel like i want to return that money and turn over a new leaf. I was too concerned as about my friends as i was known as the scariest person in school and then suddenly in a flash becomes a good person and give the money back. I felt very strange and confused.
We got to find out sooner or later we will wait and see. till tomorrow.
Diary entry thing- perspective from a Bystander
I remembered how ordinary today was. We had assembly, our normal subjects and then as you know it home time. I usually walk home with friends living in my apartment. As I was walking home, I heard a cry and the sound of a body being slammed on the ground. I looked around the park, Bob pointed somewhere to my right and shouted "Over here!" We ran towards the sound and saw a boy in our year getting beaten up by two unfamiliar students roughly about the same age. They were, however, much bulkier and bigger than the helpless boy.
I stared and thought, is that what people do nowadays? I could see Bob looking excited and almost eager but Frank's face was the opposite, he looked appalled and disgusted at the fight. Well, 2 on 1 assault. I was shocked at first but it soon slowly turned to confusion. Bob shouted out "What are you fighting about?"
The bullies completely ignored him and carried on pounding the poor kid. Frank called "Let's get out of here... they're just a bunch of ******s." Frank obviously had enough. On the other hand Bob told me "If you stay with me I'll buy you a coke!" And so I stayed.
I stared and thought, is that what people do nowadays? I could see Bob looking excited and almost eager but Frank's face was the opposite, he looked appalled and disgusted at the fight. Well, 2 on 1 assault. I was shocked at first but it soon slowly turned to confusion. Bob shouted out "What are you fighting about?"
The bullies completely ignored him and carried on pounding the poor kid. Frank called "Let's get out of here... they're just a bunch of ******s." Frank obviously had enough. On the other hand Bob told me "If you stay with me I'll buy you a coke!" And so I stayed.
Diary Entry-Bystander Perspective
Dear Diary,
Today I have to go to school, the most useless school ever, St. Carlos. Today was Friday, the last day of school of the week. Today was still the same. Today we would always get a load of garbage homework. Today I have listen to our boring teachers. It was suppose to be the other way round! Get a load of homework during weekdays, not weekends; I can’t have some fun time during the most days where I could just sleep all day and care nothing about the world but my sleep. I wanted to get away from here, and from this boring place I have to live with until I get a job. Forty boring minutes left of Geography until I could get out of this prison of learning. I mean, I already know all about this subject, and Mrs Jackson retain on repeating the same lesson over and over again.
The bell rang when I was about to have my good sleep in my desk. What a great start of freedom. I was making my way down to my locker, grabbing all of my stuff in; I heard laughter’s and chattering down the corridors, I was curious what was happening, students were surrounding a certain locker, and in the middle of that circle was Brad, Steven and James. James was waving the paper back and a forward forcing it’s way to Brad’s face. He was babbling about how he got an F on his English essay. Well it wasn’t actually his essay, it was Brad’s and James just took it from him in the morning. Steven was just defending Brad, his only pal in the school.
Steven punched James in the face and they both ran, ran away from James, few second later James stood up and sprinted to Brad and Steven. All of the crowds were just following; they were excited to know what’s actually going to happen next. Some of them didn’t care and just went home to do their homework or they have this stupid party, whereas I just want to try and help those two guys. They stop opposite a house, Steven’s house, and few houses away from mine. And in the circle I could see Steven and Brad punching and kicking James, you just can’t blame those two, they were just defending themselves. But Steven and Brad’s doing were just to gruesome, blood coming out from James’ mouth.
Steven’s mother eventually came and went crazy, she got scared and didn’t know what to do, few minutes later she went back to reality, she pulled Steven and Brad away to the house, and I could just hear Mrs. Stuart from the house, her voice was loud and terrifying, I feel sorry for those two guys. I stayed there until James could actually stand up and he didn’t say a word, he just walked off. Ignoring the people surrounding him. We were just to alarm to go near him, everyone was, and he was too muscular, too strong for us.
I couldn't really believe what happened today. I couldn't believe that the two most innocent kids in our school would do something ridiculous. I couldn't believe that Brad and Steven would beat up the strongest guy in our school. I couldn't believe they actually beat James up. This is very different from our everyday lives. Watching Brad and Steven actually fighting was shocking.
Dear diary
today was just like any other day beautiful sunny sunshine. i was walking over to school with my friend tom and that everyone was scared of us because people called us the bone crushers I'll explain that later on in the story. So me and tom were just walking to school when meet this new kid called James on the way to school and started to push him around which seemed really funny. when we reached school we see the new kid talking to my girlfriend i hated that so tom and i went over to the new kid and grab him by the shirt then throw him in to the trash can. during lunch my favourite snack which was blue berry cake i ran to get it and out of the blue the new kid James jumps out and grads it from the tray then that really triggered my anger and all i did was punch him and take thee blue berry cake from his hand. After school i see James talking to my girl friend again so i matter in to it own hand tom and i walked over to him threw him to the ground. tom held him hands and all i had to do was punch him till he started to bleed, allot of other kids came and watched us beat up this new kid we even hand one of the teacher betting money on the fight. it took us about it took me about 15 pushes to the face just to make him bleed and 23 punches to the belly to to bruise him, he was quite a fat kid. if you punched him to the belly you hand would just fly back to you and his belly would just wobble. After the fight we decided to throw him into the trash can again and we never saw that new kid ever again.
Perspective homework
Dear Diary,
Today, I witnessed a fight. Well, I wouldn’t call it a fight since Ben wasn’t even given a chance to fight back. I was walking home with Jenny like I did everyday. When we were 5 blocks away from my house, we saw Charlie and Greg beating Ben. At first, they were just crouched over Ben who was lying on the floor so I thought Ben was in trouble and the were trying to help. As I looked closer, I realized that Ben was being beat up by Charlie and Greg. It wasn’t fair at all. Charlie and Greg were bigger and Charlie was captain of the football team. Poor Ben was being trashed. I had only been standing there for about a minute but I could already see bruises. I stood rooted to the ground, horrified. Charlie and Greg had no reason to beast up Ben. He hadn’t done anything bad to them or hurt them. I glanced at Jenny, she had mirrored my expression exactly. She had the same horrified and shocked looked that I had. Charlie and Greg were just hitting him, as if he was a toy. They were such jerks to beat up Ben. Soon, Jenny intervened. She stopped Charlie and Greg as I helped Ben to his feet. I asked him if he was okay and he just shrugged. When I looked up, Charlie and Greg were gone and Jenny was standing beside me. There were other people just watching us, but none of them even bothered to see if Ben was all right. Right now, as I think back, I wonder why I didn’t stop the fight. Was it because I was too scared? Or was it because I didn’t want to be in any part of it? I feel so disgusted by what I did. Or what I didn’t do. I could’ve helped him. I should’ve helped him. But I didn’t.
Analysis of Lamb to the Slaughter
In Roald Dahl’s Short story “Lamb to the Slaughter,” set in the early twentieth century, a murder is brewing. It is not a typical murder. As the detectives strive for answers, not realizing what they are eating, Dahl communicates to the reader that the contrast is unexpected.Dahl begins his narrative in third person participant, limited omniscient point of view. A house wife is expecting her husband home, but unaware of the news yet to come. Rather than stating this directly, Dahl subtly suggests it by expressing Mary’s personality. “The drop of a head as she bent over her sewing was curiously tranquil.” As the author goes on the reader senses a tense mood between husband and wife. This serves the purpose of foreshadowing by hinting at a future problem or disagreement.
Roald Dahl makes us as readers connect with Mary by us knowing that the detectives have eaten the murder weapon and now have no way of ever finding out what killed Patrick Maloney. The ability to get away with murder throughout the story indicates that Mary was comfortable killing her husband and then proceeding to lie about the murder to the police.As they ate the lamb the detectives discussed the murder mystery. At this point the mood is quite bewildered. The detectives have no leads on the case. They are baffled.
That is a short excerpt of the analysis I found, and I would like for people to comment on how the story could have ended, not just in the way of Mary getting away with her crime.
Roald Dahl makes us as readers connect with Mary by us knowing that the detectives have eaten the murder weapon and now have no way of ever finding out what killed Patrick Maloney. The ability to get away with murder throughout the story indicates that Mary was comfortable killing her husband and then proceeding to lie about the murder to the police.As they ate the lamb the detectives discussed the murder mystery. At this point the mood is quite bewildered. The detectives have no leads on the case. They are baffled.
That is a short excerpt of the analysis I found, and I would like for people to comment on how the story could have ended, not just in the way of Mary getting away with her crime.
Perspective diary entries
I woke up, earlier than usual, so excited, this is the moment i was waiting for. Today I will start a new life, being in a new school environment, and meeting new friends. I didn't have friends in the other school, except for "Big Bob", but we didn't talk much. When my mom decided to leave this small town and i would be transfered to another school, I was hoping that I could make something different.
The teacher introduced me to the class, but seemed like no one was axtually listening to what she said. I sat next to Dylan, who was talking to the other boys behind. I took a breath, smiled brightly and said hello to him. But he ignored me and kept talking to others. I felt quite depressing, it was not a good start at all. At lunch time, I walked down to the canteen and saw Dylan. Once again, i smiled and asked him if i could sit next to him. He agreed immediatly. But then he turned back and saw me, he said no, the table was fulled. I was schocked a little. I sat in an emty table, lonely, I didn't touch my lunch.
At the end of school, i decided to walk home and went to the supermarket on the sane occasion. On my way, i saw Dylan who was with two senior boys. He seemed so confused, and scared. It looked like the two senior boys were teasing him by tooking Dylan's book. I thought this will be a great chance for me to show that I'm a good friend to Dylan. I shouted :"Stop!", they looked at me suprisingly. I took one more step and began to say that this was not a good thing to do, i wanted them to return Dylan's book. They grinned and said :" Who do you think you are? Teacher? You don't have the right to say that to us". I swallowed, and continuea that if they continued I will tell the teachers. They looked angrily at me, threw the book to Dylan and approached me. One of them pushed me to the ground, and the other kept kicking me. I couldn't do anything beside covering my face. I shouted for help, i expected the bystanders and also Dylan to help me. But they ignored me. I understood this really well. I looked at Dylan, looked at him straight in the eyes, but he ran away, like he didn't know a single thing. A teacher walked by, Oh my last and only hope, it felt like i have found the faint light at the end of the road. One of the seniors whispered in my ear, chuckled
: "You got lucky this time, kid"
He pushed me down, flicked off dust from his hands, and they disappeard.
I can't hardly move my body.
...
I returned home. My mom was standing in front of the door, cheerfully, but when she saw the bruises, she began to asked what happened, i tiredly smiled to her and said that i clumsily fell off the stairs. She asked how was my first day, I lied
:" It was fine mom", and went to my room. I laid on my bed, sighed, looked blankly at the ceiling.Why do i have to suffer from the same situation again? I can't stand it anymore. I should have died. Yes, I should have disappeard from this world.
Mom knocked the door and opened it :" Are you ok dear?"
I pretended to sleep. She looked at me and sighed, she left.
Probably she knew what happened to me. I thought about it, if i died, who will stay beside mom. No one. No, i can't died. There should be some hopes for me. I must live on, do not let my dearest mom down.
The teacher introduced me to the class, but seemed like no one was axtually listening to what she said. I sat next to Dylan, who was talking to the other boys behind. I took a breath, smiled brightly and said hello to him. But he ignored me and kept talking to others. I felt quite depressing, it was not a good start at all. At lunch time, I walked down to the canteen and saw Dylan. Once again, i smiled and asked him if i could sit next to him. He agreed immediatly. But then he turned back and saw me, he said no, the table was fulled. I was schocked a little. I sat in an emty table, lonely, I didn't touch my lunch.
At the end of school, i decided to walk home and went to the supermarket on the sane occasion. On my way, i saw Dylan who was with two senior boys. He seemed so confused, and scared. It looked like the two senior boys were teasing him by tooking Dylan's book. I thought this will be a great chance for me to show that I'm a good friend to Dylan. I shouted :"Stop!", they looked at me suprisingly. I took one more step and began to say that this was not a good thing to do, i wanted them to return Dylan's book. They grinned and said :" Who do you think you are? Teacher? You don't have the right to say that to us". I swallowed, and continuea that if they continued I will tell the teachers. They looked angrily at me, threw the book to Dylan and approached me. One of them pushed me to the ground, and the other kept kicking me. I couldn't do anything beside covering my face. I shouted for help, i expected the bystanders and also Dylan to help me. But they ignored me. I understood this really well. I looked at Dylan, looked at him straight in the eyes, but he ran away, like he didn't know a single thing. A teacher walked by, Oh my last and only hope, it felt like i have found the faint light at the end of the road. One of the seniors whispered in my ear, chuckled
: "You got lucky this time, kid"
He pushed me down, flicked off dust from his hands, and they disappeard.
I can't hardly move my body.
...
I returned home. My mom was standing in front of the door, cheerfully, but when she saw the bruises, she began to asked what happened, i tiredly smiled to her and said that i clumsily fell off the stairs. She asked how was my first day, I lied
:" It was fine mom", and went to my room. I laid on my bed, sighed, looked blankly at the ceiling.Why do i have to suffer from the same situation again? I can't stand it anymore. I should have died. Yes, I should have disappeard from this world.
Mom knocked the door and opened it :" Are you ok dear?"
I pretended to sleep. She looked at me and sighed, she left.
Probably she knew what happened to me. I thought about it, if i died, who will stay beside mom. No one. No, i can't died. There should be some hopes for me. I must live on, do not let my dearest mom down.
Bud's Diary Entry. By: Arisa Morgan
February 1st, 2010.
Yet another day passes in this god-forsaken hole. I've finally taken to hanging around the local colleges, watching people who have their lives planned out ahead of them, young and bright, filled to the brim with hope. This is not a word that you would often hear out of my lips, hope is not a feeling that I have experienced in decades, possibly my whole life. I can't conjure up a memory of ever having felt it, my recollections can be foggy sometimes. My name, Bud, is the first half of the beer brand Budweiser, split between me and my twin brother by our crazed alcoholic of a father. What is my brother's name? You guessed it, Weiser, known as Wei to anyone who actually dares to befriend him. My brother and I are not the type of people you would see fit to linger around for too long. For one thing, we have followed good ole dad in his footsteps, speeding to the bar every night for a 'quick' drink. This usually ends up with us passing out on the countertop and waking up at the crack of dawn to find an assortment of beer mugs on the marble. The booze would always be Budweiser, cracking us up every time we took a swig.
As you read, you are probably wondering how this drunken moron could even be bothered to pick up a pen, let alone jot down some thoughts with it, and this also puzzles me to a degree. I guess I just need to vent out all of the steam that's been building up ever since Dad threw us out of the house, when Mom decided she couldn't put up with three out of control men who stumbled in day after day looking for a. way out of their lives. At least she wasn't around long enough to see what we became: violent men with blood shot eyes and a thirst for pain roaming around, attacking any helpless victims that were sighted. That reminds me of the latest prey today ...
I had decided to allow myself a treat, stopping on the corner of the road and buying a vanilla swirl. Settling down as comfortably as any modern park bench allowed, I proceeded to gawk at the college students streaming out of the brick building. Out of nowhere, I heard a holler nearby and suddenly found myself staring into a bright mess of white. Growing enraged at whoever had deliberately pushed my face into the ice cream, I whirled around to face Wei, a sinister smile plastered across his face and bony hand pointing towards a freshman in a wheelchair. I wiped my face and surveyed him up and down, weighing the odds of tipping him, and chose to go through with it.
We slowly made our way over to the poor kid, who eventually spotted us advancing on him and poised his hands over the wheelchair's rings, ready to make an escape. He was too slow. The chair teetered on the brink of the gravel path, and crashed to the ground, emitting a sound loud enough to turn a number of heads and lying awry on its side like a dead animal. This is how we spend our time, releasing our pent-up anger on others, similar to deflating balloons that were about to pop.
We patiently waited for the crowd to thin out, leaving a few bystanders gazing in awe at the scene that was about to unfold before them. I challenged them with my gaze, and when there was a neutral response, I turned around and scanned the victim. He stared up at Wei and I with a hostile expression, fear mingling in the bright eyes, now alert. In my head, a plan was forming: a few clips to the face and groin would suffice, with the aid of Wei holding him down. Before carrying out the actions, though, I lean down and whisper in his ear:.
"You're dead to me, Dad.".
He stares, puzzled, but all too soon loses focus as the first punch lands squarely on his nose. My entire plan was carried out accordingly, and we left the cripple gasping for breath on the gravel path, a trickle of blood leading down his ruined face. I did not look back at the aftermath, but bought another ice cream cone to make up for the lost one.
Who knows, maybe next time we will be brave enough to confront the one person who inspired us to inflict our own pain on others. Maybe one day, hope will push us through to him.
Bud Wesley.
Yet another day passes in this god-forsaken hole. I've finally taken to hanging around the local colleges, watching people who have their lives planned out ahead of them, young and bright, filled to the brim with hope. This is not a word that you would often hear out of my lips, hope is not a feeling that I have experienced in decades, possibly my whole life. I can't conjure up a memory of ever having felt it, my recollections can be foggy sometimes. My name, Bud, is the first half of the beer brand Budweiser, split between me and my twin brother by our crazed alcoholic of a father. What is my brother's name? You guessed it, Weiser, known as Wei to anyone who actually dares to befriend him. My brother and I are not the type of people you would see fit to linger around for too long. For one thing, we have followed good ole dad in his footsteps, speeding to the bar every night for a 'quick' drink. This usually ends up with us passing out on the countertop and waking up at the crack of dawn to find an assortment of beer mugs on the marble. The booze would always be Budweiser, cracking us up every time we took a swig.
As you read, you are probably wondering how this drunken moron could even be bothered to pick up a pen, let alone jot down some thoughts with it, and this also puzzles me to a degree. I guess I just need to vent out all of the steam that's been building up ever since Dad threw us out of the house, when Mom decided she couldn't put up with three out of control men who stumbled in day after day looking for a. way out of their lives. At least she wasn't around long enough to see what we became: violent men with blood shot eyes and a thirst for pain roaming around, attacking any helpless victims that were sighted. That reminds me of the latest prey today ...
I had decided to allow myself a treat, stopping on the corner of the road and buying a vanilla swirl. Settling down as comfortably as any modern park bench allowed, I proceeded to gawk at the college students streaming out of the brick building. Out of nowhere, I heard a holler nearby and suddenly found myself staring into a bright mess of white. Growing enraged at whoever had deliberately pushed my face into the ice cream, I whirled around to face Wei, a sinister smile plastered across his face and bony hand pointing towards a freshman in a wheelchair. I wiped my face and surveyed him up and down, weighing the odds of tipping him, and chose to go through with it.
We slowly made our way over to the poor kid, who eventually spotted us advancing on him and poised his hands over the wheelchair's rings, ready to make an escape. He was too slow. The chair teetered on the brink of the gravel path, and crashed to the ground, emitting a sound loud enough to turn a number of heads and lying awry on its side like a dead animal. This is how we spend our time, releasing our pent-up anger on others, similar to deflating balloons that were about to pop.
We patiently waited for the crowd to thin out, leaving a few bystanders gazing in awe at the scene that was about to unfold before them. I challenged them with my gaze, and when there was a neutral response, I turned around and scanned the victim. He stared up at Wei and I with a hostile expression, fear mingling in the bright eyes, now alert. In my head, a plan was forming: a few clips to the face and groin would suffice, with the aid of Wei holding him down. Before carrying out the actions, though, I lean down and whisper in his ear:.
"You're dead to me, Dad.".
He stares, puzzled, but all too soon loses focus as the first punch lands squarely on his nose. My entire plan was carried out accordingly, and we left the cripple gasping for breath on the gravel path, a trickle of blood leading down his ruined face. I did not look back at the aftermath, but bought another ice cream cone to make up for the lost one.
Who knows, maybe next time we will be brave enough to confront the one person who inspired us to inflict our own pain on others. Maybe one day, hope will push us through to him.
Bud Wesley.
Wednesday 12 February 1982
Today, nothing new happened, it was like every other day of every other week, at St. John’s middle school, i was bulied. Its like my life is based on a routine. I hate it.
I woke up in my small grey room, alone and depressed. My mum was still asleep and my dad was away again on one of his so called “business trip.” I had a glass of water and sulked out of the door. I got to school late, as usual and sat at the back of the class.
School was ok, got 10 out of 10 in the pop quiz and everyone called me a nerd, they usually do. O didn’t really eat today, people call me fat so im trying to go on a diet.
At the end of school, I set out for a long walk home. After walking about 200 meters I ran into the school bullies, Brock and Sean, the meanest and most selfish in the whole school. They were both beating another boy up and was bout to steal his wallet. They both stopped at the first sight of me. I knew at that moment that they were going to do what they just did to the little boy, to me. I looked up the road and saw a walking bus from one of our schools 300 meters and thought if I ran there fast enough and joined the walking bus,, Brock and Sean wouldn’t come after me. I slowly started to take a few small steps back keeping my eyes on the bullies but cautiously looked behind me to make sure I didn’t trip. As soon as Sean moved towards me, and turned around and sprinted as fast as i could. Within seconds i could feel my legs getting numb and the footsteps of the bullies getting louder and louder. I knew if i ran any further i would get an asthma attack, so i decided to take the risk and slow down a bit. It was a very bad mistake. Brock and Sean pushed me to the ground face first, and started shouting, “this is what you get for running away!” They kicked me, they punched me, they stepped on me. My whole body was screaming in pain, and tears started to violently rush out my eyes. I was screaming in pain and shouting out the same word over and over again, “HELP!” But nobody did, i lay there getting beaten up, and soon watched as the walking bus, my only hope, just ignore me. Brock and Sean were busy looking through my bag, laughing away. I remember the boys walking by like nothing was happening and the girls chuckled, some of them even took photos. Brock and Sean soon sprinted away with my wallets after giving me one last kick in the face. It was getting dark, but still my body was in too much pain to move, it was excruciating.
Keep away!
Feb 27th 2007
Wake up in the morning hearing the alarm ramming inside my ears. Drag myself to the bathroom, taking a look at the mirror. Bald patches torn in my hair, black eyes, loss of a front tooth, pale skin with scratches everywhere. I still looked fine as usual, actually i was even glad that i had not had an opportunity to say goodbye to my jaw and all of its accessories.
I hurried to school. Same old place, same old faces. I was getting bored and tired of this decrepit school. I sat in class but couldn't focus on the lessons. My sore back was whining and those pipo were laughing at my eyes which swelled up as big as those of squids because i spent endless nights sleepless crying my heart out and getting scared of going to school the next day when i thought of my impending doom.
Bell rang. Sighed. Bell rang. Sighed. Bell rang, again. Yay! End of morning.
After school, there was no clubs so i walked home. Only the street, the pavement, the trees and me, so peaceful that i started singing to myself. Lalalalala...sounded like the birds chirping and tweeting, maybe pipo would think me mad - i thought and chuckled at myself. Then i met this kid from my school, he seemed to be about 2 years younger than me. I gave him a hey. He said hi back and a how-are-you. I just beat around a bush. Just then he came up with my well-known cowarded and miserable school life. And he teased me and he laughed at me. I was his senior, how dare him?! I thought he was nice, but i was wrong. He pissed me off. End of convo. I grabbed his head and smacked it against my knee. I squeezed his neck. I punched him constantly. I kicked his back. I beat his nose. I screamed into his ears. I stretched his mouth to the maximum size possible.
I was done. He was there lying on the pavement. Pipo were standing around watching and gossiping. Just then i realized what i just did. Oh no! I was surprised, panic and agitated. Oh no! Pipo called me names. But i was used to it. I got picked on and beaten up. But i was used to it. I changed my color like a chameleon, from black to blue-black, then to red, then to pale green. But i was used to it. But look at this kid, all he did was just a minor thing, he just told what he saw and heard, and i made him like this. I was crying and face-palming. I didn't know what to do next. I couldn't brain. I was such a fool. I was a joke. I was a loser with nowhere to go. A bullied who bullies.
Perspective Diary Entry
I finished my breakfast and stepped out of my front door. It was a bright morning, just like every other day. With my bag on my back and everything ready to go, I stepped down the rusted stairs. On my way to school, there's a park and three blocks that I would have to walk pass.
Usually, I would walk through the park, enjoying its beautiful vista with green trees and blooming flowers, but today, I've decided to take the route around it instead and what I saw was over the edge.
What would you think if you see two people beating up a kid and an un-reacting group of bystander? You'd be like me, scared and petrified and definitely afraid that they are going to victimise you next. So what do you do? You'd stand by and just watch.
I did stand by and watch.
However, what happened after everyone left was horrible. I continued my walk to school but inside, I recognise a strange feeling. I've joined the crowd because I was curious but I couldn't back away because it was strangely intriguing. And then, I realized what I've been feeling all along; it was guilt.
Guilt was a harsh feeling. As I walk, I blamed myself for just watching, for not being able to do anything. For all we know, I could have pulled the target out, told the bullies to stop and protected him. However, I didn't.
Suddenly, I felt the urge to punish the bullies as I know them and as they go to my school. I planned everything out perfectly, thinking that I would just simply stick to it. It wasn't perfect, but I would be out of trouble for sure.
At lunch, when the bell rang, students poured out of classrooms as if they are being freed from prison. There was chit-chatting everywhere. There were kids trying to get to their lunch. There were kids trying to cut through the line and kids trying to get through the crowd. I was standing outside of the bullies' classroom, waiting patiently for him. He finally banged the door open and glanced at me with his bullet eyes. He might have remembered me as one of those bystanders.
And somehow, with my anger, provoked by his stare, I came up to him. Abruptly and unaware of what I was doing, I took all of my strength and aimed for his nose.
There was blood everywhere.
I saw red on my hands, my fingers and the ground.
I still didn't realize what I just did.
The boy was on the floor, barely conscious. I heard calls and voices and I detected people gathering around me and his motionless body. Then I perceived the sound of the siren, the police and the ambulance were called.
This was not my plan.
There are no park and three blocks for me to run back now.
Usually, I would walk through the park, enjoying its beautiful vista with green trees and blooming flowers, but today, I've decided to take the route around it instead and what I saw was over the edge.
What would you think if you see two people beating up a kid and an un-reacting group of bystander? You'd be like me, scared and petrified and definitely afraid that they are going to victimise you next. So what do you do? You'd stand by and just watch.
I did stand by and watch.
However, what happened after everyone left was horrible. I continued my walk to school but inside, I recognise a strange feeling. I've joined the crowd because I was curious but I couldn't back away because it was strangely intriguing. And then, I realized what I've been feeling all along; it was guilt.
Guilt was a harsh feeling. As I walk, I blamed myself for just watching, for not being able to do anything. For all we know, I could have pulled the target out, told the bullies to stop and protected him. However, I didn't.
Suddenly, I felt the urge to punish the bullies as I know them and as they go to my school. I planned everything out perfectly, thinking that I would just simply stick to it. It wasn't perfect, but I would be out of trouble for sure.
At lunch, when the bell rang, students poured out of classrooms as if they are being freed from prison. There was chit-chatting everywhere. There were kids trying to get to their lunch. There were kids trying to cut through the line and kids trying to get through the crowd. I was standing outside of the bullies' classroom, waiting patiently for him. He finally banged the door open and glanced at me with his bullet eyes. He might have remembered me as one of those bystanders.
And somehow, with my anger, provoked by his stare, I came up to him. Abruptly and unaware of what I was doing, I took all of my strength and aimed for his nose.
There was blood everywhere.
I saw red on my hands, my fingers and the ground.
I still didn't realize what I just did.
The boy was on the floor, barely conscious. I heard calls and voices and I detected people gathering around me and his motionless body. Then I perceived the sound of the siren, the police and the ambulance were called.
This was not my plan.
There are no park and three blocks for me to run back now.
Perspective Diary Entry by Han Jae Ho
My diary entry in the perspective of the attackers
One day I was going to my home with my friend to play new PSP game that my friend got from the illegal web site. I and my friend was really waiting forward to play that game and we really didn’t wanted to be disturbed through the way to our dream. As soon as the school ends, we ran to my friend’s house like a running dog. While we were running through the usual street filled with hundreds of students from the school, there was a guy who looked so fat and had a face looked like saying, ‘I have a psychotic disease’, suddenly stopped us from running told us to give him some money. But I thought that he didn’t seem to know that I and my friend are really good at fighting and we often smoke and drink alcohols. We were famous for beating up students for money and also for our joy. No one in our year ever dared to pick on a fight with us. We were really angry as we really wanted to play the new game. We told him to move away, but then he punched my friend in his face and swore to us for a minute. We were so angry that he swore to us and stopped us from playing the new game. Also we wanted to beat up someone, so we decided to bully him for a while before going to my friend’s house. As soon as my friend stood up from the ground, we ran into that guy who punched my friend. We punched him and beat him up like when we usually beat up some primary students to take money from them. Every time I punched into his face, I felt happiness inside me, and every time I made a new bruise in his face, I felt I did something great to the corruption of my school. Every time he coughed up blood I wanted to beat him more and more. After about 20 minutes, I and my friend used all our power and decided to take him to the darker side of the streets. We dragged him to the darker side of the streets and took his all money, about 300000 Vietnam dongs, and also his notebooks because he seemed to study well, so we decided to take his notebooks so that he cannot revise for the test. As we proceed on this process, lots of students who were watching us looked at us with the eyes of respect and inspiration.
Some Vietnamese people turned on the weird advertising radio or singing radio so loud that I could hear them clearly in my room even though I closed all the doors and windows in my house. I don't think this diary entry is good. Most importantly, I really hate Communism more than anything in the whole universe.
One day I was going to my home with my friend to play new PSP game that my friend got from the illegal web site. I and my friend was really waiting forward to play that game and we really didn’t wanted to be disturbed through the way to our dream. As soon as the school ends, we ran to my friend’s house like a running dog. While we were running through the usual street filled with hundreds of students from the school, there was a guy who looked so fat and had a face looked like saying, ‘I have a psychotic disease’, suddenly stopped us from running told us to give him some money. But I thought that he didn’t seem to know that I and my friend are really good at fighting and we often smoke and drink alcohols. We were famous for beating up students for money and also for our joy. No one in our year ever dared to pick on a fight with us. We were really angry as we really wanted to play the new game. We told him to move away, but then he punched my friend in his face and swore to us for a minute. We were so angry that he swore to us and stopped us from playing the new game. Also we wanted to beat up someone, so we decided to bully him for a while before going to my friend’s house. As soon as my friend stood up from the ground, we ran into that guy who punched my friend. We punched him and beat him up like when we usually beat up some primary students to take money from them. Every time I punched into his face, I felt happiness inside me, and every time I made a new bruise in his face, I felt I did something great to the corruption of my school. Every time he coughed up blood I wanted to beat him more and more. After about 20 minutes, I and my friend used all our power and decided to take him to the darker side of the streets. We dragged him to the darker side of the streets and took his all money, about 300000 Vietnam dongs, and also his notebooks because he seemed to study well, so we decided to take his notebooks so that he cannot revise for the test. As we proceed on this process, lots of students who were watching us looked at us with the eyes of respect and inspiration.
Some Vietnamese people turned on the weird advertising radio or singing radio so loud that I could hear them clearly in my room even though I closed all the doors and windows in my house. I don't think this diary entry is good. Most importantly, I really hate Communism more than anything in the whole universe.
Henry's Diary by Hung Danh Phung
21/1/2010
Total confusion, indeed! I remember not to do anything wrong to him. Or did I? I cannot tell. Well, was that considered as a profound insult for him? Understanding why I did not, he did not say anything, showing anger he did not, aggressive he was not. The next morning he came to school, for the first time I saw him showing great grief. An antagonistic feeling for him as he always laughed and smiled in a certain way. This kept on going for sometimes.
"Oh dear." I thought for a moment when he approached, glanced at me closely “Good morning" he said firmly. Surprisingly, for the first time I heard him saying “Good Morning” to me. I was very glad to actually see that he was not furious with me at all as he is an aggressive, violent chap.
At the end of school, I trod down the old path leading to my house. Suddenly, I heard sounds of shoes clicking on the path behind me. I turned and in my wildest astonishment I saw him running to me as fast as he could, finished with a fist into my belly. With a single shriek I fell down into the ground. He continued assaulting me with kicks and punches. How much painful I felt! Understanding him I did. My saying was with no intention, became an embarrassment for the young lad. His fury took control of him. “Help!” I cried out in distress. Once, twice, thrice… no one came. Fortunately, my classmates, who were stopping by at the old path stopped him just in time, prevented him from causing much more damage.
Many days later, I had to stay at home. Yes, indeed for my backbone was nearly broken because of the fall. He stopped by my house and said sorry for what he had done and hoped that I would forgive him. After the visit, he left… I forgave him.
Total confusion, indeed! I remember not to do anything wrong to him. Or did I? I cannot tell. Well, was that considered as a profound insult for him? Understanding why I did not, he did not say anything, showing anger he did not, aggressive he was not. The next morning he came to school, for the first time I saw him showing great grief. An antagonistic feeling for him as he always laughed and smiled in a certain way. This kept on going for sometimes.
"Oh dear." I thought for a moment when he approached, glanced at me closely “Good morning" he said firmly. Surprisingly, for the first time I heard him saying “Good Morning” to me. I was very glad to actually see that he was not furious with me at all as he is an aggressive, violent chap.
At the end of school, I trod down the old path leading to my house. Suddenly, I heard sounds of shoes clicking on the path behind me. I turned and in my wildest astonishment I saw him running to me as fast as he could, finished with a fist into my belly. With a single shriek I fell down into the ground. He continued assaulting me with kicks and punches. How much painful I felt! Understanding him I did. My saying was with no intention, became an embarrassment for the young lad. His fury took control of him. “Help!” I cried out in distress. Once, twice, thrice… no one came. Fortunately, my classmates, who were stopping by at the old path stopped him just in time, prevented him from causing much more damage.
Many days later, I had to stay at home. Yes, indeed for my backbone was nearly broken because of the fall. He stopped by my house and said sorry for what he had done and hoped that I would forgive him. After the visit, he left… I forgave him.
Monday, February 1, 2010
perspective homework
Today was a blast. We beat up some geek in the park, I was so bored on that day me and my friend saw that kid walking down the path on the way home and I thought to myself “I’m so bored let’s go pound on the kid”, but in the middle of it the other kids were walking past but didn’t even try to help. After the beating we gave the poor little brat another bunch of about 3 or 4 people walked past, the expression on their faces when they saw the brat on the floor was so funny, this one girl look as if she was our next victim it was hilarious. We waited until they past by and then we nicked his wallet from him, and kicked him one last time then walked away. After about 5 minutes the kid finally came through and ran crying back home seeing him we realized we had taken his wallet so we decided to take a peek, and boy was there a lot of money it was about 20 to 30 pounds at that time I was thinking how spoiled is this kid and I was feeling great and aroused. About an hour later a couple of our friends came by and I told them what we had done, the reaction was not what I expected it to be they were disgusted about what we did then they stared to give us these annoyingly long lectures about assaulting people and stealing from them, we were so fed up with listening to them go on and on about the consequences that I decided to go find the little brat and give him back his wallet. When I found out where he lives and went to his house he was out side with a lot of his friends and they had B.B guns at that moment I thought to myself “ what have I gotten myself in to ’’ but I still I continued forward and as soon as he saw me I knew right there I was going to get beaten up and guess what I got shot a few times but I managed to give him his wallet back and apologized to him without getting beaten up as much as I expected I would have. I made my way back to the park and told all my friends that I gave it back to him and most of them said that was the right thing to do but the one who also beat the kid up said I was a chicken and spat in my face but I still felt good about my self for giving it back to the kid even if I lost a friend.
The Tell-Tale Heart Analysis
Taken from SparkNotes
Poe uses his words economically in the “Tell-Tale Heart”—it is one of his shortest stories—to provide a study of paranoia and mental deterioration. Poe strips the story of excess detail as a way to heighten the murderer’s obsession with specific and unadorned entities: the old man’s eye, the heartbeat, and his own claim to sanity. Poe’s economic style and pointed language thus contribute to the narrative content, and perhaps this association of form and content truly exemplifies paranoia. Even Poe himself, like the beating heart, is complicit in the plot to catch the narrator in his evil game.
As a study in paranoia, this story illuminates the psychological contradictions that contribute to a murderous profile. For example, the narrator admits, in the first sentence, to being dreadfully nervous, yet he is unable to comprehend why he should be thought mad. He articulates his self-defense against madness in terms of heightened sensory capacity. Unlike the similarly nervous and hypersensitive Roderick Usher in “The Fall of the House of Usher,” who admits that he feels mentally unwell, the narrator of “The Tell-Tale Heart” views his hypersensitivity as proof of his sanity, not a symptom of madness. This special knowledge enables the narrator to tell this tale in a precise and complete manner, and he uses the stylistic tools of narration for the purposes of his own sanity plea. However, what makes this narrator mad—and most unlike Poe—is that he fails to comprehend the coupling of narrative form and content. He masters precise form, but he unwittingly lays out a tale of murder that betrays the madness he wants to deny.
Another contradiction central to the story involves the tension between the narrator’s capacities for love and hate. Poe explores here a psychological mystery—that people sometimes harm those whom they love or need in their lives. Poe examines this paradox half a century before Sigmund Freud made it a leading concept in his theories of the mind. Poe’s narrator loves the old man. He is not greedy for the old man’s wealth, nor vengeful because of any slight. The narrator thus eliminates motives that might normally inspire such a violent murder. As he proclaims his own sanity, the narrator fixates on the old man’s vulture-eye. He reduces the old man to the pale blue of his eye in obsessive fashion. He wants to separate the man from his “Evil Eye” so he can spare the man the burden of guilt that he attributes to the eye itself. The narrator fails to see that the eye is the “I” of the old man, an inherent part of his identity that cannot be isolated as the narrator perversely imagines.
The murder of the old man illustrates the extent to which the narrator separates the old man’s identity from his physical eye. The narrator sees the eye as completely separate from the man, and as a result, he is capable of murdering him while maintaining that he loves him. The narrator’s desire to eradicate the man’s eye motivates his murder, but the narrator does not acknowledge that this act will end the man’s life. By dismembering his victim, the narrator further deprives the old man of his humanity. The narrator confirms his conception of the old man’s eye as separate from the man by ending the man altogether and turning him into so many parts. That strategy turns against him when his mind imagines other parts of the old man’s body working against him.
The narrator’s newly heightened sensitivity to sound ultimately overcomes him, as he proves unwilling or unable to distinguish between real and imagined sounds. Because of his warped sense of reality, he obsesses over the low beats of the man’s heart yet shows little concern about the man’s shrieks, which are loud enough both to attract a neighbor’s attention and to draw the police to the scene of the crime. The police do not perform a traditional, judgmental role in this story. Ironically, they aren’t terrifying agents of authority or brutality. Poe’s interest is less in external forms of power than in the power that pathologies of the mind can hold over an individual. The narrator’s paranoia and guilt make it inevitable that he will give himself away. The police arrive on the scene to give him the opportunity to betray himself. The more the narrator proclaims his own cool manner, the more he cannot escape the beating of his own heart, which he mistakes for the beating of the old man’s heart. As he confesses to the crime in the final sentence, he addresses the policemen as “[v]illains,” indicating his inability to distinguish between their real identity and his own villainy.
Poe uses his words economically in the “Tell-Tale Heart”—it is one of his shortest stories—to provide a study of paranoia and mental deterioration. Poe strips the story of excess detail as a way to heighten the murderer’s obsession with specific and unadorned entities: the old man’s eye, the heartbeat, and his own claim to sanity. Poe’s economic style and pointed language thus contribute to the narrative content, and perhaps this association of form and content truly exemplifies paranoia. Even Poe himself, like the beating heart, is complicit in the plot to catch the narrator in his evil game.
As a study in paranoia, this story illuminates the psychological contradictions that contribute to a murderous profile. For example, the narrator admits, in the first sentence, to being dreadfully nervous, yet he is unable to comprehend why he should be thought mad. He articulates his self-defense against madness in terms of heightened sensory capacity. Unlike the similarly nervous and hypersensitive Roderick Usher in “The Fall of the House of Usher,” who admits that he feels mentally unwell, the narrator of “The Tell-Tale Heart” views his hypersensitivity as proof of his sanity, not a symptom of madness. This special knowledge enables the narrator to tell this tale in a precise and complete manner, and he uses the stylistic tools of narration for the purposes of his own sanity plea. However, what makes this narrator mad—and most unlike Poe—is that he fails to comprehend the coupling of narrative form and content. He masters precise form, but he unwittingly lays out a tale of murder that betrays the madness he wants to deny.
Another contradiction central to the story involves the tension between the narrator’s capacities for love and hate. Poe explores here a psychological mystery—that people sometimes harm those whom they love or need in their lives. Poe examines this paradox half a century before Sigmund Freud made it a leading concept in his theories of the mind. Poe’s narrator loves the old man. He is not greedy for the old man’s wealth, nor vengeful because of any slight. The narrator thus eliminates motives that might normally inspire such a violent murder. As he proclaims his own sanity, the narrator fixates on the old man’s vulture-eye. He reduces the old man to the pale blue of his eye in obsessive fashion. He wants to separate the man from his “Evil Eye” so he can spare the man the burden of guilt that he attributes to the eye itself. The narrator fails to see that the eye is the “I” of the old man, an inherent part of his identity that cannot be isolated as the narrator perversely imagines.
The murder of the old man illustrates the extent to which the narrator separates the old man’s identity from his physical eye. The narrator sees the eye as completely separate from the man, and as a result, he is capable of murdering him while maintaining that he loves him. The narrator’s desire to eradicate the man’s eye motivates his murder, but the narrator does not acknowledge that this act will end the man’s life. By dismembering his victim, the narrator further deprives the old man of his humanity. The narrator confirms his conception of the old man’s eye as separate from the man by ending the man altogether and turning him into so many parts. That strategy turns against him when his mind imagines other parts of the old man’s body working against him.
The narrator’s newly heightened sensitivity to sound ultimately overcomes him, as he proves unwilling or unable to distinguish between real and imagined sounds. Because of his warped sense of reality, he obsesses over the low beats of the man’s heart yet shows little concern about the man’s shrieks, which are loud enough both to attract a neighbor’s attention and to draw the police to the scene of the crime. The police do not perform a traditional, judgmental role in this story. Ironically, they aren’t terrifying agents of authority or brutality. Poe’s interest is less in external forms of power than in the power that pathologies of the mind can hold over an individual. The narrator’s paranoia and guilt make it inevitable that he will give himself away. The police arrive on the scene to give him the opportunity to betray himself. The more the narrator proclaims his own cool manner, the more he cannot escape the beating of his own heart, which he mistakes for the beating of the old man’s heart. As he confesses to the crime in the final sentence, he addresses the policemen as “[v]illains,” indicating his inability to distinguish between their real identity and his own villainy.
Homework due this Wednesday
Here is the picture that would help you with your homework
Enjoy!MUHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHa
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
The Boarded Window: Murlock's relationship with nature
Taken from Sheldon Goldfarb:
From the beginning of the story we are told that Murlock lived alone in the forest. Of course, before his wife died, he lived with her, but it is interesting that the main events of the plot are set in motion by Murlock’s being away “gunning in a distant part of the forest” while his wife falls ill. He is perhaps too much apart, even from his wife.
He also seems to have an excessively antagonistic relationship to the natural world around him, as is indicated by his being off “gunning.” And earlier, in describing Murlock’s attempts at farming, the narrator makes him sound violent by talking of “the ravage wrought by [Murlock’s] ax.” The narrator also refers to Murlock’s zeal for agriculture as a “flame,” which makes him sound like a danger to the forest, although it is true that his flame is “failing” and “expiring in penitential ashes.”
Murlock had arrived in the area “young, strong and full of hope” and had begun “laying sturdily about with his ax to hew out a farm” while also using his rifle to shoot wild game. After his wife’s death, he lets the forest retake the land he had cleared for a farm, perhaps feeling guilty about his previous actions (hence the term “penitential” in describing what happened to his zeal for farming).
Perhaps what the story is trying to suggest in all this is that Murlock was both too much apart from other people (or civilization) and too antagonistic to nature. And what happens to his wife is then some sort of punishment, or a revenge taken by civilization and nature together. The panther is then a symbol of the world’s hostility towards those who fail to interact with it normally, who push it away or attack it. Similarly, the narrator’s throwing of stones at Murlock’s cabin seems to represents the world’s naturally hostile response to one who has kept himself too much to himself.
From the beginning of the story we are told that Murlock lived alone in the forest. Of course, before his wife died, he lived with her, but it is interesting that the main events of the plot are set in motion by Murlock’s being away “gunning in a distant part of the forest” while his wife falls ill. He is perhaps too much apart, even from his wife.
He also seems to have an excessively antagonistic relationship to the natural world around him, as is indicated by his being off “gunning.” And earlier, in describing Murlock’s attempts at farming, the narrator makes him sound violent by talking of “the ravage wrought by [Murlock’s] ax.” The narrator also refers to Murlock’s zeal for agriculture as a “flame,” which makes him sound like a danger to the forest, although it is true that his flame is “failing” and “expiring in penitential ashes.”
Murlock had arrived in the area “young, strong and full of hope” and had begun “laying sturdily about with his ax to hew out a farm” while also using his rifle to shoot wild game. After his wife’s death, he lets the forest retake the land he had cleared for a farm, perhaps feeling guilty about his previous actions (hence the term “penitential” in describing what happened to his zeal for farming).
Perhaps what the story is trying to suggest in all this is that Murlock was both too much apart from other people (or civilization) and too antagonistic to nature. And what happens to his wife is then some sort of punishment, or a revenge taken by civilization and nature together. The panther is then a symbol of the world’s hostility towards those who fail to interact with it normally, who push it away or attack it. Similarly, the narrator’s throwing of stones at Murlock’s cabin seems to represents the world’s naturally hostile response to one who has kept himself too much to himself.
The Boarded Window: Unreliable narrator
This may interest some of you regarding the narrator's unreliability in The Boarded Window. Taken from Rena Korb, Short Stories for Students:
The words he chooses to share, however, prove the narrator to be unreliable. He constantly contradicts himself, thus subverting his own authority. He says that “every well-informed boy” knew Murlock’s cabin to be haunted by a ghost, but he doesn’t say how this knowledge — which would imply that others in the region knew of what had taken place there — came to be universal. In actuality, any neighbors had little knowledge of the wife. As the narrator states, she had “preceded” her husband in death “by so many years that local tradition had retained hardly a hint of her existence”; in fact, there was no longer even any “known record of her name.” The narrator also repeatedly emphasizes the mystery of the evening in question, declaring of the boarded window of Murlock’s cabin, “nobody could remember a time when it was not [boarded up]. And none knew why it was so closed.” Almost immediately thereafter he confesses, “I fancy there are few persons living to-day who ever knew the secret of that window, but I am one, as you shall see.” Finally, he reveals how he came to be privy to the information: “But there is an earlier chapter — that supplied by my grandfather.” Thus essentially ends the role of the narrator. The rest of the story focuses on Murlock’s sad tale, and indeed ends without ever returning to the narrator.
Readers are left with the question: What is the narrator’s relation to Murlock? How does he come to know this information that no one else knows. While the narrator proposes an answer to this question — that his grandfather “had known him [Murlock] when living near by in that earlier day” — this answer is far from satisfactory. For the narrator has already described the land upon which Murlock lived as “surrounded on all sides by the great forest.” Indeed, when his wife fell ill, her care rested solely upon him because there “was no physician within miles, no neighbor.” How then, is the reader to believe that this man who elected to live, and die, in such isolation would choose to reveal his horrible story to a seemingly random person? It seems unlikely that he even has a neighbor.
A reader could likely conjecture that the narrator’s grandfather is in actuality Murlock: the narrator is privy to facts, details, and knowledge that it would appear no other living soul has, not only about the night of the panther, but about Murlock’s feelings and thoughts. The narrator explains Murlock’s lack of reaction to his wife’s death as due to the fact that “[H]e had no experience in grief; his capacity had not been enlarged by its use. His heart could not contain it all, nor did his imagination rightly conceive it. He did not know he was so hard struck; that knowledge would come later, and never go.” Of these statements, only the last could be construed from the life that Murlock went on to lead. Clearly, Murlock was devastated by the death of his wife, otherwise he would not have retreated into his isolated state. The narrator, however, presents no plausible explanation for his knowledge about how Murlock deals with grief. He even emphasizes his illogical authority when he says, “We may conceive Murlock to have been that way affected... (and here we are upon surer ground than that of conjecture).” The mystery of the narrator’s relation to Murlock is never answered in any satisfactory fashion. Readers are left to form their own opinion, based on a brief text and insubstantial evidence.
The words he chooses to share, however, prove the narrator to be unreliable. He constantly contradicts himself, thus subverting his own authority. He says that “every well-informed boy” knew Murlock’s cabin to be haunted by a ghost, but he doesn’t say how this knowledge — which would imply that others in the region knew of what had taken place there — came to be universal. In actuality, any neighbors had little knowledge of the wife. As the narrator states, she had “preceded” her husband in death “by so many years that local tradition had retained hardly a hint of her existence”; in fact, there was no longer even any “known record of her name.” The narrator also repeatedly emphasizes the mystery of the evening in question, declaring of the boarded window of Murlock’s cabin, “nobody could remember a time when it was not [boarded up]. And none knew why it was so closed.” Almost immediately thereafter he confesses, “I fancy there are few persons living to-day who ever knew the secret of that window, but I am one, as you shall see.” Finally, he reveals how he came to be privy to the information: “But there is an earlier chapter — that supplied by my grandfather.” Thus essentially ends the role of the narrator. The rest of the story focuses on Murlock’s sad tale, and indeed ends without ever returning to the narrator.
Readers are left with the question: What is the narrator’s relation to Murlock? How does he come to know this information that no one else knows. While the narrator proposes an answer to this question — that his grandfather “had known him [Murlock] when living near by in that earlier day” — this answer is far from satisfactory. For the narrator has already described the land upon which Murlock lived as “surrounded on all sides by the great forest.” Indeed, when his wife fell ill, her care rested solely upon him because there “was no physician within miles, no neighbor.” How then, is the reader to believe that this man who elected to live, and die, in such isolation would choose to reveal his horrible story to a seemingly random person? It seems unlikely that he even has a neighbor.
A reader could likely conjecture that the narrator’s grandfather is in actuality Murlock: the narrator is privy to facts, details, and knowledge that it would appear no other living soul has, not only about the night of the panther, but about Murlock’s feelings and thoughts. The narrator explains Murlock’s lack of reaction to his wife’s death as due to the fact that “[H]e had no experience in grief; his capacity had not been enlarged by its use. His heart could not contain it all, nor did his imagination rightly conceive it. He did not know he was so hard struck; that knowledge would come later, and never go.” Of these statements, only the last could be construed from the life that Murlock went on to lead. Clearly, Murlock was devastated by the death of his wife, otherwise he would not have retreated into his isolated state. The narrator, however, presents no plausible explanation for his knowledge about how Murlock deals with grief. He even emphasizes his illogical authority when he says, “We may conceive Murlock to have been that way affected... (and here we are upon surer ground than that of conjecture).” The mystery of the narrator’s relation to Murlock is never answered in any satisfactory fashion. Readers are left to form their own opinion, based on a brief text and insubstantial evidence.
The Boarded Window
I am currently working my way through marking the responses that you made to The Boarded Window while I was conducting the Year 12 exams almost 2 weeks ago.
I haven't read all of them yet, but so far the answers have been rather depressingly literal in their interpretaion of the story and of the narrator....
Allow me to ask you all this: why does the narrator seem to know SO much about the events at Murlock's house?
Is it likely that panther has dragged away his wife?
What can happen to someone when they are experiencing acute guilt?
How might the title be symbolic? Look back at the previous question....
Please comment below. The more the merrier. Not just Aadit and Arisa please.
I haven't read all of them yet, but so far the answers have been rather depressingly literal in their interpretaion of the story and of the narrator....
Allow me to ask you all this: why does the narrator seem to know SO much about the events at Murlock's house?
Is it likely that panther has dragged away his wife?
What can happen to someone when they are experiencing acute guilt?
How might the title be symbolic? Look back at the previous question....
Please comment below. The more the merrier. Not just Aadit and Arisa please.
Spelling test
May I remind people that there will be a spelling/ definitions test tomorrow afternoon.
Be ready...
Be ready...
Sunday, January 24, 2010
homework- due this Wednesday
Carefully re-read the ending of the story (from ‘The officers were satisfied’). How does Poe use writing features (sentence structure, vocabulary, imagery etc) to create a sense of rising tension toward the end of the story?
You should write a paragraph using PEE
You should identify at least three key features used by Poe and describe their effect in detail
hAHAHAHAHAHA- enjoy.
You should write a paragraph using PEE
You should identify at least three key features used by Poe and describe their effect in detail
hAHAHAHAHAHA- enjoy.
vocab
acute (adj.): sharp or keen
cunningly (adv.): clever or shrewd (usually by being tricky / deceitful)
profound (adj.): very great or severe
sagacity (adj.): showing a level of good judgement and common sense
hearkening (v): listening
suppositions (n): guesses or assumptions of fact
crevice (n): a narrow crack
mournful (adj.): showing grief or great sorrow
refrain (v): to stop yourself from doing something
Pulsation (n): the act of pulsating (to beat or throb like an artery or heart)
Precaution (n): a measure taken to avoid a mistake or something unwanted
Deposit (v): to put in
Scantling (n): a narrow board or beam
Suave (adj.): elegant and charming
Audacious (adj.): daring or reckless
Definiteness (n): certainty
Gesticulate (v): to use hand and body movements for emphasis (gestures)
Derision (n): the act of mocking or jeering in dislike at something
Dissemble (v): to disguise or hide one’s real feelings and thoughts
cunningly (adv.): clever or shrewd (usually by being tricky / deceitful)
profound (adj.): very great or severe
sagacity (adj.): showing a level of good judgement and common sense
hearkening (v): listening
suppositions (n): guesses or assumptions of fact
crevice (n): a narrow crack
mournful (adj.): showing grief or great sorrow
refrain (v): to stop yourself from doing something
Pulsation (n): the act of pulsating (to beat or throb like an artery or heart)
Precaution (n): a measure taken to avoid a mistake or something unwanted
Deposit (v): to put in
Scantling (n): a narrow board or beam
Suave (adj.): elegant and charming
Audacious (adj.): daring or reckless
Definiteness (n): certainty
Gesticulate (v): to use hand and body movements for emphasis (gestures)
Derision (n): the act of mocking or jeering in dislike at something
Dissemble (v): to disguise or hide one’s real feelings and thoughts
Thursday, January 7, 2010
Ramose- Prince in Exile
This book takes place in Ancient Egypt. Prince Ramose is heir to the throne of Egypt but he is very very spoilt. Until one day someone tries to poison him in his food, but his loyal nanny and tutor save him before he eats any. Everyone thought that Ramose was dead but he was hiding in the role of a simple tradesman waiting for his turn to take the throne. Ramose soon begins to learn about the hard life in Egypt outside his castle and surprisingly makes some friends. the book ends with Ramose and friends go on a journey. Read the next books to know what happens next.
LIttle Prince
Little PrinceThe author of this book is Antoine de Saint Exupéry. He's from France. He joined the WWII. He disappeared on a reconnaissance flight over the Mediterranean in July 1944. This book is about a pliot get lost in the dessert then he meet a boy. The boy came to him and said draw a sheep for him. For the many time the boy said that he doesn's like the sheep that the pliot draw for him.Then pliot got tired so then he draw a box for him and said that the sheep is in the box.Finally a boy become happy with it.Pliot asked about where he from.At first he didn't answer then later on he start to open up his mind. The most interesting thing that i have found out is that The little prince does't have the EAR!!!!!!!! Then how could he listen to what the pliot said? I think it's because he can hear it by the heart.
Alice's Adventures in Wonderland
Alice's Adventures in Wonderland
This story is about a girl name Alice, who followed the white rabbit down to the rabbit hole. In the rabbit hole, she saw the bootle, the lable says "drink me." when she drank it, she grows big then she become smaller again.When she become smaller,she was swimming in a pool of tears. Alice continues to chase the White Rabbit.Later on she meets a hookah-smoking Caterpillar.He adviced many thing to Alice. For example he adviced the ways to go out from the wonderland. After she meets a hookah-smoking Caterpillar, she meets queen. She was playing croquet with a flamingo and a hedgehog......................
This is the first about half of book's content. If you feel interesting, try to read the rest of the book.
Mothstorm
This is the last collection Philip Reeve’s steampunk series, called Mothstorm. This is the adventure when the Mumbys went to the Georgium Sidus, which was Uranus, because Edward’s friend, Cruet – a British missionary – had send strange pictures about a dark cloud at the far edge of the Solar System. Uranus was a planet that only covered in water. At here, the gigantic moths attacked the British aether ship and captured all the people on the ship, except for Art. Art luckily helped by the Georgium Sidus’s animal and Cruet’s daughter, named Charity. Cruet had been captured by the moth and had left Charity behind. Then the Sophronais rescued Art and Charity upon their ship, and they finally knew that the dark cloud was a huge storm of gigantic moths, which were driven by the Snilth – the same creature as one of the Sophronais. This storm of moths was controlled by another Shaper, who wanted to steal the Solar System from Art’s mother. This Shaper was not kind and friendly as Art’s mother; but so evil that she killed Art’s mother!!!!Whether Art, Myrtle, their father, Charity and the Sophronais destroyed the Evil Shaper, the moths and the Snilth? The Mumbys had success twice, but would they success this time? Read now and find out!!! This is the most interesting collection out of three in the whole series!!!
Starcross
This is the second collection in the whole series of the Mumbys' great adventures, by Philip Reeve. After the adventure at Saturn against the gigantic white spider, the Mumbys (now had their mother with them) carried on another adventure on a tiny asteroid called Starcross. After had given the Shaper’s powerful machine to Sir Waverly Rain to be destroyed by his factory, the Mumbys good-bye the Sophronais, went back to their dear Larklight and started to redecorate their home. However, one day, they received an invitation to a new hotel on Starcross, hosted by Mr Tifter. They were totally persuaded by the pictures of the hotel and the interesting sea bathing. Edward Mumby could not go with his family, as he had a meeting at the Royal Xenological Institute.After some pleasure day on Starcross, they met some new people and found out that the Sophronais were on the asteroid. They also found out that there were two Changeling Trees on Starcross and the mysterious sea bathing; which appeared when Starcross went back in time, to the Mars ancient times (Starcross once was a part of Mars). Art, privately, found a strange hat box in the hotel closet; and opened to be a strange unearthly creature, called Moob. Luckily, Art had killed the Moob, before it could get onto Art’s head and controlled his mind. Unfortunately, other guests of the hotel were under-controlled by other Moobs and captured Art and his mother. Although Jack and Myrtle escaped from the Moobs just in time, they had no choice but to go in the un-protection area of ancient Mars. While finding the way out of the dangerous area, they met several prehistoric Martian animals and Jack got injured. They got helped from the hotel guests, Delphine and her servant. But Delphine soon turned out to be a French secret argent and her country plan was to take over the British Space Empire. Back in the hotel, Art and his mother found out the Shaper’s engine had not been destroyed; but be brought to Starcross and used villainy by Sir Lancelot. With help from a well-intentioned Moob, Jack and Myrtle took over Delphine’s aether ship, tried to go back to modern time. After this, they rescued Art and another hotel guest and connected with the Sophronia. Their adventure had not finished yet, but just started...because the bad Moobs were planning to take over the entire human.
Would the Sophronais, Art, Myrtle and the good Moob rescue their mother? Would they have enough time, before the human race controlled by the bad Moobs? Read now and find out!!!
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