Five of Ten

The perfect mode of transportation.
  If I had a choice, that is, for mode of transportation in general, I would choose to ride on a bullet train.  Not only is it environmentally friendly (or at lest I think it is, for it uses electricity to power its engines in stead of burning coal to make steam), but it also is fast and convenient.  It is the public transportation service of the future!  There are some hold-backs/restraints/down-falls/draw-backs to the bullet train, though.  Not all cities can afford to support it as a mode of transportation.  The maintenance can be expensive, and it can be hard to run during the middle of winter.  You would have to be constantly deicing the tracks and pushing back the snow in order for the train to go through.  Oh, well.  One can only hope that somewhere in the near future,  I can have the bullet train as a reliable mode of transportation.  I could see myself using it as an option for going to work, and hopping from city to city in matter of minutes.  Maybe it's wishful thinking, but one can dream, right?  (`0_0')?... ('.')---*
If I had to choose a personal mode of transportation, then it would hare to be a smart car, or at least something small, inexpensive, and uses little to no gas.  I don't even have my licence yet, so buying a car is something I don't tend to think about.  let's worry about graduating and going to collage/university first, shall we?  Then I can work my way towards buying a smart car. 
For a joy ride though, I would have to say ether a Triburon or Miata would be nice.  Only that I would be forced into driving it for three months out of the year, for I'm certainly not taking it out in winter. 

Yeah, driving in Canada can be tough, but I love living here, so I can't complain.  (-.-)

Winter- Love it or hate it?
  Although some people would rather brake down and cry upon the arrival of the first snow of winter, I tend to take more of an optimistic approach to the new fallen whites.  Not that I begin to jump up and down and giggle like a litter girl at Christmas time when I see the first snow, but I do welcome it contently.  The first few flakes, even if they only dust the ground, are a staple mark for me.  It represents a change in seasons, and gives me something to refer to when I gaze pack in time. "Ah, yes... that was around the time of that years first big snowstorm." I often say.  I always remember where I was when the first flakes began to fall, upon each passing year.  It certainly isn't any matter that should cause you any loss of sleep, nor should it thrill you to the of going into hysterics.  It's just part of nature, so don't get upset!  Snow is bound to fall sometime, especially here in Canada!  You know that it's going to come knocking on your door, weather you choose to answer it or not.  And if try to forget about it, its not going to go away anytime soon.  So, just crawl out of bed with your box of tissues, take a few deep breaths, dry your eyes, bundle up, and most importantly, go outside and enjoy all that winter has to offer!  Besides, winter only comes once a year, so you might as well use it for what its worth!  (Even though you live it for eight out of the twelve months in the year.) 

Oh, well... As one famous Canadian once said
"Here, we only know two seasons, winter and not winter (which usually lasts two-three months)"
[only I forgot the persons name... ^.^ For all I know it could have been anyone.]

Or was it "Almost winter, still winter, somewhat winter, and construction." 
Oh, wait! That's four `-`~  Haha... O(^.^ )o

What is your mood today?
  Well, now that you ask, not so good.  If you really want to know, I have pneumonia... No, no! Don't panic! I'm not dying!  I just have a little cough, that's all.  In all honesty though, whenever someone hears the word pneumonia, they look at me as though I just said it was the plague!  I had to learn the hard way not to yell the word out loud in public.  When I left school on Monday, a teacher asked me how I was feeling while I was sitting on the bench waiting for my grandfather to come pick me up.  I said "No, I'm not feeling that well." I should have really ended it there, but no, I had to add to it (rate as she was turning to walk away) saying "They say I have pneumonia."  She stopped while talking half a step, and froze on the spot as if someone had hit the pause button on the remote.  Even with all the congestion in the office during the middle of high school lunch-hour, everyone stopped what they were doing and looked me rate in the eyes.  After that brief moment of silence, everyone looked away pretending that they didn't hear me.  The teach spun on her high heal from the mid-step she was taking and turned to face me.  "Well, I guess your going to be out for a while then!" she said quite seriously in a tone of voice that struck me into a state of momentary nausea, then she turned and clopped away.  What followed that was a couple of minutes of comforting; people telling me that they hoped that I would get better and that I should have a good day, get plenty of rest, etc, etc, etc, until I left the building. ... Never again shall I breath a word/exhale a sentence that mentions anything about me having pneumonia.  From now on, if anyone asks, I have a cold, not pneumonia, a cold.  That's what it started-out as anyway.  It seemed to work it's way from my head to my chest, according to my doctor.  So, don't worry.  Everything is fine! I'm just a little sleepy from the medication that's all.  Well, I am a little sick, and it's still pneumonia!  But, its nothing a few days of rest won't fix!  So, it's back to school again tomorrow, same as today.  But please, don't try to give me an onslaught of "day-cheering" complements.  A few every now and again are greatly appreciated, but don't try to act like I've been told I have one week to live (which I haven't.  Accommodate me accordingly, just what ever you do, don't overdue it. (,'~',) Thank you for hearing me out!  ^-^

Your personal hell and heaven. 
  Hmm... Lets see.  Well, I might as well start off thinking about what my "personal hell" would be like, because I certainly don't want to end-off on that horribly negative thought, and would much rather leave myself on a more positive note when thinking about my "personal heaven."  I have often pondered about this question when day-dreaming, but never really gave it much thought.  I mean, if hell was the same for everyone, then some people would find it less torching than others.  But, if it was more personalised, then every one's treatment that they deserved would have more equality.  The same would be said for if you died and went to heaven.  There would still have to be some guidelines as to what you would reserve in either place, though.  I am sure that all of us has been told at some point in our lives that there is no place for dogs in heaven, and that may be true.  Yet, all of us still keep hoping that upon the day that we ascend into our holly resting place, that good, old sparky will be there to greet us, along with all the other pets we ever had.  No one truly knows if there are animals in heaven or not, but we often wonder what it would be like if there were.  No matter where we end-up, heaven or hell, one things for sure; that we will never no until we get there.  Whether we're baring a halo and angle wings, or a barbed tail and horns, I am sure that it will be an experience we wont soon forget, until we are born again in another life. 

  In my personal heaven, I would be trapped in rush-hour traffic in a car full of spiders, flies and annoying people, along with the rest of the embodiments of my pet-peeves, all in the middle of a thunderstorm.  My hand would be handcuffed to the back of my car seat and my eyes would be duct-taped open.  As I am stuck listen to one radio station, and one radio station only, that plays country music twenty four/seven.  While I am forced to watch on a giant televising screen: reruns of old western movies, "Wind at my Back", "Road to Avon lee", and "The Walton's". 

  In my personally heaven, there are no annoying people, only peace and quiet as I listen to piano and jazz music.  I am locked in a book store overnight, with all the manga books and art supplies imaginable.  All of my closest friends would be there too.  We would talk, play "spot light tag" in the dark, and have the ultimate video game showdown until dawn.  Or maybe I would be in an alternate Disney, Nintendo, and manga world; going on adventures with Link, Zelda, and Mickymouse in a comic book reality.  If not that, then I would be on voyage through all of Japan's islands, dining at fancy restaurants, walking through downtown Shibuya in Tokyo at night, and visiting some of the worlds best hot springs in Nagano, during the middle of winter when the waters are at their best.

  Regardless if heaven is personalised for me or not, I'm sure that it would defiantly be favoured by me over hell. 

Super hero.
  When I was toddler, Spider Man was always my favourite super hero.  I don't exactly know why I took a such a liking to him, I just did.  Maybe it was because the old cartoon show from the 60's and 70's was shown on Television on Saturday mornings when I was four years old.  I distinctly remember an image of me eating cereal (or maybe an ego waffle) while listening to the ever popular theme song that played in the background during the ending credits of the animated series.  It also might have been the Spider Man costume that I wore on Halloween when I was six.  It was probably a combination all those things and more that made me choose spider man as my childhood super hero.  It wasn't like I had an obsession with him or anything (although I did own several action figures and a bin full of toys of him in my room.  Not to mention my Spider Man squirt gun, "Silly String", flashlight, colouring book, bubble bath, toothpaste and pajamas)... okay, so, maybe just a little.  Alright, alright, I was in love with the guy!  But, who could blame me for fantasizing over one of the greatest superheros of all time.  I mean, it was every little boys dream to one day travel beside Spider Man as his one and only sidekick, fighting crime and bringing justice to cities all over the world!  Everyone had a superhero or someone that they could look up to.  For my sister, it was Sailor Moon and Barbey, for my cousin, it was Scooby Doo.  I think that every child searches for that one person that gives them something to look forward to when becoming an adult. 
  After a while though, Spider Man had lost it's magic for me, and I began to gain interests in different subjects other than comic book superstars.  I played video games, did sports, and began to take-up hobbies like drawing and writing while in my spare time.  I had more freedoms, as my parents trusted me to be able to stay at home by myself, go for walks with my dog, and stay up later than my normal bedtime.  The fantasy world of adulthood became more of a reality.  I had realised that there is a much bigger world out there than what I had expected and that I was part of it.  There were so many options to be explored, so many things I could be, so many things I could do!  It wasn't the swinging from webs, climbing on walls kind of reality I had hoped for, but this one seemed to be even better!  In some ways, I am my own super hero.  I still have people that I look up to, but I know that they were once just like me.  They were all little children who grew-up admiring somebody they loved, created dreams for themselves, and chose to follow them.  They stayed persistent and never lost sight of the light at the end of the tunnel, no matter how far away it seemed to be.  That's why I want to do the same as them; that is the answer to how I can be successful in life. 
  Everyone one that's ever lived was human.  All the people you see on television, all of the greatest inventors, all of the worlds best doctors and scientists, every single person I have ever looked up to, is and was no different than you or me.  That's what watching Spider Man had made me realise; that everyone is created equal, and that we can all achieve grate things,  as long as we keep our mind to it.

o(o|0)e~~~%( X_x) SlAt!  *{SPIDER-MAN!!!}* 
...
♪~o(^|^)0[_$_]0-(=^_^=; )o   [meow}#,=,~     "(._.)Zzzz...

Oh, by the way.  If you want to know what the collection of signs above are, then you should look at reading this blog post here.  It is Spider Man spiting a web at a badguy.  Then it is an elderly lady handing money to Spider Man and thanking him for saving her cat, while the badguy sits over to the right in dispare with Zs by his head.  ...I just thought that it would be creative to but it at the end of my post. 

Jumble Story: Murder Mystory

Character: 2.a photographer
Setting: 10. a concert hall
Time: 4. after a big thunderstorm has passed.
Situation: 4. a death has occurred. 

This was an assignment issued to me by my Writing 110 teacher, in which you choose form a selection of four categories, ten options for each one, and try to create a story from the setting and characters you chose.  Here's what I came up with.  It's a little long, but once I started writing, I just couldn't help myself.  I have to say though, this is my most complete and solid story that I have created to date.  So, I hope you like it, and please feel free to let me know what you think!
Oh, and here's the original site if you want to make a Jumble story yourself, or are looking for a lesson plan.  Just click the link here in blue.  Good luck, and happy reading!


  My feet splashed through the puddles as I hurried up the steps.  I was cold, wet and late, quite disorderly for an social gathering of such stature.  I straightened my tie and combed my hair as I stood in the doorway, staring at the terror in the clouds above.  Great tongs of lightning flashed across the sky, whipping-up the wind and causing rain to fall in buckets on the earth below.  I was safe under the drip-edge of the concert hall, the only thing that sheltered me from the elements on this cold, rainy night.  The storm had hindered travel for many concert-goers.  People who came from the other side of town (the middle-class lot; one of such people included me) were making there way up the rain-washed steps, as well.  I nodded and smiled as a man in a bollman hat reached for the push-bar on the steal framed door.  A burst of noise exhaled from the opening door.  A mixture of crowd chatter, and the tuning jazz instruments met me in the face.

 Good, it's only the first intermission I thought to myself as the doors slowly shut, engulfing the portly man wearing the hat inside.  Maybe they won't notice me if I sneak-in now. 

  I turned to the door, took a deep breath and let-out a sigh, preparing myself for whatever lied ahead.  I only hoped that the camera guy, me, wouldn't be too missed during the first half of the show, and that my boss, Mr. Turner wouldn't be one of the people amongst the crowd.  With that, I entered the business of the hall. 

  Just as I was opening the door, the crud began to quiet-down.  I had already missed my chance of sneaking-in unnoticed, the second part of the concert was about to start.  I tall African-American man, dressed in a plaid vest and a red tie stepped out from behind the curtains and began to speak into the mike, telling everyone to begin taking their seats.  I followed behind a large group of people as though I knew them and had sat already sat with them during the first half of the show.  No one was suspicious of me, I was used to blending in with crowds.  As a photographer for a newspaper, it was my duty to get the best shots possible, without your subject ever noticing you're there.  Hiding in vale of like-people always made things easier; it was a trick I often used to get myself into places where no camera operator were aloud.  With some of the city's richest people gathered here for the annual fall jazz concert, security was bound to be tight.  No wonder they hired me for a job like this. Even though they new I was a newbie, the newspaper company also knew that my stealth would come in handy on a night like tonight.  Plus, if anything did happen to me tonight, they wouldn't have to spare loosing another one of their top photographers like they did last year.  Something always went on during the night of the concert, tonight would be no exception. 

  As I weaved my way through the rows of people trying to find and empty seat, the old man in the vest and tie began to speak. 
 
  "Once again, I want to thank you all for coming down tonight, on this our hundredth anniversary of the Frentonville Autumn concert.  This is my sixty-fifth,.. oops, sorry,.. sixty-seventh year of hosting the MC of this concert."  He cleared his throat as I hurried my way along to the end of the row, yet still no empty seats were left for me to set-up my tri-pod in.  I would have to do all of the shots by hand.  

  "My grandfather started this concert back in the early 1910's in the commemoration of the opening of his oil company, which at the time, was celebrating its hundredth year in business as well."  I navigated my way through the crowd of wealthy people, a few of them complained as I began taking pictures.

  "My word!" a plump old woman said in disgust, when the flash on my camera went-off in her face.  She sat there looking starry-eyed, while a man called at me a few rows back "Hey, you! Down in front!" 

  I rushed as quickly as I could down the row, making my way towards the the isle before taking one last picture at the end, where I thought that I wouldn't be in anybodies way.  I was crouching-down, snapping a picture, when a man dressed in a black suit bent over and whispered in my ear. 

  "Late, are we?" I jumped rate out of my own skin.  It was Mr. Turner.   "Where were you? You were supposed to be here an hour ago! Uh,.. On second thought, never mind that. What I want you to do is go back-stage and get a few close-ups with Mr. McIntyre, the man that's holding the mike, maybe an interview.  Do you think you can handle that?" 

  "Uhh,.." was all I could manage to say; I had never hosted an interview before, and had no idea how to conduct one like this on the spot.  I was stammered trying to think of an excuse not to go back there, surprised by this unexpected task.  But Mr. Turner was persistent, and there was no changing his mind. 

  "That's the spirit, boy!" He said faithfully. 
  "But,.. I.." I always stutter when nervous.
  Mr. Turner leaned over the edge of his chair and made it a point to walk to look me fair in the eyes. "No is not an answer, NOW GO!" 

   Mr. Turner took his job as manager of the local newspaper very seriously.  If I didn't make haste, it would be coming out of my paycheck for sure.  And, if I didn't make any motion towards the front of the room (which, at the moment was exactly what my mind had all intentions of doing) then I was going to get the boot.  Somehow I managed to brake free, though.  With every step I took, I was almost most fighting of the urge to plant my feet where they were, turn around, and tell that news rat, just what a lunatic he was.  But I held my breath, and bit my lip, hoping that this nightmare would all be over soon. 

  "Now, as you all know, this will be my last year for hosting the the concert, as I will be passing the torch onto my daughter in-law Kate. But don't feel so sorry for me, for I will be living the remainder of my life out at my home in the Bahamas..." Mr. McIntyre continued to say. 

  I tried to walk as leisurely as possible toward the front of the room, avoiding the wondering eyes of the people seated in the stands.  I felt so weird climbing the stairs under the plaque reading back stage. I had no idea where I was going, but I had to look like I did in order to keep from being caught. 

  From behind stage, I could see the jazz band getting ready for their reappearance, now only moments away.  I could also hear the echo of Mr. McIntyre's voice as it bounced off the high ceilings of the concert hall.  Pen in hand, I began jotting down all the question one could possible manage to ask a man you know nothing about, only that he was loaded with cash.  How long has your family been in the oil business? or How are you planing to celebrate for your retirement upon your arrival in the Bahamas? was all I could muster out of my head.  My penmanship was horrible due to the fact that my hand was trembling heavily with nerviness.  I was about to meet the most influential person in all of Frentonville City, without any warning. 

  "Now, without a further a do, lets welcome these fine gentlemen out on stage, one last time."  Mr. McIntyre announced to the crowd, stepping to the left side of the stage.  The curtains opened and everyone clapped to welcome "Da Classez" back for the second and final part of the show.  I raised my camera and pressed the zoom button on my lens, as Mr. McIntyre walked towards me, hidden from the audience by the drape in the curtain. 
  Looking through the lens on my camera, I noticed that something wasn't quite right.  As he approached the shadows, some thing lit-up on his forehead, a red dot, like the kind you see beaming out the end of a laser pointer, only this one was angled different; it was oval-shaped, as though pointed from above.  My first instinct was to look up, only at the time, I wished I hadn't, for what I saw startled me and stuck me with fear.  A man with a gun was standing on the steal railing of the balcony directly above the stage.  He was looking through the scope of his *semi-automatic rifle* with his hand on the trigger, ready to shoot. 

  What could I do?  I tried yelling, though no one could hear me over the sound of the jazz band playing their trumpets and swinging their basses.  Then I remember my camera that I was holding in my hand.  If I couldn't save the man, then I was at least going to serve justice for him.  And with that, I raised my camera and snapped a clear image of Mr. McIntyre's killer, just as his finger began slowly pulling back on the trigger. 

  What happened in the next?  It all seemed to happen so fast.  Yet, I remember that night's events so vividly, that it's hard to tell exactly how long it really was. 

  It felt like an eternity that I stood on that stage holding the camera in my hands; every thing was in slow motion.  Almost simultaneously after the flash went off on my camera, the shot was fired.  All I could hear was my heart beating inside of my chest, and the tempo of the jazz band becoming elongated and irregular for the kind of up-beat music they were playing.  The audience gasped as the man behind the curtain started to slowly drift backwards, dead before he hit the ground. 

  That threw the audience into a state of panic.  Everyone was trying to run for the nearest, except me.  I just stood their staring blankly at the lifeless body laying on the floor, surrounded by a pool of blood.  I felt sick.  Blood always makes me squeamish.

  I tried to prop myself against a wall.  My breathing was irregular; I felt like I was going to faint.  I staggered my way forward, trying to get to make my way towards the red exit sign, but all I could think about was the fact that that could have been me. 

  The room was spinning now; blurs of screaming men and woman rushed through my head, and stars began to cloud my eyes, narrowing my range of view.  The door was just within arms reach, yet, I couldn't seem to find the knob.  My hand slipped, I couldn't make it.  My center of gravity was off-balanced.  The last thing I remember was the ground floating upward to meet me in the face.  I was out like a light. 

...



  I found myself lying in an ambulance, with the worst headache I ever had.  There was an ice-pack upon my forehead, and bandages along my left arm.  A nurse grabbed my hand and ordered me to lay back down, as I sprung off the stretcher and began to reach forward for a door that wasn't there, not fully realizing where I was.  Sitting up, I looked around the ambulance with a expression of confusion on my face.  I was quite dazed, that was, until I saw Mr. McIntyre lying in the stretcher next to mine.  Then everything began to flood back into my head, and I felt queasy inside.  The nurse was already prepared for me being sick.  She handed me a brown paper bag and I began to vomit. 

  When I was finished, I looked up to find my boss, Mr. Turner, looking me in the face with a look of concern.  He was worried about me? something that I never thought would  ever happen.  I half smiled at him, letting him know that I was alright. 

  "Look,.. I'm sorry I forced you into a situation that you felt uncomfortable with.  It was my fault that you got trampled by the crowd like that, you... you could have died in there!" Trampled... by a crowd?  I studied my bandaged arm and realised what had happened.  There was also a square-shaped bruise of my right leg, like the kind from the butt-end of a high heel shoe.  I looked again at the corpse laying beside me, there was no heart-monitor nor IV attached to him, he was dead.  A chill ran up my spine.  Was I really that close to being touched by death?

  I removed the ice-pack and wiped the sweat off my forehead with my non bandaged hand.  I put my face in my palms and squeezed my eyebrows in frustration.  I wished that this night was all a dream, but it wasn't, it was all a reality.  Then I remembered my camera and the picture I had taken of Mr. McIntyre's killer.  I started darting my eyes at the floor around me, frantically searching for it. 

  "Where's my camera!"  I yelled so quickly that it startled both the nurse that was comforting me with her hand on my shoulder and Mr. Turner who jumped a few steps backwards.  Mr. Turner reached from the side to the ground and lifted the tangled mesh of what was once my camera.  I looked like I could have burst into tears, that camera was worth a fortune!  I had spent weeks bagging groceries at my local Supper Store just to scrounge-up enough money to buy the thing, and another week of mowing lawns to get the stand. 

  "Never mind that boy. If your still alive, that's all that really matters."  Mr. Turner said in a neutral tone of voice, as if to say oh, well. 

  "No, no! I need to see the film! Will the film still be okay?!" I said hastily. 

  "Well, I guess so? I mean, I don't see any reason why it wouldn't be. Why is it you ask?"  The old man was seriously confused with me. 

  "Get me to the film development center!"

  "I am not taking you anywhere until you lie down and get some rest!"  The nurse said, now more irritated than concerned. 

  "Yes, boy! You deserve it!" Mr. Turner chimed-in. 

  "But you don't understand! I caught who done it!" 

  "You mean to say you have a picture of the man that murdered Mr. McIntyre?!"  Mr. Turner asked in a rising tone of voice.  I nodded my head minutely. 

  "That's my man! I always knew I could trust you to get the winning shot!" He started to reach out to hug me but was then slapped away by the nurse. 

  "Shouldn't you be taking that to the police office first?"  The nurse proclaimed, putting Mr. Turner on the spot.  Very few people had the courage to do that, but the nurse was used to dealing with those kind of patients through her years of work. 

  "Oh, umm... I see. Right away! I'll take it there rate now!"  Mr. Turner turned to the left of the left and started made his way across the parking lot without looking back.  He didn't like being told what to do, especially by a woman.  I began to lean forward to follow. 

  "Am I going to have to strap you to the stretcher like we do with the mentally ill people, or are you going to do what you're told?!"  I gave up trying, there was no way the nurse was going to let me out of her sight. 

I laid there for a few minutes, staring at the blinking lights on the roof of the ambulance, trying to take in all that happened that night.  I thought about life and death, and how lucky I was that it wasn't me lying in the stretcher to my right, instead if Mr. McIntyre.  I didn't dare look at him though.  I am one to normally sleep on my right side, but for that night, I felt that my back was the best way to rest.  I would have slept on my left, if it wasn't for my bandages.  But, it really didn't matter.  I was so tired that I could have fallen asleep standing up, or hanging upside down like a bat, if a really wanted to that is.  Soon all I heard was silence as I drifted off to sleep. 

...

  I woke up in the hospital the next day.  My headache was gone, and despite the fact that there was a sharp pain running up my spine, I felt better.  Mr. Turner had visited earlier that morning before he left for work, and had dropped-off a bouquet of flowers that were sitting on the night stand next to my hospital bed.  There was a note attached to them saying that the pictures had been developed successfully and that the man who killed Mr. McIntyre had been caught and arrested, as well.  I knew that I would most likely be put-on-trial in the courtroom during the hearing, but that didn't concern me at the moment.  My attention was soon directed to the bottom part of the note that said that I had captured the photo of the century and for that reason, was going to be issued a raise in my weekly pay.  As if that wasn't good enough, there was another note sitting on the table, this one left by the McIntyre family.  When I opened the card, ten hundred dollar bills spilled out onto my lap.  Justice had been served, alright!  Justice indeed. 

...

  After that nights events, my life would never be the same.  I had continued to move my way up through the ranks at the newspaper company, each job baring new achievement and new responsibilities.  When Mr. Turner died, I even took his position as Manager of the local "Frentonville Times." I ended-up marrying into the richest family in town, the McIntyre's, of course.  And, ironically enough, held the same mike at the Annual Fall Jazz Concert that Mr. McIntyre used to have.   All because of that split second decision to take that one perfect shot.  All's well that ends well, I guess?


I think I made a mistake somewhere in the story. (-.-) I wrote "Mr. Jones" instead of "Mr. McIntyre"
Please don't get confuesed...('.')~?  I'm sorry... I truely am. 

Welcome!

  Welcome to my Blog for my grade ten writing class!  I hope that you find my stories and other content enjoyable to read and view.  I have worked very diligently on my post and have put a grate deal of effort into piecing them together, so please take the time to read them through and let me know what you think.  Feel free to leave a comment anywhere on this blog; I am a writer-in-training and would really appreciate it if you would let me know what I can do to make my writing better.  Feedback of any kind is always something that I look forward to be receiving from you (so good or bad, don't hesitate to write!) You also may have noticed that I have shifted my polls from the bottom of the page to the top, that is because nobody seems to be noticing or paying attention to them otherwise, and I would like to get some feedback on that as well.  Above all, I want you to read and enjoy my site and just have fun while you're doing it!  I want you to have as much fun reading my post as I do writing them.  So, what are you waiting for?  Read and be inspired!~  (*.*)

  Oh, and just before you do that... I have seen many of the students in my class ponder about the little bits of brackets/quotation-marks/etc. found around my site (like this little guy here +('_')+ They are an Asian form of emoticon {emotional icon} similar to the iconic smiley-face us westerners tend to stick at the end of our text messages{like this:)} only that you don't have to force yourself to shift your point of view(or for some people, tilt their head)sideways in order to enjoy them.  All you have to do is look at them straight-on and you should be able to see the shape of the "anime-style" characters: The two brackets being the left and right sides of the scull. [Oh, now I get it...] See, not that hard, and plenty of fun to make.  Your option for emotions are much more broadened than ":)happy, :(sad, and >:|angry."  [Aren't you glad I told ya!] ... Now, you can read!

-Glad I got that out of the way.   u.u ~sigh

Character Casting

  Before you begin reading this purely fictional article, I want to clarify and make it perfectly clear to you that there is no new title being released into the zelda series of games called "The Legend of Zelda: Lantern of Light" (although, who knows? Somewhere in the distant future, the series may eventually use a title similar to the fictional one I just made: considering the fact that there will always be Zelda fanbase somewhere in the world of gaming.)  It would be interesting to see what versions of zelda our grand-kids would be playing, but until then, there will be no Legend of Zelda: Lantern of light. (not be taken seriously people!)

  This blog post was created during the developmental stages of The Skyward Sword and is, by no means trying to dispute or discredit any of Nintendo's efforts on their upcoming title for the Wii.  I am not an associate of Nintendo, nor am I considered coupled with any of their staff.  If anything, this is only meant to be directed as a parody on the Legend of Zelda series, so please don't take any of this seriously.
I will also ask of you to not use the character(s) mentioned in this posting (as well as any of my other postings) without my permission, or at least some credit for my work.  If you wish to use any of my ideas for your own personal use, please write-in your reasoning behind doing so in the comment section below. 
(I'm looking at you Takashi Tezuka!)
hehe (-_<)

 Dear Shigeru Miyamoto,


  I have commenced my work on the new lead character in the up-in-coming title "The Legend of Zelda: Lantern of Light" that you have asked me to create for you.  I am confident in the design for the character Cro-ket, and believe that I finally have come-up with one that works.  So, without a further a do, let's begin. 

  Cro-ket looks somewhat like a cross between a lemur and a frog, and sounds like a hissing cricket.  Pale-white with a blue tinge in colour, his speckled, smooth skin feels somewhat like a the outside of a peach, only not as fuzzy.  He fashions darker-coloured tiger strips down his legs and forearms, and raccoon-rings around his pure, white and soulful eyes.

  His favourite food is fireflies (you can see them glowing from the inside of his stomach when he eats them.)  He is surprisingly light-weight for his size, and seem to feel somewhat hollow. 

  Cro-ket has four fingers, three fingers positioned on the top of his hand, and an apposing thumb on the bottom.  His fingers are frog-like, with heavily-weighted tips that work somewhat like suction cups, which help him to have a better grip when climbing trees.  The only difference in his fingers from a tree frog's is that they have more dexterity and allow him to pick-up objects better than what a frog can, but not as well as a human.

  His head is very obtuse when compared with/put into proportion with the rest of his body.  Elongated and blubber-like, it rests across his back and appears to serve no purpose, until threatened that is.  The extra flab, acts as a sack for holding poison, in which he uses in defence against predators.  It inflates when he breaths inward and upon breathing outward, deflates as he spits acidic sludge out of his mouth (or back if so he chooses.) 


  Although he breathes through the holes on his back, his mouth can inhale as well.  It is completely separate from his respiratory system, and only takes in air through an expanding and contrasting muscle in his head (the same muscle that directs the flow of air into his poison sack.) 

  Link will join-up with Cro-ket somewhere towards the beginning of the game when he has an encounter with an evil demon spirit said to protect the swam just outside his home village.  Cro-ket will come out of nowhere to try to save Link, but will somehow get hurt in the process.  After defeating the swamp demon, Link will carry the injured amphibian back to his home in the village, and repay Cro-ket for his efforts, by catering to his injuries and aiding him back to health. 

  One morning, Link is awakened by the sound of thumping and breaking glass inside the kitchen of his hut.  He walks down the stairs and enters the room to find that Cro-ket is awake and feeling well.  In an effort to save his home from being totally ripped-apart by the presence of a hobbling frog, Link quickly opens the door and allows the frog to exit into the light of day.  The frog wastes no time in escaping the home, as it makes a mad-dash towards the forest's edge.  Link decides to follow Cro-ket into the depths of the thicket to try and find-out what was causing the frog to become so agitated. 

  Cro-ket leads link to the village's sacred ceremonial grounds in the swamped section of the woods.  The land there is said to be the place where the gods first touched the earth's soil, and is mentioned in many of the village’s legends.  Many religious ceremonies and burials take place there, for the villages believe that the swamp holds the entrance-way into heaven (the "sacred realm" as referred to in other series of the game) and is always kept dimly-lighted by the grounds caretakers through the use of torch lights.  In the center of the playfield is a single cauldron-shaped lantern that is burning with an orange, flickering glow. (It will also play a major role in the plot of the game, but for the meantime we will only touch bases on it)

  At this point in the game, Link may or may not have a weapon to use against any forces of evil yet (I'm still questioning whether or not it is necessary to have one to defeat the swamp demon mentioned earlier, so I'm debating if it is needed to have a weapon to use here as well.) If not, then Link will have to avoid being seen by the priest guarding the swamp by crouching around walls and ducking behind objects.  This will get the player used to the control scheme for this game, and also give them some helpful insights on stealthiness as well (which is one of the key elements of gameplay this time around.)

  Anyway, however the events play-out, Link will eventually make his way towards the center cauldron while following Cro-ket, and somehow enter the sacred realm mentioned in the legend.  While there, the three goddesses (Din the goddess of power, Farore the goddess of courage, and Nayru the goddess of wisdom) will warn link of a horible event that is about to take place within the land.  Upon leaving the sacred realm, the goddesses will give Link a golden lantern (the lantern of light) and tell him to light it by the flame that rests by the alter inside of the flaming cauldron, and take that flame to the seven sanctuaries of the land.  After having lit the lantern, link is transferred back to his world by the gods, and thus, the quest begins. 

  As you and I both know, Cro-ket is the new secondary character in The Legend of Zelda: Lantern of Light, playing a similar roll to that of Navi in Ocarina of time, and Minda in Twilight Princess.  Aside from being a secondary character, he will play just as an important part in the story as Link does, this time around.  Later in the story, an event will happen that causes link to realise that Cro-ket is actually the spirit of the lantern of light and can be contained within the lantern itself.  Cro-ket can then be used for a number of different attacks, such as being turned into a controllable flame that can be directed at foes, and being catapulted off the end of a pole that rests on link's shoulders as a projectile.  He may even have the option of become infused with the master sword somewhere towards the end of the game. 

  As always, there will be many puzzle that will be required of link to be solved as you progress through the game.  Some of the old ideas on puzzles will kept, such as pushing a box or a crate on top of a grounded switch to open a locked door.  But I also feel that with the introduction of the new character Cro-ket, that we will be able to experiment on a whole other level of gameplay through puzzle building that we have never had the opportunity to do before. 
 
  Cro-ket opens many windows of opportunity for us in terms of gameplay and story content; never has link had a partner like this before.  I think we have good, well-rounded and thought provoking characters in our hands now, so lets start work on constructing or next big release in the series of Zelda games, The Legend of Zelda: Lantern of Light. 

                                                                                                                     Takashi Tezuka

Cyclone

This is just a draft for my grade ten writing class.  It is unfinished, so feel free to cratique as you wish, and help me make it better.  Just make sure to post your ideas in the coment section below, and, as always, don't use content from this website without my permition.  Don't take any of the information below as being anyways valid.  It is my own creation and purely fictional, so don't try to go and use it for any social studies projects, unless you want an atomatic F that is...

  The sound that my rubber sholed shoes make as I pace the polished floors of Newark international airport, echoes the emptiness of the halls and extends to the high sealings above.  As I pace, I watch as a custodian dunks the feathered end of his broom into the bucket, rings it out, and slops it against the already spotless floor.  I smell the drifting aroma of a nearby “starbuck’s” and hear the brewing of coffee machines busy at work; Puffing and wheezing “mocha delight.”  I can hear jet engines revving and taking off in the distance, their sounds ever so slightly penetrating the steel-mesh walls of terminal C.

As I make my way towards the seating area, a million thoughts go running through my head.  “Where has he been, what does he look like now, does he speak any English, Would he know who I am?” I straighten my tie, and fix a ruffle in my suit before taking a seat next to others, who too look like they are waiting for the return home of their loved ones.  I take a quick glace to my left and notice the blinking lights of the airports plane flight schedule billboard, several are behind.  I scower the list looking at the flights.  Malaysia, Mongolia, Moscow, no, I’m still in the clear.  Then my eyes meet with one of the yellow flashing bars, the kind you don’t want to see.  The text overlaying it reads “Madagascar, Flight_127: Delayed one hour due to poor weather conditions.” I hang my head in disbelief/ discontent/ disappointment and sigh.  I have already been waiting here for ten hours, how much longer will it take before I begin to lose my sanity in the midst of this crowd?

I run my mud-brown fingers through my charcoal-back hair and wipe some sweat from my brow.  Tension is building inside me. I lift my head to look at a clock “3:32am.”

A mother in the chair adjacent to mine begins to hush her small child to sleep.  I become distracted and hypnotized by her rocking, swaying him from side to side in her arms (as much rocking as the steel-framed seats will allow).  She holds him clinging to her chest, his small, bald head resting peacefully on her shoulder.  She begins to hum and sing a song so smooth it would melt your heart.  She keeps swaying in tempo of the melody, leaning one way and then the other… and soon all the congestion of the airport slips away.  All is quiet. 

Memories from the past begin to flood into my mind; Clouding my head, cluttering my every thought.  I drift in the darkness of it all; becoming more and more lost, in a deep sea of thought. 

…

In the solitude of my mind, I began to think about how things used to be, not so long ago.  How the mid-day’s sun would beat upon my head from above, and how the feeling of savanna grass felt as it ran between my toes, and beneath me feet.  How my family was so poor, that we would do anything for a buck.  How we would go several days without food, just for the sake of not having enough to eat.  We had nothing, but somehow, we lost it all…

“Why are you doing that?” I asked my father.  He was piling sand-filled bags from and old wooden ladder upon the steel roof of our house, an eight foot high shack of a place we called home. 

“It’s so that it won’t blow away” my father said with an unnerving sigh.  He hated having to explain such things to younger children.  He could never seem to frame things in the right words that I could understand. 

“Our roof’s going to blow away?!” I said in a both shocked and surprised voice.

“Not if I don’t find something to hold it down in place” he said while carefully placing a bag upon the front left corner, facing the south. 

I began poking at the ground with me feet, something I always do when I’m nervice.

“Are we going to be blown away too, Papa?” I asked with in a concerned tone of voice.  My father just looked at me from above with knotted eyes, as though searching for something to say.  There was a brief pause for a moment before my father turned and continued on with his work. 

“It’s not good for you to ask so many questions” my father said.  I had the feeling he wanted me out of his hair; he did not want me to become worried.  “Why don’t you go see if your mother needs any help with the gardening, okay?” I knew he was only baiting me on, something he did often, but I took it anyway. 

When I arrived at the garden, my mother was bent over pulling carrots out of the nurturance-deprived soil. 

“…” she said cheerfully. “Did you come to help Mama with the garden?  Here, give me a hand by picking some beans.” 

I weaved my way through the garden until I got to the drill where the beans were.  They didn’t appear to be by any means edible.  They were dried, shriveled and hard to the touch.  I reached out and felt the wrinkly, black skin of one as it broke away in my hand. 

“Are you sure we can eat these, Mama?” I said, holding the withered bean in my hand.  For a moment, my mother look worried, but then she only looked at me and smiled. 

“I don’t suppose we should.”  She tried to remain optimistic with everything she went to do.  That’s what gave her the strength to keep going, even when the times were tough. 

Our region of Madagascar was suffering from a terrible drought at that time, and hadn’t see rain for two long months.  Everything was dry, drier than it had ever been before.  Trees were splitting and cracking down their spines, their leaves turning grey and dying out.  Areas where the soil was usually moist, went dry and turned into sand.  The hot, humid air stayed unusually still, but when it blew, it whipped-up dust.  There had already been warnings for tornados and dust devils over the past few days, but so far we’ve been lucky. 

My eyes darted from row to row, plant to plant.  None of them seemed fertile or anyways good to eat.  All of them were turning brown, dried, burnt by the rays of the sun.  I lifted my head to find my mother picking away, still trying to judge which vegetables we would actually be able to swallow.  There was a hint of uncertainty in her eyes, as she struggled to find food.  But with every leaf she turned over, her hopes sank further into despair.   She bit her lip and rose from the ground, put her hands on her hips and shook her head in disbelief.  She looked as though she were about to burst into tears.  Four carrots and an onion, were all that she held in her hands. 

She was so worked-up over her loss in crop that she didn’t even notice me when I drew near.  I tugged on her dress and asked “What’s wrong, Mama?”

Startled, she jumped and almost dropped the vegetables she had worked so hard in collecting.  She then gathered herself, and knelt down beside me.   “You needn’t worry about a thing, …  Families are stronger as long as they have each other to lean on.” 

“But what about the garden?” I said.  My lower lip was quivering.

“We still have plenty of wheat and barley in the grain box to pull us through the winter.  We’ll find ways, the same as we always do.” She sounded so calm and reassuring, even though her face was saying something else. 

Tears were streaming down my face, their bitter saltiness entering into my mouth.  I couldn’t hold what was building inside of me any logger.  I was undone. 

“Why, do we always have to live this way?  Why is there never enough food for anyone?  I just want to live a normal life, one where no one starves and everyone is happy.” 

“Shhh… there, there honey, it’ll be alright.” My mother held me to her chest, squoas me tightly, and patted me on the back.  “I wish it were that easy, but it’s out of my control.”

She just stood there in the garden,

Start with the scene where the cyclone hits.  *groping around in the darkness of the ten by twelve room.   *Children that young should never need to know death, but after the previous night’s advents, my brother new all too well…

When I awoke next, the rain was pounding furiously against the side of the little shack of a house that we called home.  In the distance, I could hear the sound of trees cracking and swaying in the wind, one fell just to the right of our home, toppling several of the trees next to it, including the one that we used to tether our close line to.  It snapped as the weight of the fallen trees showed to be too much for it to handle, and thus pulled away the boards that anchored it to the house in one swift rip.  Our mother hurried us away from the crumbling wall, and ordered us to take refuge in our grain box, though when we lifted the lid there was only room for two.  Our mother, doing what any good, loving mother would do, gave the two spaces left in the box for me and my brother. 

As we climbed in, tears filled her eyes; we knew not what was to come of her next, we were far too young to understand.  She hugged and embraced us in her arms, and gave us kisses upon our foreheads.  She said to us Tiaka ianao “I love you,” and told us goodbye, before slowly closing the top of the lid of the box.              

Through the crack of where the where the “lid met the base”, I could see my mother… / I still remember my mother’s last expression she had on her face as I peered through the slit at the top of the box where the “lid met the base.” …

We stood there starring towards the horizon, waiting for our father’s return.  Three days past, …

*Remove from here on?

Then on the third day, a figure of a man came down the dirt-road that came from the forest and led to our house.  I thought to myself, “could it be? ..Father?!”   …

As the strange man, who I had never seen before approached us, I noticed that he was not like the other people of the village.  He had a lighter complexion, and spoke to us in a different tongue.  We were normally shy little boys, as our parents had always discouraged us from talking with strangers of any kind, but this time was an exception. 

“Where’s Father!” my brother demanded, as though this man had anything to do with the absence of my father.  “Where is he!”

My brother broke into tears, this was all too much for him.

Excercises- [1 of 3]

This was a practice question for my writing class, you can veiw the original question at http://www.blackvillewriting.blogspot.com/.

1- The team won its game.  Did you win your's, too?

2- They left their books there.

3- I hear you're about to graduate.

4- It's nice that they're friendly.

5- Although I get a lot of colds, I feel alright[all right] now.

6- Who's prettier than you?

7- Are you tired?  I'm out of  breath, too.

8- Run back and forth from here to there.

9- You're about to loose your you're book.

10- Everyone will accept the prize except you.

11- Do you know whether or not he will give me the prize?

12- Many people choose to live in large cities.

13- Is the doctor through with my exam?

14- What effect does the school principal have on you?

15- What did he advise you to do? Did you take
his advice?

16- There are a lot of your friends in the boat.

17- I will buy a book by Ray Bradbury.

I got them all right, excepet for number five.  (0.o) Oh, well ... (-0_0-) [I'm such a nerd] Hehe..