At such a time, I knew for certain that the tombstones in front of me would continue to haunt me and remind me of death; and my mother repeatedly asking if I was okay, and my grandmother’s wrinkled face staring at the pile of dirt being dumped on his grave, and my cousins walking towards the grass were scared and nervous at that moment conversing with each other through darting eyes; and the sounds of cries and sadness in the air, the rain pouring down aggressively, being aware of every drop that landed, on my face; and the crisp air hitting my face, was the wind, and that even with everyone there, the feeling of sadness, was everywhere.
A sad girl, dealing with loss, grief within her. A girl with a blue hijab, a big smile, having so much love to share. A girl who drowns in thought, and wishes to be someone great, and be loved by more, and to help everyone around, and hopeful for better days who screamed, and sang, and prayed; and whose tears flowed gently down her cheeks as her past memories rushed back in.
Passage 1: Once upon a time, somewhere filled with hexagons in plain grayscale as far as eyes can see, stand Dennis Kim, who once promoted π, and the greatness of circle, now discover the truth, his heart now broken, and filled with regret, with his mouth open wide, come to the realization that “Hexagon are the bestagons”.
Passage 2: A emotionless young man, all in plain dark grey colour, with messy black hair covering his forehead, and ears. A young man, with his black near sight glasses, with a old black table. A young man who is obsessed into the world of anime, who eyes, and hands are flawlessly in sync with those circle in the computer screen, who never learn
At such a time I knew for certain, that this laughter filled boat was a moment I wanted to remember; and that Alyssa Powell, happily taking film photos, and Brooke Gardner being captured in the photos were all smiling and joyous; and that Reina, Alex, Coen, Cameron, and Brandon, were intertwined in the moment conversing contently with one another; and that the sound of the swaying water beyond the boat, intersected with docks and sails, with the bright moon shining down at us, was Lake Cowichan; and that the bright scatter of glitter in the dark sky, were stars; and that even with the cool dusk air, the feeling of warmth, was happiness.
A joyful girl, all in baby pink, with pigtails in her hair. A girl with butterfly clips, and with fuzzy slippers, and with a lollipop in her hand. A girl who was amazed by fairytales, and frightened by monsters, and confused with multiplication, and excited for Santa to come, and saddened when dropped off on her first day of school, and delighted by snacks; who sang, and played, and cried, and smiled; and whose world was lit up whenever she’d receive a hug from her mother.
Passage 1: Throughout the years I’ve been at this school, Brookes Westshore, is not my home; and my dad Miguel, living at home, and also my mom Adriana, were in Mexico are missed by me; and that Luisa, Rodrigo and Diego, my best friends back home, were also are missed by me; and that a combination of emotions comes and is intersected with home sickness, and the excitement to go home. That the light at the end of the tunnel, is the time when I get to go home; and that reason to be happy, when they receive me with a big hug, was the joy; and that cold feeling of sadness growing everyday, with that feeling of losing myself will come soon to an end.
Passage 2: A beautiful dancer, all in a beautiful costume, with great rhythm in her heart. A woman with no limits, and with grace in every step, and her hair moving around. A woman who had a big smile in her face, and showered with sparkles, and strehght to jump, turn, bend and stretch, with emotions flowing, and a message to transmit; who moved, and grooved, and danced, and who’s feet never stop as her mind was leting go all the feelings that cannot let her be herself.
A sad girl, dealing with loss, grief within her. A girl with a blue hijab and big smile, having so much love to share. A girl who drowns in thought, and wishes to be someone great, and be loved by more, and to help everyone around, and hopeful for better days who screamed, and sang, and prayed; and whose tears flowed gently down her cheeks as her past memories rushed back in.
… That was the time when the truth was made clear, by the dark stars whose light reddened with Lord Eshan’s fury, and by the cathedral, once so opulent, and the monuments built in Her honour, which crumbled to dust; that Kasavionos, Varokira, Azanak, Tesiran, and Ganok, the ancient rulers of Eshara, were once more free to conquer; and that the western countries of Jahion and Cerrus, lands of rivers and mountains and deserts, would soon take up arms in preparation for a war; and that the northern land of Kanar would do the same; and that Eshan the Creator in her anger would not intercede; and that Simon, once named Edward Alder, stood at the center of it all, not knowing what to do.
A regal man, in a long grey coat, with white streaks in his dark hair and beard. A man with dark eyes, and with a sharp nose, and with mechanical implants in his fingers. A man who had once been a lord, and once been wealthy, and once been respected, and once been powerful, and had once fought, and had once killed; who now watched and listened, and saw and heard; and who always waited in the shadows for his time to come again.
(NOTE: Both of these are derived from the events of a story I intend to write. The first describes the circumstances leading up to the finale, and the second a major antagonist)
At this time I knew, that this merry place blanketed in snow was the mall; and that Santa, jolly in his ways, and also Buddy elf of Santa, were cozy and warm; and that Oliver, Emma, Harry, Thomas, and David, tots of the waiting parents, were giddy yet composed; and that the spectacular landscape beyond the scene, crossed with trees and bells and wreathes, with rowdy shoppers crowding through, was the gates; and that the red and white line beyond, was candy cane lane; and that the distant candy hut from which shouts of joy came, was Santa’s; and that the mound of Christmas joy taking in the season and beginning to smile, was me.
A jolly man, all in soft red, with a great sack on his shoulder. A man with a hat, and with black boots, and with a pipe in his mouth. A man who had been dusted in soot, and powdered by snow, and fattened by cookies, and bit by frost, and warmed by smoke, and framed by beard; who bounced, and laughed, and beamed, and smoked; and whose sleigh jingled as he flew through the night.
Passage 1: …At such time I knew for certain, that this place I called “home” was the pathway that led me into the heart of mine, and that me myself, for long abandoned this place, and also the feeling of being bored of my own origin so much, had been accepted and replaced with the happy, joy, gratitude, delight and peace, all now flow into me like a new first wind of a spring I dearly love so much; and that no matter how hard life is can seems to me, being mixed with the colors of sadness and despair, intertwined with the chaos, conflicts that will never stop, conflicts that I hardly understand, will always be there, and that whenever it all feel too much for me that I just want to stop for a moment to find a bit of peace, home is there; to welcome my little existence and no matter how much has happened, it’s there.
Passage 2: The train passed, with the slight city rain, there I sit with my own self. The cold air, with the lingering sadness, with some quick deep breaths, and with the blue that I have been so familiar with. The cold air which had been there for long, cleansing the air, and dirty the soils, and wet the hot roads, and wind follows, and cut through the busting city life, and bring life, and tear away our hearts; rain comes, and stop, and come, and stop; but is always there to welcome lonely soul who need a moment of tranquil in life.
Pastiche 1: At such a time i saw for certain, that this colourful place, overpopulated with children, was none other than the water park: and that parents payed bored on their sun beds; and that Brandon, Coen, Alex, and Adam, teenagers who were also bored from the long lines; and that colourful slide, which looked like a skyscraper, and full of water, were the water slides; and that dirty, smelly place, was the washrooms, and that distant, over priced place was the restaurant, and the short lonely stain on the park, who was terrified of the slides, was Cameron.
pastiche 2: A British man, in a slick suit, with an accent on his tongue. A man with no hat, and with shiny shoes, and a stylish haircut on his head. A man who had travelled the world, seen it all, learned many languages, and became a teacher; who walked, and talked, and wrote with chalk, and put on his glasses as he walked into my clsasroom and lectured us.
When I found out for certain that this bear concrete slab scattered with pitiful little trees was the courtyard; and that Eric MacKnight, peacefully reading, and also Shawn Jones teacher of the tenth grade, were in the classroom; and that Coen, Adam, Chantal and Alex, students of the aforesaid were also in the classroom; and that the dark, drab corridor beyond the classroom, met with doors and staircases packed with students mesmerized by their cellphones was the hallways; and that the great grey building afar was the dormitory; and that the raging rowdy lane from which the machines were screeching and blaring was the road; and that the bunch of energy in the middle of it all, was Brandon.
A fearless man, all dressed in black, with his eyes covered in shade. A man with a suit and with shades, and with perfectly polished shoes tied to his feet. A man who had been freshly bathed in water, and groomed by scissors, and pressed by an iron, and shaved by a blade; who marched, and smiled, and laughed and was styled; and whose eyes sparkled as he gleamed at me with a grin.
At a horrible time the young lion figured out for sure, that this deserted country taken over by drought, was his homeland; and that his lion father, death by hunger, and also lioness mother wife of his father, had starved and rotten; and that brother Peter, brother James, sister Hannah, sister Cleopatra, and Leo, baby children of the names said before, also passed and rotten by hunger; and the grey dry climate beyond the miserable mood, woven with measly trees and rocks and hills, with delicate giraffes eating from them, was the riverbeds; and that thin line of rocks in the horizon, was our water source; and that the depleted reservoir afar from which the breeze was rustling, was his birthplace; and that the small lump in his heart began to grow from grief and a tear slid down the face, of the young lion.
A cheerful lake, all in dark blue, with a sheet of ice on its head. A lake with no boats, and no broken smiles, and a hockey net tied around the posts. A lake which had been melted all summer, and splashed around by children, and paddled in with paddleboards, swam in by fish, fished in by man, and drunken from by elk, and ripped apart by boats. Who rippled, and swelled, splashed, and roared; and whose water had been polluted throughout the year as the ice split in the middle swallowing a man.
At the time I didn’t realize it, but this yard was the churchyard now covered in nettles. As I looked over I then saw that Philip Pirrip had gone, and Georgiana’s wife had both passed away buried underground; then realized that Alexander, Bartholomew, Abraham, Tobis, Roger, and a small child had also perished and were buried. Looking overseeing the dark wilderness beyond the churchyard was the old marshes, looking farther down the line seen once was a river, where the wind was rushing from you could see a savage lair where the sea used to be, feeling shivers around your body and fear building up, tears starting to slowly fall, could only have been Pip.
A man who was a fearful looking man, who had metal in his legs, who had no hat, but broken shoes and a rag that was tied around his head. The man was drenched in water with mud covering from head to toe, with cuts that looked like they could be from flints, with stings by nettles from what I could see, with tires from briars. A man who limped and shaken from head to toe, glared and growled at, whose teeth chattered in his head as we pulled me forward with a sliver chain put on me to pull me along as he moved.
It was that moment I knew for sure, that this dreary place bustling with adolescents was the campus; and that Jackson Jenkins in the missing of his assignments, and also energy of the day before, was late to class; and that his fellow classmates of years before, and to come, were also late to class; and that the grand beauteous jungle beyond the campus, mottled with bears and cougars and peacocks, with many beast’s residing in it, was the rainforest; and that the slow flow band below, was the creek; and that the obscured unchecked cauldron from which the storms are brewed, was the pelagic ocean; and that the sudden energy growing inside, was the excitement to leave.
An unhelpful creature, all in gleaming brown, with a minor matter in its leg. A creature with no collar and with broken teeth, and an old bandana tied round its neck. A creature who had been across lands, and over oceans,and through the rivers, and on top of the mountains, and between the roads, and along the valleys; who limped, and caressed, and barked, and chomped; and whose tongue slobbered my face as it took me down.
At such a time the boy found out for certain, that this space filling with people was an intersection where new roads met; and that Jacob was just the friend in his head, and Greg was never there and never real; and that the boy in my dreams, with the fancy shoes, and nice white T, did not exist, and never will, and that the black asphalt roads stretching on incessantly, weaving and winding, illuminated only by street lamps and stop lights, with cars of all shapes and sizes zooming and zipping on the black asphalt; and the storefronts flanking either side, and people busying themselves with wants and desires, walking to and fro without a thought for the young boy of only ten; looking up to the sky with his hands outstretched, he wished for a better life or a helping hand.
A frightened boy, missing the clothing to suit his torso, with nothing but hunks on his feet. A boy whose hair was mangled and knotted, and a face without a set of teeth, and a façade of 40, and the eyes of a boy of ten, and a crusty rag falling round his collar. A boy who had been tossed in rubbish, and bathed in the sun, and dozed on cement, and avoided by eyes, and looked down on by stilettos; a boy who hunched, and baked, and pleaded, and groaned; and whose mind dreamt of a life without struggle as he raised his hands and asked for a penny.
Passage 1: At that moment I realized that this shabby flat strewn with trash was my apartment; and that Philip Pirrip, once my best friend, and Georgiana, once my sworn love, had packed and left; and that happiness, contentment, purpose, calm, and tranquility, everything in fact that I valued, had also packed and left; and that the urban wilderness outside my apartment, intersected with streets and subways and elevated trains, with faceless people hurrying through it, was my home; and that the dark land beyond the city was the world; and that the vast unknowable void from which the screaming in my ears seemed to come, was the cosmos; and that the miserable, useless, despicable heap of self-pity curling into a ball amid the filth and shaking uncontrollably, was me.
Passage 2: A tearful man, all in maroon fleece, with little hair on his head. A man with a brown hat, and with brown shoes, and with a COVID mask tied round his neck. A man who had been mired in poems, and buried in plays, and puzzled by metaphors, and bored by similes, and lulled by iambs, and thrilled by rhymes; who sang, and chanted, and recited and howled; and whose eyes glittered in his head as he marked my essay by the Key.