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Herson-Ortolan, Ezekiel Applied Composition 6/02/09 8th Period Letter of Application

Dear Mrs. Xxxxxxx I have recently graduated from Sun Prairie High School and have been searching for productive and fulfilling employment opportunities in the Madison area. A few days ago I came across an ad in the Wisconsin State journal for an opening as a salesman and cashier at the local Super Target on the East Side. Due to my extensive qualifications I think I would be an excellent addition to your work force and would appreciate it if you took the time to consider me as as fellow employer. I think I would be a great part for the job --

3 questions of economics – what to produce, how to produce it, who to produce it for

circular flow -the circulation of income between producers and consumers

entrepreneur -a person who has possession of an enterprise, or venture, and assumes significant accountability for the inherent risks and the outcome

opportunity cost-he value of the next best alternative foregone as the result of making a decision

complementary good-a good which is consumed with another good

consumers-any individuals or households that use goods and services generated within the economy

economics-the social science that studies the production, distribution, and consumption of goods and services

goods and services-economic output is divided into physical goods and intangible services. Consumption of goods and

services is assumed to produce utility

scarcity-the problem of infinite human needs and wants, in a world of finite resources

natural resources-occur naturally within environments that exist relatively undisturbed by mankind, in a natural form (land or raw materials)

capital resources-factors of production used to create goods or services that are not themselves significantly consumed (though they may depreciate) in the production process

voluntary exchange-the act of buyers and sellers freely and willingly engaging in market transactions

market- any one of a variety of different systems, institutions, procedures, social relations and infrastructures whereby persons trade, andgoods and services are exchanged, forming part of the economy

production possibilities curve-a graph that shows the different rates of production of two goods that an individual or group can efficiently produce with limited productive resources. The PPF shows the maximum obtainable amount of one commodity for any given amount of another commodity or composite of all other commodities, given the society's technology and the amount of factors of production available.

Equilibrium-the point at which quantity demanded and quantity supplied are equal

Shortage- disparity between the amount demanded for a product or service and the amount supplied in amarket

Price Ceiling-a government imposed limit on how high a price can be charged on a product

Price Floor- a government- or group-imposed limit on how low a price can be charged for a product

Supply and Demand-an economic model based on price, utility and quantity in a market. It predicts that in a competitive market, price will function to equalize the quantity demanded by consumers, and the quantity supplied by producers, resulting in an economic equilibrium of price and quantity

Total Revenue-he total money received from the sale of any given quantity of output.

The total revenue is calculated by taking the price of the sale times the quantity sold

Demand Curve- 1*

Supply Curve- 2*

Labor Force-all the nonmilitary people who are employed or unemployed

Minimum wage-the lowest hourly, daily or monthly wage that employers may legally pay to employees or workers

Unions-an organization of workers who have banded together to achieve common goals in key areas and working conditions

Boycott-orm of consumer activism involving the act of voluntarily abstaining from using, buying, or dealing with someone or some other organization as an expression of protest

Mediation-a form of alternative dispute resolution  which aims to assist two (or more) disputants in reaching an agreement

Arbitration-a legal technique for the resolution of disputes outside the courts, wherein the parties to a dispute refer it to one or more persons, by whose decision they agree to be bound

Outsourcing- subcontracting a process, such as product design or manufacturing, to a third-party company.

Employment-in a commercial setting, the employer conceives of a productive activity, generally with the intention of generating a profit, and the employee contributes labour to the enterprise, usually in return for payment of wages

Board of Directors-a body of elected or appointed members who jointly oversee the activities of a company or organization

Corporations- a legal entity separate from the persons that form it

Franchises-the methods of practicing and using another person's business philosophy. The franchisor grants the independent operator the right to distribute its products, techniques, and trademarks for a percentage of gross monthly sales and a royalty fee

Sole proprietorships-a type of business entity which legally has no separate existencefrom its owner

Partnerships-a type of business entity in which partners (owners) share with each other the profits or losses of the business Partnerships are often favored over corporations for taxation purposes, as the partnership structure does not generally incur a tax on profits before it is distributed to the partners

Cooperatives-an autonomous association of persons united voluntarily to meet their common economic, social, and cultural needs and aspirations through a jointly-owned and democratically-controlled enterprise

Not for profit Corporations-an organization that does not distribute its surplus funds to owners or shareholders, but instead uses them to help pursue its goals

By-laws-a law of local or limited application, passed under the authority of a higher law specifying what things may be regulated by the bylaw, or it can refer to the internal rules of a company or organisation

Charter-the grant of authority or rights, stating that the granter formally recognizes the prerogative of the recipient to exercise the rights specified

Stockholders-an individual or company (including a corporation) that legally owns one or more shares of stock in a joint stock company

Perfect Competition-the perfect being a market in which there are many small firms, all producing homogeneous goods. There are Many buyers/Many Sellers, Low-Entry/Exit Barriers, Perfect Information, irms Aim to Maximize Profits, and Homogeneous Products.

Monopolies-a specific individual or enterprise has sufficient control over a particular product or service to determine significantly the terms on which other individuals shall have access to it

Monopolistic Competition-many competing producers sell products that aredifferentiated from one another (ie. the products are substitutes, but are not exactly alike)

Oligopolies-a market or industry is dominated by a small number of sellers (oligopolists) Dividends-payments made by a corporation to its shareholders. It is the portion of corporate profits paid out to stockholders

Bonds-a debt security, in which the authorized issuer owes the holders a debt and, depending on the terms of the bond, is obliged to payinterest (the coupon) and/or to repay the principal at a later date, termed maturity

Stock- a share of stock (also referred to as equity share) means a share of ownership in a corporation (company)

Insider Trading-he trading of a corporation's stock or other securities (e.g. bonds or stock options) by individuals with potential access to non-public information about the company

Credit Cards-a system of payments named after the small plastic card issued to users of the system. It is a card entitling its holder to buy goods and services based on the holder's promise to pay for these goods and services

Identity Theft-a crime used to refer to fraud that involves someone pretending to be someone else in order to steal money or get other benefits

Money Market-the global financial market for short-term borrowing and lending. It provides short-term liquidity funding for the global financial system

CD-a time deposit, a financial product commonly offered to consumers by banks, thrift institutions, and credit unions

Mutual Funds-a professionally managed type of collective investment scheme that pools money from many investors and invests it instocks, bonds, short-term money market instruments, and/or other securities

Budgeting-generally refers to a list of all planned expenses and revenues. It is a plan for saving and spending.

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Herson-Ortolan, Ezekiel 01/05/09 AP Psychology 7th Period Life Analysis Project Life Analysis Project Throughout my eighteen years of living my body has undergone a plethora of different changes. My physical body has changed extensively; I’ve been through periods where I would have been considered obese to having to see a psychiatrist for Anorexia.

I was fairly active as a kid, and was involved in multiple sports, including tee-ball, soccer, and basketball. Unfortunately, being active and enjoying sports doesn’t directly relate with being good at them. Although I exercised frequently I had horrible hand-eye coordination, foot-eye coordination and agility in general. During my third grade year, when I was 8 years old, I was on a soccer team called the Twisters. Since I never scored goals during scrimmages the couch put me on defense, and even then I was one of the worst players. I had decent speed, and could keep up with most kids, but even when I managed to steal a ball I was just like a dog chasing a tire. I didn’t know what to do with it. One time during a scrimmage I tried to steal a ball and ended up tripping over it, bringing the other (considerably heavy) kid down with my and breaking my color bone in the process. While the other players mothers gave them rewards for being at the top of the team or scoring the most goals in a game, my mom offered me $20 if I could accomplish the task of scoring a single goal. I got paid once, during a scrimmage. The Twisters never won a game that season. Surprisingly, being the worst player on the worst soccer team in Sun Prairie didn’t hinder my aspiration to join other sports. After two years of Soccer I decided it just wasn’t for me and decided basketball would be better suited for my playing style. But as with soccer, speed doesn’t mean anything if you don’t have enough coordination, and after a few games I started to get comfortable with, once again, playing defense. Luckily for me, just slapping the ball out of another players hand is enough in basketball and I rarely had to pass or, god forbid, try to shoot a basket. Ultimately I proved to a bit more skilled at basketball and even managed to get a MVP award in a game (although my enthusiasm drained a bit when, by the end of the season, every player on the team had received one).

I ended up sticking with basketball for two years until deciding once again to try something different. I was now a sixth-grader in middle school and wanted to play hockey, but since my mom was hard-bent on keeping my teeth intact decided on baseball instead. My run with baseball proved to be similar to my other athletic experiences; I was a pretty unskilled batter and even less able at catching. After the first few games I found a permanent position as left fielder and I’m pretty sure I was the worst batter. It was after a season of this that I came to the conclusion that sports wasn’t really suited for me.

It was early on in middle school, after I had quit sports, that I became much less active and started gaining weight. During my childhood I consistently had an average weight and height (according to the health website www.medindia.net) but by the end of my seventh grade year I was over 160 pounds and still at the same height as most of my classmates. My diet was for soda and greasy foods and my free time usually didn’t consist of more than playing videogames and watching movies or television.

It wasn’t until late in my eighth-grade year that I started to really hit puberty and experience my next major physical developmental landmark. Although I didn’t grow much in height, I started to lose weight fairly rapidly with virtually no change in my diet or life-style. By my freshman year in high school I was once again at a roughly average height and weight for my age group first started to seriously think about girls and dating. In an attempt to be more popular with the opposite sex I started working out and watching my diet more, avoiding having sodas on a daily basis and eating limiting the amount I ate. It seemed to be working; I became more sociable and viewed myself as more attractive. I still wasn’t comfortable with my body, however, and eventually started to skip meals on a daily basis. At the beginning of my sophomore year my parents started to get worried that I was getting to thin. I was now 20 pounds below the average weight for males of my height in my age group and my schedule for working out seemed to become near obsessive. I knew I was underweight but I was feeling much better than when I was heavier that I didn’t want to stop and I started to develop the perception that the thinner I was the happier I’d be. Midway through my sophomore year I was 5’10” and hardly over 100 pounds, making me fifty-pounds below the national average. It was at this time that my mom had me see a doctor, who, after several visits, eventually recommended I see a psychiatrist. After seeing a psychiatrist regularly for a couple months I was eating more regularly and started gaining back weight. By the summer my parents were no longer worried about the possibilities of developing Anorexia or any other eating disorder.

During the summer after my sophomore year I had gained a new interest in running. I loved it; unlike the sports I had played before hand it didn’t require coordination or talent, just endurance and motivation. I had a membership to the Sun Prairie Athletic Center and started running on the treadmills regularly. By my junior year I was 5’10”, 120 pounds and running an average of 30-35 miles a week. My body had changed considerably but I was still thin and, thanks to a vegetarian diet, severely lacked muscle. Throughout puberty my hair (brown) and eye color (green) have remained the same and since my junior year my height and weight (I’m now 5’10 and 130 pounds) have been fairly consistent.

My first real developmental landmark with motor skills happened when I was nine-months old and first started walking without my parents guide. The next major event after that was probably when I first rode a two-wheel bike at the age of five. According to the health-related website www.wondertime.go.com, both of these developmental landmarks occurred around the average time they occur for most children; the average age for walking being twelve to eighteen months and the average age for starting to ride a two-wheel bicycle being around five years.

My motor skills and hand-eye coordination have improved greatly since I was playing soccer in elementary school. When I was a kid my dad and I used to walk and balance on the rails of a train-track that was close to my house, I got pretty good and on a good day could walk a solid mile on the rails, but other than my balance my motor skills were fairly lacking. Trying to hit a ball in kickball or balance on a skateboard proved a challenge for me throughout elementary school and early middle school. In eighth-grade, however, I started biking much more often which helped improve my motor skills. Another developmental change happened my junior year when I started to regularly practice guitar. When I first started practicing I only played basic chords and it took a lot of effort and concentration to quickly and smoothly switch notes. After months of practice my fingers became quicker and my response time for reading notes and being able to form them with my fingers greatly improved.

According to Swiss philosopher Jean Piaget, humans develop the ability to perceive the world around them and execute logical operations and interactions in the world through four major developmental stages. In the sensorimotor period of cognitive development a baby should be able to develop basic hand-eye coordination at 1-4 months, develop habits at 4-8 months, find objects where they first discovered them at 8-12 months, experiment and show creativity at 12-18 months and show signs of understanding symbols at 12-24 months. According to my father I was an average infant and developed more-or-less according to Jean Piaget’s theory.

During the second period of Jean Piaget’s theory of cognitive development, called the preoperational period, children begin the develop language skill. In the first stage of the preoperational period, called the intuitive stage, children (ages 2-4) begin to learn symbolic thinking and start to use/interpret basic words, certain images and hand gestures. In intuitive stage children (ages 4-7) begin to use abstract mental activities like problem solving and begin to use logical thinking (although they still generally lack logical reasoning skills). Children in the intuitive stage are also thought to be less egocentric and use less animalistic thought than in the preoperational period. While I was growing up in the preoperational period I was a creative kid and enjoyed playing with building toys such as Lincoln Logs and Lego blocks. At the age of five I was able to use basic problem solving skills to correctly build basic Lego structures.

In the third stage, the concrete operational stage, children (ages 7-11) begin to properly use logic and cease thinking egocentrically. In this stage children have to ability to sort objects according to their physical similarities, identify objects based on their appearance, use multiple different ways to solve a problem, understand basic arithmetic and reversibility, understand concepts such as quantity and length and most notably are able to look at situations from multiple perspectives. When I was growing up in this period I was extremely organized; I would clean up my play-area and room regularly and almost always put back my toys. The ability to be able to put back objects such as toys and sort out separate toys based on their similarities shows cognitive development in this stage. I also learned how to measure objects and solve basic arithmetic, which shows development with the reversibility process in the concrete operational stage.

The final stage of Jean Piaget’s theory of cognitive development is called the formal operational stage. This stage affects children entering puberty (ages 12+) and in it humans develop the ability to reason logically, solve problems logically, comprehend abstract concepts and create conclusions based on the knowledge presented to them. I am technically still mentally developing in this stage, but throughout the past couple years I have proven to be able to use logical reasoning to show my work in answering algebraic equations, comprehend abstract concepts such as physics and chemistry and effectively use presented information to draw conclusions and develop educated views on subjects such as politics and history.

Herson-Ortolan, Ezekiel 10/22/08 American Heritage 1st Period Overwhelming Pride

Throughout many stories produced by the Greeks overwhelming pride has played a major role in the protagonist’s downfall. Overwhelming pride is defined in literature as a trait where the characters pride in a certain idea or person is so great that it becomes almost a negative characteristic that often leads to the characters ruin. The novels “Antigone” and “Oedipus the King”, both of which were written by the Greek playwright Sophocles around the year 450 B.C., are great examples of how overwhelming pride can lead to a character’s downfall. In the novel “Antigone”, the third story chronologically in the Oedipus trilogy, Antigone, daughter of Oedipus, displays the characteristic of overwhelming pride when she attempts to give her brother Polynices a proper burial against King Creon’s orders. Upon finding out that the unwanted burial of Polynices was the fault of Antigone, King Creon sentences Antigone to a cavern to die. As shown in the beginning of the story, when Antigone is talking about burying Polynices to her sister Ismene, Antigone is fully aware of the dangers of attempting the burial but, due to her overwhelming pride, proceeds to anyway.

Why Extremist Animal Rights Groups Should Be Illegal Introduction THESIS: Animal rights groups should are the greatest domestic terrorist threat to our nation. Everyone knows about PETA, and the bizarre stunts many PETA members have pulled over the decades. ALF, the first animal rights group, is far WORSE. Considered a serious terrorist group- steal animals, destroy labs and factories, and accidentally kill people. Does more harm than good Organization Is different from other well-known terrorist groups No official ‘leaders’, anyone can join, no official instatement Many individuals working independently or small groups Disorganized, vague “guidelines” Disillusioned young members Attacks Molotov cocktails, homemade bombs, men in ski masks… ALF attacks any organization they deem ‘cruel’ Extreme members even see household pets as ‘unnatural’ There are of course some bad operations, but not all are Biggest problem- unintentional victims Guidelines state avoid human injury, only hurt property Bombs, cocktails, illegal break-ins? Effective, cost money and stop production Usually counter-effective Animals

Herson-Ortolan, Ezekiel American Heritage Period 5/6 02/10/08

“Concerns” over Loss of Freedom According to the United States media we are a free nation. According to the thousands of patriotic sound lyrics, books, and movies- we are the freest goddamn nation there ever has been. George W. Bush junior has stated: “America is a Nation with a mission - and that mission comes from our most basic beliefs. We have no desire to dominate, no ambitions of empire. Our aim is a democratic peace - a peace founded upon the dignity and rights of every man and woman.” In that violent summer of 1776 our nation was born, and it was born for a reason- and that was freedom. At least, that’s the general consensus. But do we really live in a free nation today? Were we at any time in our history a truly free nation, and if so, have the new trend in privacy intruding government policies destroyed it? Despite what Glen Beck asserts every night at eight P.M. on CNN- we do not live in a free nation. We do not have freedom, at least, not completely. According to the Webster dictionary freedom means “the power to exercise choice and make decisions without constraint from within or without”. We’re allowed to think freely, but that’s where the road ends. Everything else is regulated by a powerful governing force, one that restricts all of our actions that the United States government frowns upon, called the law. We flat out cannot have complete freedom and still have a governing law. The only form of government that truly offers freedom is Anarchy. The law is the very force constraining our exercise of choice and action as described in the definition of freedom. American’s have the freedom to do certain things, but we’re still restrained, just like any citizens under control of a totalitarian government are*. We can only do what the government approves of; fundamentally making America a non-free nation. However, despite our glamorization of the word, lacking freedom is in our nation’s best interest.

When people talk about freedom, it seems as if they want as much of it as possible. Like freedom is an endless bag of riches. But if we want to live on a progressive, stable society, one where we can have the material luxuries our own society is so bountiful of, freedom must be restrained. To keep a society like ours stable, we need power- lots of power- to run it. I don’t mean power as in electricity, but rather man power. We need workers, millions of workers working thousands of hours over their life span. We need complete conformity to our political system- everyone must participate. To motivate those who do not participate or work favorably on behalf of our society, we have punishment. Laws threaten to imprison the citizens for defiance, and considering our country currently has the highest percentage of imprisoned citizens in our history (greater than 1%), we enforce it with vigilance.

Many fear the loss of freedom, but perhaps it should be embraced. We are the worker ants of our nation, the more constrained by the government we are, the quicker and more effective political leaders can lead us to execute their plans, which if they’re acting in their own best interests well lead to more production of goods and material that citizens can buy into and well ultimately fuel a healthier economy. Some of us may want to have complete freedom, some way want to act on their own accord without devoting themselves to their society, but it is what we have signed up for. We eat the food, live on the land, invest in the institutions, and buy the products. For this we do not pay America with our currency. We pay with our freedom.


 * To clarify, I am not saying that America is, necessarily, a Totalitarian government, but rather stating that freedom is restrained in both Totalitarian governments and Democracies alike.

What Does Freedom Mean To Other People

Do you think America is free?

Paige: It used to be. I started out as a place refugees from Europe could go to express they’re freedom. In modern day American however, everyone is greedy, no one cares about the people as much as they do the profit. We can’t even express ourselves without being thrown into jail.

Desiray:  Yes, however I think people are held back. Oppressed by the system and government. We have freedom of speech but it’s limited. We’re still censored our constitution is still violated. If a person says evens says that the government is profiteering off the war in Iraq, it can be labeled as treason and said person could potentially go to prison for it.

Licia: In general, yes. American's have a lot of freedoms other countries don't, but so many people are trying to limit our freedom because or religious or political beliefs. I think little by little Americans are losing their freedom to do things, but we're still free none the less.

Katie: not really, to an extent... but all the things that we supposedly have free, the law can find ways around that to take your rights away from you

How do you think America can improve to be a free nation?

Paige:  First off I think we should take corrupt officials out of power and eliminate the Electoral College, people should be able to vote for their leader and not let a small group of people take that away. People should really be educated on what happens in the world besides celebrity bullshit. We should encourage kids in school more to express themselves; we should have more freedom be ourselves. People feel like they have to conform and be like everyone else. Being happy is what really matters, not profit, not social status. If people would stop being frustrated with their government and actually do something about it we could actually make improvements in our nation. It’s really surprising how much goes on that people don’t know about. The governments so hypocritical too; terrorism is controlling people with fear- and that’s what our government is doing!

Desiray: I think there’s problem with people just being able to be individuals. I don’t feel free to express myself. It’s not a problem with the government as much as it is with society. We need to be more open of people’s differences. If we could let go of our material possessions people could be freer.

Licia: I think politicians should keep the general public’s needs in mind and not be so focused on themselves and their parties. America as a whole should be considered before laws and bills are passed, not just the minorities and certain groups of people.

What are your concerns about loss of freedom? Paige: Eventually it’s going to be the very rich against the very poor. People just lose everything that they even care about and the world we be very dull and no one well be able to do what they want to do. The situation for the working class and the poor class, the gap between the rich and the poor is getting wider and the middle class is deteriorating. The rich get richer, the poor get poorer. This is what laissez fair capitalism has brought us to. It’s inevitable.

Licia: I think it's happening more rapidly than most people think. Personal freedom is growing to be a rare thing and I don't think that the government should be able to invade peoples personal space and tell them what they can and cannot do. Albeit it's a controversial topic, like it or not abortion is personal freedom in a way and the woman should be allowed to do what she feels is best with her body, the abortion wouldn't affect the government or anyone else, just the woman.

the crucible

The year is 1950 and the Soviet Union has detonated its first atomic bomb. This act marks the beggining of the Cold War era, a time when two of the worlds greatest superpowers went from allies to enemies in a battle for militaristic dominance and goverment control. The Soviet Union spreading it's communist ideoligies across sections of Europe and Asia; and the United States fighting back in the name of democracy. The Soviet Union had already infiltrated U.S. intelligence in gaining the secrets of the Atomic Bomb and Senators of the United States government, specifically Wisconsin Republican Senator Joseph McCarthy, would be damned if they let communist spys leak another parcel of American intelligence. Thus starts one of the biggest back-steps in U.S. history. The modern duplicate of the horrid events of the 1692 Salem Witch Trials. The McCarthy communist trials and the Salem witch trials are notably simialr times in our history and are an example of how little mankind has changed.

The Salem witch trials were arguably one of the most shameful periods in U.S. history (technically, since the events occured prior to the Revolutionary War, it wasn't apart of United States history, but occured on American soil and involved the European immigrants whom later founded the country). The events began when a puritan salem resident by the name of Abigail Williams, a Native American slave named Tituba, and several other puritan girls were found dancing in the woods by Reverend Parris.

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Do you ever feel bullied in school?

What have you found to be your style of learning?

Has attending school helped distinguish your goals/ideas for the future?

Do you feel ready for the “real world”?

What does earning a diploma mean to you personally?

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Herson-Ortolan, Ezekiel 01/21/08 Creative Writing II Self-Evaluation

Making unbiased judgments on ones self is an impossible task. How does one make any sort of honest judgment on themselves without removing their ego altogether- it can’t be done. But what the hell, its eleven O’clock on the night before finals, I might as well give it in honest shot.

First off, I’ll start with answering a question which, for some reason which is beyond me, is commonly asked during interviews with famous writers; “what’s your motivation?”. Well, when I’m writing a paper for a class, such as this, it’s for a grade. However, when I’m writing in my writing journal during my own free time, at my own will, it’s for something completely different. I’m a daydreamer- I stumble through hallways, have horrid short-term memory, and unless I’m interested- I’m usually pretty ignorant of my immediate environment. It seems the only way to stop the constant flow of thoughts is to cement them down onto paper. Whip out a pen and paper, jot it all down, and get on with my life. Even when I’m writing about a completely unrelated subject, writing is like a voyage through my unconsciousness. I more-or-less discover my thoughts and opinions as soon as I put them onto paper. In that sense, I guess my motivation for writing would be self-discovery.

Another question commonly asked is “where do you get your ideas?”. Another stupid question, in my opinion, since I think it’s pretty much the same for everybody. I doubt most famous writers have an actual mechanical process for churning out their ideas. If they do, their writing is probably mechanical and boring. With me I don’t sit down at my desk with an open notebook and ask myself “what would be a really cool original/creative idea for a new short story?”. Rather, it occurs while I’m stumbling down the hallways, or forgetting something else, or ignoring my immediate environment because I’m too absorbed in my own world. It happens during the most random cracks of uninspiring life that I discover my best ideas. ---

According to the black aluminum watch on his wrist, the time is six-minutes prior to five in the afternoon. According to his syllabus of that “new school” smell, the date is the 5th of September. An eighties-style brick building with battered and eroded wood shingles spans at an intimidating four stories and a solid three-quarters of the football field that sits parallel alongside several fenced rows of rusted silver bleachers. Lenin stands next to his black 96’ Acura and stares at the empty block windows of the symmetrical building, taking into account how barren and silent it is while a cool breeze batters his short, unkempt dark hair. Lenin makes a move for his car keys when his phone starts singing that same punk-rock ring tone he bought over a year ago during his high school junior year. To Lenin’s expressed disappointment; the caller ID read “Emily”. He answered it, but the action was regretted instantaneously when he heard Emily’s high pitched squeaky voice ask him if he was available for a third shift overtime tonight. Yesterday it was a bad stomach. The day before that was a splitting headache. Today it was projectile vomit. “If your not coming in for three days in a row,” Lenin said with a tone of exasperation in his voice, “can’t you at least come up with a universal excuse instead of making shit up everyday?” Lenin had already had to log in overtime the past two-nights thanks to her constantly changing bodily dysfunctions. Forsearious, two days of school and then working a second and third shift was insane. He couldn’t even do it legally if he wasn’t eighteen. But he wasn’t working second shift tonight, and it was a Friday. He could always use the extra money- working this 7 hour overtime could bring in over $80- before taxes- and that’s 1.5Gs of pure- he could be tweaking on grade A methamphetamines for a solid weekend. And with all the money he had already made this week, he could pay off all his debts to his buddies, even bum them with a complementary line if they didn’t have enough to get off with him. Having extra money always had it’s advantages. A wasted Friday night at work just meant a Saturday that was twice as fun. Emily’s voice was rambling on in his ear. He wasn’t really listening to the words as much as he was the way she phrased them. He didn’t know what the hell was wrong with her, why she was making excuses the past couple days, but he could tell she was desperate. And who knows, helping her out now could always have it’s advantages later on. Emily knew him, knew him well, well enough to get his ass fired if she ever got a case of big mouth at work. Defiantly best to have her as a friend, not an enemy. “You know.. yeah, no problem, I guess. I don’t really care, I’ll come in. Just feel free to warn me ahead of time in the future when you plan on taking three consecutive days off.” She was appreciative, at least. And Lenin was left with a positive feeling that he was genuinely helping her out and even good that tonight would be half productive. The only problem was in his tired mind; his body that had been running two days straight on no sleep, a lack of food, and no push. Tonight, he was going to need a push. Working 11:00 – 6:00 A.M., he was going to need a push. Lucky for him, he had the last remains of a push sitting in his glove compartment. Lenin sat down in the drivers seat and cooked up a spoon full of dark liquid in his burned-black light bulb. This night would be easy, fun, fast. And before he even knew it, it would be over.

Brianna had been friends with Lenin since elementary-school. Even if they were completely different people now, they were practically friends by default. Any two people that have known each other for so long, grew up with one another, lived through such similar experience with each other, had a special bond- indiscriminant to the actual personalities and differences of the two people. Even knowing this, it was always hard for Brianna to see Lenin in such rough shape; walking in the Super Tuesday convenience center tonight, smiling smug, hyper talkative and with dilated blood-shot eyes. He was like a dead-man walking. Had he even looked in a mirror tonight? He was so obviously tweaked Brianna felt embarrassed for him. She didn’t even really care that he did this stuff to himself, just as long as it was on his own time, with his own tweaker friends at their trashed out tweaker apartment. But not here- when he did this around her, in public, it just proved how bad off he really was. But she didn’t show her disappointment in him, or her pity. She put on a friendly smile and greeted him. On this night shift, it was just going to be him and her, and the last thing she would want to do was create some sort of awkward tension between them. He really was a nice guy, she thought, it was just a damned shame that his hobby happened to be burning holes into his brain.



According to the dull white clock hanging over the cash register- the time was five-past-eleven. Lenin gave himself a soft ‘damnit’ at how he can never for the life of him seem to make it to a night shift at on time. Maybe he needed to leave his place earlier- he thought to himself. Or maybe that coffee stop at the beat-down kwik trip was the cause for his lateness. Or maybe the five minute cigarette break before he logged in his time.

Whatever.

Lenin gave a heads up and a smile to Brianna, logged in his time, and retreated back to his thoughts. Yeah, it was five minute cigarette break. Why would he take a cigarette break outside the Super Tuesday at precisely the same time hes supposed to log in. What a silly thing to do. However, he honestly was having cigarette cravings. Maybe the question should be reversed- why work when one has strong, urging cravings to chill outside and smoke cigarettes? Lenin walked back out of the the Super Tuesday and revisted his pack of Pall Malls. To Brianna, all she had seen was a cracked out Lenin walked into the store five minutes late, briefly acknowledge her existence and log in his time at the register, and then after five seconds of professional workmanship at the counter- walk back out like he had just completed his shift.

Brianna was curiously taken aback by this and also a bit frightened for him. After all, she had just had a less-then-pleasant orientation with their new assistant manager. It started out right after she entered the building- a few minutes early as usual. Wearing the proper Super Tuesday attire, she began her usual late night routine; setting her half drunk cup of black gas station coffee on the counter, logging into the register, and then leaning against the back wall waiting for a customer.

Then she saw the new face jogging in her direction from isle six. Big, bulky, intimidating, late 40s with the white crew cut hair of an ex marine. Brianna gave honest thought to whether or not he was an ex marine. He was jogging with a motive- appearing as if some great misfortune had just occurred and it was his duty to correct it. What happened? Brianna looked the other way. Just a set of peaceful, currently unused doors.

“HEY! Brianna right?”

He was standing next to her now. His tone was harsh and as accusative as his facial expression. Eye brows all narrowed like an owner scowling at a dog that just shit all over their apartment.

Brianna just gave a defensive look back. “umm.. yeah”

“Well- A:  you obviously have a false sense of placement- this is not a lounge, this is a professional convenience center with hardworking employees who don’t lean against the walls like some slacker punk.”

Brianna gave herself a soft chuckle at the thought of Super Tuesday being a professional convenience center. Or professional anything. But she made sure not to let it show to Mr. Stick-In-His-Asshole. Jesus Christ.

“B:” he began again in his soft passive aggressive tone. Brianna when people used that passive aggressive tone. It was like yelling at a person in a “I love you” voice. So fake and plastic, she’d prefer him just yell at her. “This is not a coffee house.” He picked up her coffee and dropped it in the trash bin.

Brianna tried to keep a straight face despite the hurricane of irritation building inside her.

“C: My name is Charles Bukowsky and I’m your new manager”. He then offered Brianna his hand and a fake shit-eating smile. “Now, here’s to new beginnings. I sure hope you can shape your act together tonight or I may have to give your job to a hard working American.”

She shook his hand and gave him a yes in a tone more pleasant then he deserved.

“Great.” He looked at his watch. “Now, isn’t there someone else that’s supposed to be working the registers? I sure hope I’m mistaken, because if there is one then they are… late.” His tone dropped at the word “late”. As if “late” was a taboo word only reserved for the direst of situations.

Charles Bukowski had not yet noticed Lenins arrival… his second cigertte break. Brianna hoped to god that Lenin would return before he did notice. She almost thought of going out after him- but that was like running after a fellow soldier after the just ran into a mine field- there’s a fine line between being noble and being suicidal.

Must to her dismay, she saw Bukowski walk out of the back room and head out the doors. Considering the greeting he had given her, a reasonably hard worker, she couldn’t even imagine the words he had saved for someone like Lenin. He disappeared through the doors. Brianna cringed a little, thanked god she wasn’t Lenin, and continued to checkout her current customer.

It had been seven minutes- Brianna knew this because she had been staring at her clock between every customer- wondering how orientation/train wreck/ execution was going. Then Bukowski walked back in through the doors and straight to the back room without even glancing at Brianna. His face looked relatively calm; completely the opposite of Lenin’s expression when he followed behind Bukowski back into the Super Tuesday and took station at his register. It was as if he had just witnessed an effin’ atom bomb going off, and his fragile mind couldn’t grasp all the meaningless death and destruction. He almost seemed a bit confused, just standing at his register in silence, staring but at nothing in particular- dazed with his mouth half open.

Brianna decided to initiate the conversation with a rhetorical question. “So…. How did that go?”

“I think” Lenin started, “there’s something I should let you in on…”



Back at base camp. Lenin lights the steal bowl of kronic, takes a deep breath, and exhales. The apartment is the perfect pad for tweakers. Plenty of mess to pick up when one gets the urge. Busted-ass furniture, dents in the doors, mutilated posters, a carpet so stained one can’t even distinguish what the original color was. On this particular Wednesday night it was just Russian and Lenin. Most of the apartments inhabitants were building funds for the weekend- Lenin was just warming up for his night shift, and Russian never was into making money the honest law abiding way.

Lenin switched the daily small talk and got the real reason why he stopped by. “So you mentioned having some ‘inside knowledge’ on this whole killer heroin ordeal?”

“Aha! Yes. I do indeed.” Russian was smiling, he got around a lot, knew a lot of people and a lot of things, and loved telling stories. “So I was picking up this quarter of dope from M, right, and with all the scare of that killer heroin going around, he insured me that this was old shit from his own personal stash, before the new imports. Of course, if this really is heroin from his own stash that he’s selling, why the fuck is he selling it at the same street price of all the other shit? I didn’t trust him for a second- but I bought the sack anyway, I wanted to do a little chemical testing, see if I really could trust this guy for future deals.

“I took it back, cooked it, tested it out- and guess what- its that killer shit. . Except this new heroin doesn’t kill because of it’s potency- it’s laced. It has effin’ methylamphetamine, hydroxybutyrate, 2cb- and just the right amount of all of it to be fatal, its not as much heroin as it is just a chemical mixture to trigger a total body shut down. And this wasn’t laced with the intention the get you high- it’s obvious that this is specifically made to kill junkies.” Lenin nodded slowly. “but… that’s not what’s on the news, what’s in the police reports, everyone’s saying that the deaths are caused by the potency…”

“You know why, this is the real creepy shit- I think that someone payed off some of the police in the higher-up to release false reports. Or just payed off whoever tested it to give the police false information, that would be easier.”

“Why the hell would they go through the trouble of paying off chemists? Either way, if it’s too potent or laced, it still kills any sorry asshole that sticks it in their veins- what does it matter?”

“Its fuggin’ sad dude, but even with the surge of killer heroin going around, junkies are actually buying more. Did you know that when a heroin overdose is reported, the sales of heroin increase in the area? It’s cause the junkies figure that if some shmuck died of an overdose it must mean that its good heroin- real potent. So if the reports are released saying that the heroin is only killer cause it’s real potent junkies well keep buying- they’ll just use smaller amounts. Sad part is, with the combination, its pretty indiscriminant to small amounts. It’s like shooting up rat poison, you can take it as easy-peasy as you want- you’re still a dead motherfucker.”

Lenin nodded slowly, thinking it over. “So, you think someone in the higher-up is trying to kill heroin addicts?”

Russian nodded.

“Why would anyone want to do that?”

“Think about it: heroin addicts aren’t the most benifitial people in our society. They live off welfare, food stamps, become incarcerated and produce nothing but occasionally more messed-up children that social security has to take care of. The government spends millions for these junkies just in the L.A. area- and most them don’t even work. The higher-ups could save a lot of money by killing some of these junkies off.”

Lenin thought it over for a few seconds. It almost made sense, but this was all coming from Russian- he’s a drug dealer and an occasional tweaker. Aren’t tweakers supposed to be paranoid? Isn’t this more or less what the health teachers said would eventually happen to us if we used amphetamines? We’d be like thoughs crazy ‘nam soldiers who always thought the CIA was after them. But this all almost made sense, he just needed a little hard evidence. “How do you know the heroin you got is the same heroin the police tested?”

Russian smiled again. Apparently he had another story.

“Well you know I’m not one to get messed around with on deals. M lied to me, and sold me fatal heroin. He tried to kill me. This was his own fatal little mistake. I went back to him later that day, this time he was going to tell the barrel of my effin’ .45 that that shit wasn’t laced!” Russian laughed. It was just like Russian to laugh in a situation that could of turned out so badly, Lenin thought to himself, even after getting himself in a situation where he’s pulling an effin’ gun on a drug dealer that tried to kill him laced heroin, Russian’s just laughing about it all non-nonchalant. “But yeah, anyway, he pleaded that he was telling the truth and I just told him to go snort a line of it. His eyes grew bigger and he pleaded and he gave me a story about how he got it from a newbie on the streets, some big, husky, military-like character. He told me that I should go to him, even gave me a street address- the rat…” Russian paused and lit up a cigarette.

Lenin was still a little shocked that Russian had gotten himself into that situation- pulled a gun on someone. “So, like, what happened next?”

Russian smiled.

“You didn’t-”

Russian cut him off, “No, course I didn’t shoot him. Just roughed him up with a lil’ pistol whip and gave him a bit of a speech on how it’s a bad idea to lie to a man named Russian. I don’t actually think he knew that the stuff was laced, he just wanted to sell it, but I made my point that if he sold that shit to anyone else, he’d have a new .45mm piercing lodged in his brain.”

“So did you track down the ex-marine character?”

“I looked up the name M gave me, it’s a fake ofcourse, but the address seems to be legit. I drove by it today- it’s one of the brand new apartments on the east-side. He couldn’t have lived there for more than two months. They’re nice too, not like your standard street junkies place; I’m guessing the rent must be above $2500. That’s a bit high for a guy that makes a living dealing to guys like M, but not higher then, say, the budget of the L.A.P.D..” “None of this is hard evidence that points to anything…”

“Think about it: the guy couldn’t have lived there for more than 2 months, its an apartment which means its not a permanent location, the guy even looks ex-military.

“I hate to break it to you, but this is all sounding very paranoid to me…”

“Just wait dude, just wait, I’m gonna get the word around to watch out about this guy, get the word out about the heroin. See what happens.”

“How could anyone in the higher-up even get away with it, of course people are gonna catch on that the reports are wrong. And then that military character, whatever his name is, is in deep shit with whoever he dealt to. The risk of dealers like him getting killed is too big for the L.A.P.D. or anyother government organization to risk.

“Unless he doesn’t know that he’s selling laced heroin… maybe the L.A.P.D. doesn’t even know. Maybe they think the same as everyone else; that it’s just potent. And by the time more people die, and it starts to look fishy, by the time the death toll rises and people start to get suspicious like me and test it- when word gets out that it’s actually poison, all the junkies that would have benefited from that information would already have gotten their fix. Their last fix. Think about it, it only just hit the news yesterday that there’s killer potent heroin going around L.A., and six people have already died. Now that the news has gone around the numbers gonna grow exponentially, and say even if the news comes out tomorrow that it’s all laced, there’s been a two day gap. Tell me a real junkie who doesn’t buy a new fix within a two-day period.”

Lenin was still just trying to comprehend this is his dazed stupor. “well, lets check out the tele, see if it has something to say.” Before Lenin even went to the local station, he tried a national one, just to see if…

HEADLINE NEWS FOX HEADLINE NEWS FOX HEADLINE NEWS FOX HEADLINE NEWS FOX HEADLINE NEWS FOX Bush approval rating dropped to 14% due to computer error, some say… Democracy:  a failed idea, some say…  “freedom of choice” should be eradicated, the majority of some people say…  Michael Moore:  filmmaker or jihad terrorist? – an unexplained source of information may have the answers…

Lenin and Russian stared into the 27” half-crack screen of the television- the news caster wasn’t saying anything about L.A.- that was a good thing at least. Young, dirty-blonde, big breasts, sitting at a desk low enough so that the camera could fit her breasts into the view of the lense of the camera. Russian started to hum in an optimistic tune until the news bar caught their eye again:

…sixteen heroin related deaths occur in Los Angeles area over the period of two days- investigators say its due to highly potent Columbian imports…

“Well how about that, sixteen deaths as of news report and we don’t even get any thing more than a sentence in the news box. How many deaths do we need to land some visual coverage?” Lenin said this smiling towards Russian- his smile half in disbelief and half in honest amusement.

“I think the story needs a more pro-war-effort message” Russian responded, eyes narrowed in curiosity, still staring into the television.

The story had changed to something about the war in Iraq. Soldiers were running around in full desert cameo with M16s. Some of the war footage was sketchy and shot with night vision lenses. More footage shot in black and white from a machine gun mounted at the bottom of an airplane, indiscriminately firing shots and missiles at the black buildings and black ants on the ground.

Zmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm RATARATARATARATARATARATARATARATA zmmmmmmmmm RATARATARATARATARATARATA BOOM zmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

The door broke Lenins stare with the t.v.- it was Ian. Coming back from wherever it was that Ian worked; someplace that required one to wear a suit and tie but that paid little enough so that he still had to room with his buddies in an apartment. He sat down next to Russian and started to pack an unopened container of Marb Reds. Lenin always found it a bit out-of-place when Ian would show up at base camp and join in on a smoking circle without even changing out of his professional looking work attire.

“So what’re you crazy cats up to” he glanced at the t.v., “watchin some american might own some civilian ass I see, nice to see your both workin real hard for the weekend.”

“Nothing much… just being a few… paranoid androids” Lenin said, looking over at Russian.

Russian just nodded. Before Ian further inquired on how they’d been spending their day, Lenin’s phone started singing.

“’sup Emily… nothing much... tonight?... why?... yeah sure, I can use the overtime money anyway… yup, no problem, just hope you feel better…later.”

Lenin slipped his phone back into his pocket.

“Awww, lenny not gonna be able to join is tonight?” Ian said in a jokingly sympathetic voice.

“Nope, some of us have jobs around here- jobs where we don’t have to go door to door selling refrigerators, or whatever-the-hell it is you do.” Lenin took out his pack of cigarettes and lit up another Pall Mall.



Lenin spoke to Brianna in a half-whisper, loud enough so she could hear him from the distance between their registers, but low enough to lessen the chance of eavesdroppers. “So… our boss is an undercover narcotics agent who sells poison heroin is a plot to.. Kill all the junkies in the L.A. area…” Lenin didn’t especially care whether or not Brianna would believe him, she’d be crazy if she did, but he had to get it off his mind anyway. “Are you sure your not snorting laced heroin. Honestly- look at yourself. I hate to say it but your in a bad way, you are not cut out to be working in a public environment.” Maybe she was right, but Lenin knew what he felt- his gut feeling- and it was not rooting for this Harris character. Everything just made too much sense to him. “Lenin… think about what your saying, It’s ridiculous. Whatever your on, your on too much of it. Just calm down and work your register.” Brianna could tell Lenin wasn’t soaking in any of her words, but let it be. As long as he could operate enough to check out the few customers there were, she didn’t care.

Herson-Ortolan, Ezekiel Creative Writing II 1st Period

For this prose I will be writing in the style of science-fiction novelist Orson Scott Card. Due to not wanting to bastardize any of his books, specifically speaking of “Ender’s Game” and “Shadow of the Hegemon”, by adding an unwanted hidden chapter to the story, I will be writing my own story using my interpretation of his writing style. The main themes and styles that Orson Scott Card articulates in his novel “Shadow of the Hegemon” include: depth in characterization, depth in the novel’s world politics, multiple views on issues and problems presented in the novel, depth and explanation in the “whys and how’s” of the characters actions, and brilliant characters defeating there enemies and problems via their brilliances.

Royal’s Shadow (a working title) Pig sat on the cold plastic bench staring into the eyes of the wall-clock. 11:18. The hands moving ever closer to 11:30. If there was one thing that was really making him nervous, it was the inevitably that the large hand would indeed, eventually, point to the six, and that at around this time he’d have to articulate his excuses to Royal. Have to face Royal, look at him, feel his piercing eyes looking down at him, and feel Royal’s utter disgust towards him. And then god knows what would happen.

Pig made an attempt to hide his nervousness, he straightened his back and watched his breathing, closed his eyes for a few seconds, imagined all the heavy stress in his head just floating away. But none of these meditation tricks worked- he was still nervous as a middle school kid bringing home a straight F report card to his parents. It was like he was waiting in line for an effin’ execution- and he couldn’t help the worried expression breaking out onto his face like an adolescent with bad acne. He never was any good at this.

Of course, none of this would be a problem if Royal weren’t such a hard ass about everything. If he didn’t take everything so effin’ seriously, pig thought to himself. I mean, sure, so I sold the shit for $400 under price. So I laced the shit with too much baking powder. So the shit lost 75% of its potency. Big deal, we’re just talking about material objects here, and what are material objects compared to spirituality? Nothing. Royal’s just a materialistic arse, and he’s going have to deal with the fact that we’re $400 short.

The clock displayed 11:22, but Royal was early. He walked down the hall like a commander walks down a front-line of soldiers. Each step executed with hastiness and meaning. Royal’s bright green eyes were already flashing a resentful message towards pig. Did he already no I was $400 short? How could he possibly know that!? Was he pissed off at me for some other reason? For the love of god, don’t tell me I screwed something else up- I can only take so much of this!

“So..” Royal started; with his ruff voice and cigarette breath that Pig could smell from ten feet away- “Why does Dalton want to kill you?”

****.

“The hell are you talkin’ ‘bout!?” Pig honestly didn’t have any idea, Dalton was just a mediator anyway, a middleman, Pig never dealt with him- at least not directly. Pig was bigger then Dalton.

“I have no idea. Why does he?”

“The hell should I know I never talk to the kid!” Now Pig was obviously showing panic on his face- being unprofessional- but how can one expect to be calm when told that some asshole you’ve never said two words to before wants to kill you. Among other stress. “How do you know he wants to kill me?”

Royal sat down in the bench next to Pig and lit up a cigarette. He felt Pig’s eyes widen a little bit-, which was funny considering the situation. It was just like Pig to be pissing his pants over something like lighting a cigarette on school grounds when he was just told someone wants him dead. Royal took a starting puff on his cigarette and began his story on the exhale.

It started this morning when he saw Dalton walking through the halls. He never really corresponded with the kid, he was smaller fish then Pig and him ever cared to mess with. Just some brokeass trying to make rents pay. But the way he walked today, never glancing at anyone else, never noticing anyone else, like everyone was translucent. He was determined- to do something- and in a way Royal had only seen on the vids when a some hitman or mobster was about to execute an assassination. The face expressionless- but the body moving with meaning, the eyes dead, the feet taking every step with significance.

Royal had never actually seen anyone get killed before- and with this he was probably the minority in this school. Aids, malaria, holocaust, war, drug trades, cops, PMCs. This whole country was just a black hole. But being one of the only white kids growing up in this particular Taiwanese village, Royal had adapted to pretty shitty situations. Years of discrimination and blind hatred makes you build character, and Royal knew damn well that he had a great character. This knowledge didn’t make him conceited, character was what he needed; it was one of the only things he could grasp onto to survive here.

“So your telling me you know he wants me dead because his style of walking reminded you of some mobster vid?” “No, actually Borommokot told me five minutes ago, apparently you mixed your shit with too much baking powder, and your guy sold the shit to Dalton at full price- blaming you for its impotency, I guess Daltons not too happy about have $2000 worth of baking soda.” Royal halfway grinned and gave a heartfelt laugh. “I sure as hell hope you didn’t loose any money on that deal, or else you‘d have two kids who want to kill ya”

Pig had had better days then this. He didn’t say anything for a couple of seconds, just stared at an opposing bench on the other side of the room in a dazed stupor- his top lip making a bit of a sneer, he looked aggravated- pissed off.

Royal burned his cig out onto his tan cargo pants and tossed the butt clean into the garbage. Royal took note of Pigs silence. “… did you loose money on that deal?” Pig refused to give up his staring contest with the bench; he just shrugged. He looked beaten, which wasn’t a productive way to act when your some Taiwanese drug dealers prey. “Alright, this is stupid, follow me- we’ll talk about this on the move” Royal sat up and offered Pig his hand- pig looked at it but didn’t take it. “or don’t talk, just walk, just whatever, don’t just sit here and get shot- I need you”

Psh. Another defining factor of this emotionless ass- think of what he needs at a time when my life is threatened, Pig thought to himself. Royal only cared about himself, the dope, the money. If I died, all that would mean for him is a loss of product.

Pig got up anyway and followed Royal to the backdoor of the school, where Dalton been waiting with his .22 Glock. Conclusion: My plan from the introduction is too ambitious for a short story. After several redrafts, plot outlines, and moments for dazed unproductively disguised as thought, it became clear to me that I could not properly emulate Orson Scott Cards writing style in a short story for the reason being that Orson Scott Card does not, actually, write short stories (that I am aware of); rather, he rights science fiction series with epic plots that span several books and thousands of pages. To try to condense his writing style into a short story would be like a guitarist attempting to cover an entire Pink Floyd progressive rock album in two minutes. Sure, the guitarist might get a couple notes right, but the song itself is a completely butchered, nonsensical embarrassment. As is the story above. Without room to weave a detailed and engaging plot, I leave the reader with a meaningless scene of dialogue. I did, however, attempt to copy Orson Scotts Cards dynamic narrative, where the writing presents the reader with first person thoughts of all the main characters in the scene, something which normal third person narratives don’t do. Whether or not I have properly accomplished incorporating that element into the story is up to the reader.

Herson-Ortolan, Ezekiel 10/29/07	Creative Writing II 1st Period Poetry

Memoirs of Childhood

When I was six I was an active boy And every weekend, After I finished pre-school, I’d hang out At a lakeside park

I loved the park Because of the cool lakeside air And the beauty of the surrounding scenery Of trees and countryside and undeveloped prairies And I was only six

One fall day When the air was soft and breezy Carrying the alluring smell and feel of the water And everything just seemed perfect I saw this tree

It was a northern red-oak And its leaves were turning And its stems were waving And its ancient branches were twisted And its red bark was chipped And its beauty seemed to warrant a reason to Just live! Until I grew up And I was no longer six And I found out That it was just a fucking tree

I’ll Meet You At The Coffee House

Car rush by on the intestate like Bat at dusk, blindly dodging each other And grouping and stopping and honking As they fulfill what ever it is People do at downtown on a Spring Saturday morning

I was stationed at the liberal coffee Shop nearly three blocks off the main road Playing a game of picture-cards with My fellow young and idealistic Buddies as I occasionally sipped My now almost room temperature double espresso.

We were engaging in an appealing Discussion, more focused on the topics of Veganism and animal rights then we were On drawing pictures on the sketchpad that Had already been used in excess- With just four-quarters worth of Space between the grey scribbles and Coffee stains

Around the coffee shop there were Young couples staring into each others faces, As they talked and drank, young students With clean cut black jelled hair and fitted t-shirts type-type-typing at their branded laptops the room wasn’t loud or busy in an obnoxious way, but in a comfortable, white noise sort of way. Everything seemed to feel organic.

It was my turn to guess the dull grey Scribble on the messy sketchpad, and what- Ever it is that my friend drew, it Just looks like a messy rectangle, so I Guess “finland” out f randomness and Apathy towards winning and, By god, I got it right, and the drawing was so bad, That noone believed that I really guessed it And I knew everyone thought I cheated And I didn’t care.

I could hear the cars on the Interstate and see the new life sprouting out Of the green outside the window- and I Was surrounded by reassuring life! And all of a sudden The game just didn’t matter anymore.

Smack

I am you And you are me And with this knowledge We are free From the chains of Society Into a world of Unity And when I look into your eyes And everything Is realized And as the dope scratches my veins I don’t care anymore

---

Herson-Ortolan, Ezekiel 10/04/07 Creative Writing II 1st Period ABANDONED Life sucks, he must have thought to himself. An eighteen-year-old old-timer who barely functioned. Every morning when his owner woke him up from the cold harsh winter night, he’d be bitching and moaning, some days the poor guy would require in excess of ten minutes of constant force to be fully awakened and running.

Right now, lying down by the cold concrete curb, watching the occasional car rush by and the golden fall leaves that rustled up in the process. In the morning, when he wasn’t attending his owners office building, when he wasn’t hanging with his owners friends, when he wasn’t just a tool being used for everyone’s convenience - he sat there, by that curb leading to his apartment. Lying still and dead as a rock.

I wonder what he enjoyed more- working for his owner and stuttering around town or the motionless resting he engaged in on his own time. Sitting by that curb all morning. I could swear that he loved resting more than anything else in the world.

He was cute though, as old and beaten up as he was, he held a strong warrior quality to him. His torn black exterior bore the battle scars of his eighteen years of travel and misuse. His underbelly eroded from rain and snowfall. His back dented and con-caved from hail damage.

Right now I’m standing in the cluttered living/dining/kitchen one room. My skinny, flaky fingers holding a rolled tobacco cigarette. I take a puff and the flames reach closer to me- and in this cold coffin of an apartment- I can feel the flames warmth warmth.

My poster of Ayn Rand hanging over the dining table - it’s coming off. My diary lying on the kitchen counter- it’s stained with alcohol- rendered virtually illegible. All the words drowning and loosing their meaning. My whole apartment is full of symbolisms to my life.

I ash the tobacco res in the sink and continue to observe him. Sitting there by himself right before he leaves for work. I wonder what he really is thinking about. Maybe he doesn’t think life sucks at all. All he has to do is act upon his owners direct imputs and directions- he never has to think or make decisions for himself. He never has to worry about his financial status or some sort of invisible social high-archy. Maybe someone of his sort is more enlightened then any of my type that actually spend the time to observe and think and wonder. The owner steps out of her apartment and starts up her black ‘85 Acura.



Herson-Ortolan, Ezekiel 09/23/07 Creative Writing II 1st Period

another working title

Cromax was fuggin’ whacked. Sitting on that stone-cold curb all morning. I could swear that kid loved his cigs more than anything else in the world. For serious, you can’t just hate on everything, it’s not healthy. You have to love something- and that something damn well be worth more than a pack of cigarettes.

He was cute though, shit, with his long grungy black hair that always seemed to half cover his bright jade eyes, his sincere smile he always made when he threw out his cynical one-liner retorts, even the way he couldn’t walk in a straight line to save his life was cute. I guess all this just means we were an all-physical relationship- because his personality was effin pathetic.

Right now I’m standing in the cluttered living/dining/kitchen one room. My skinny, flaky fingers holding the rolled tobacco. I take a puff and the flames reach closer to me- and in this cold coffin of an apartment- my pathetic fuggin coffin of a life- I can feel their warmth.

My poster of Ayn Rand hanging over the dining table- on the kitchen counter- it’s coming off. My diary lying on the kitchen counter- it’s stained with alcohol- rendered virtually illegible. All the words drowning and loosing their meaning. My whole apartment is full of symbolisms to my life.

I ash the tobacco res in the sink and continue to observe cromax. Sitting there by himself right before he leaves for work. I wonder what e’s thinking about. If I know anything about him it’s just about how much he hates the world, how much he thinks societies against him. And if he wasn’t facing the opposite direction I’d probably see him smiling at his own witty comebacks. What an unambitious loser.

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Herson-Ortolan, Ezekiel 10/04/07 Creative Writing II 1st Period THE ABANDONMENT

Life sucks, the man thought to himself. A twenty-three year old squatter, his whole life seemed to be a giant search. Looking for something- whether it was in someone else, something else, or his own self, he didn’t know. He just needed something to fill in that cumbersome, gaping hole of meaning.

Sitting down on the cold concrete curb, watching the occasional car rush by and the golden fall leaves that rustled up in the process. In the morning, when he wasn’t working his shit office job, when he wasn’t hanging with his bitch girlfriend, when he wasn’t absorbing the bullshit everyone seemed to love throwing at him- he sat here, on this curb leading to his apartment. Puffing on his pack of cigarettes.

There was something about smoking that had always attracted him. The cigarette provided nothing to him. It wasn’t comfort, it wasn’t a high, it was just the act. Just doing something stupid and meaningless, something that never got him anywhere- but it didn’t need to, a stupid meaningless thing to look forward everyday. The moments he had with his cigarettes had become more important to him then his moments with his girlfriend- more real then her. The cigarettes weren’t smothered with the fake societal bullshit he hated. He knew cigs were unhealthy, knew they were a money pit, knew they had virtually no beneficial aspect to them, and yet he continued to puff away on the curb- not caring. It was like a mutual agreement of unaccomplishment, and that was real to him.

Evan Mary Jackobson?

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Herson-Ortolan, Ezekiel 09/23/07 Creative Writing II 1st Period

A Working Title For My Picture Piece

The sun, a brilliant bright orange sphere, begins it’s rise over the eastern side of the dense north-western canopy. Birds flutter from tree-to-tree; caw-cawing and chika-dee-dee-deeing as they soar elegantly across the velvet-blue, red, and orange morning sky. Wisps of stratus clouds, thin as wet paper and sharing a texture similar to that of newly constructed paper-mache, liter the cloud space- from the bright and colorful sky of the east to the dark and distant western sky, where everything seems to fade back into the same shadow that encompassed the hill where the boy sat what couldn’t have been more than forty-five minutes ago.

As the boy sat on top the grassy hill in the center section of the forest, dazing down out towards the undisturbed wildlife which surrounded him, he took note of how drastically different a human being would view this area than any other organism. A builder would look at the forest and notice that the reason this forest still remains undisturbed is due to the fact that the hilly terrain would make it much too difficult for construction, and thus the area is only fit to withhold the occasional strand of power and telephone lines. A geologist would take note of why the terrain is so unruly, due to how this forest was once on the brink of a major glacial path and that, thousands of years ago, the land was literally pushed back by the power of the glaciers. A bird watcher would state a name for every caw-caw and chika-dee-dee-dee he heard. While a feral cat, just being a cat, would look at the forest solely for how it benefits it’s own survival. The forest is food, shelter, friendly, and dangerous.

Continuing his thorough examination of the forest, the kid thought to himself about how he preferred this environment to the chaotic atmosphere of a gas station during this time in the morning. Everybody running, acting, thinking, but never being conscious of their immediate habitat. The human takes his world for granted. In this sense, the boy thought to himself, a cat is more religious and enlightened then any intelligent being he had ever encountered.

As the boy indulged himself in his thoughts, he laid his upper body down onto the moist and dewy grass, his head resting on the innards of his black misfits hoody and his legs propped up, knees facing towards the sky, basking in the morning sunlight.

Just laying there, enjoying his newly-found interest of listening to the morning birds and absorbing the comforting sun rays, he saw the familiar face of an adolescent girl emerging out of the woods, juggling a golf-ball sized blue ball from hand to hand. She had a slim, short body, and was wearing dirty cut-off jeans which were torn up to the ankle due to long walks through the forest. Her black sweatshirt was only half-way zipped up, exposing the pyramid symbol from her dark side of the moon shirt seemingly perfectly centered on her chest, and the arms of her sweatshirt were rolled up to her elbows to make for easier maneuvering through the trees. Her dark-brown shoulder length hair was put back in a pony-tail, exposing her reddish, blotchy skin and plain-featured face. She glanced a beaconing smile over at the boy, showing him the ball in her hand, a signal that his time spent on the hill was at an end and he’d have to follow her back to the house.

The boy was enjoying the moment, and stalled for a few seconds, taking in one more breathing memory of what he had considered a perfect moment, before he propped himself back onto his two feet and started back on the journey.

--

Psilocybin Mushrooms are an hallucinogenic schedule one drug similar to LSD.

Upon ingestion of the mushrooms (an average dosage ranging from 3-6 grams) it takes approximately fifteen to sixty minutes for the effects of the psilocybin to kick in. At anywhere from one to two hours after the ingestion of the mushrooms the user well reach the height of the trip. Positive effects that the user may feel while under the influence of the psilocybin include mood lift, euphoria, laughter, heightened creativity, philosophical/deep feelings, increased fluidity in ideas, sensation of insight, intense feeling of wonder, and life changing spiritual experiences. If the user is experiencing a ‘bad trip’, they my have feelings of intense fear, headache, severe anxiety, dizziness, confusion, light headedness, and may experience frightening hallucinations. Users of psilocybin run the risk of never truly knowing whether their next trip well be a pleasent or horrific and uncontrollable experience.

Unlike other synthetic and more popularly used drugs, Psilocybin has virtually no known negative health effects, no known possibility of physical addiction, no withdrawal symptoms, and the only suspected way to overdose off the drug is if you ingest an amount equal to that of your own body weight. The only physical consequences a user may experience (aside from the internal chemistry of your bodies increase of serotonin production) are dilated pupils and possibly a feeling of dizziness and lightheadedness. Also, as is a problem with ingesting any raw fungi, a user may regurgitate or suffer from diarrhea, pending on the quality of the mushrooms.

After the finding of LSD by Albert Hoffman in the late 1930s, scientists began further studying of psilocybin mushrooms for medical use. Some scientists suspected that, due to the heightened levels of serotonin produced in the brain, that Psilocybin mushrooms could be used to treat patients with schizophrenia, whom already have high levels of serotonin. It was also suspected that the drug could cure Alcoholism and other compulsive drug addictions, but after LSDs illegalization (and the ban of psilocybin mushrooms soon after), all funding was taken away from the studies.

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Herson-Ortolan, Ezekiel 5/22/07 Health Ed. 1st Period Hallucinogenic Mushrooms

The original version of the Bible, written in Greek scripture in the year 72 AD, opens with the verse (translated) "In the beginning was the Logos, and the Logos was with God, and the Logos was God". In the gospel of John, Jesus is identified as “the incarnation of the Logos, through which all things are made.” Logos was an odd word to implement in that context due to its multiple meanings and possible interpretations. Logos means speech, oration, discourse, quote, story, study, ratio, word, calculation, reason, and mushroom.

In today’s culture we usually think of MDMA, Meth, Cocaine, and other synthetic substances in connotation to the word ‘drug’, we think of the drugs that have only gained popularity and discovery in the last half-century. However before LSD, and before methamphetamines, opiates, and cannabis were ever popularized by a culture, there was psilocybin and amanita muscaria-- the two most influential and culture morphing drugs in recorded history. Together they created religions, languages, cults, philosophies, cultures, and gods. Numerous translators who worked on ancient biblical scriptures believed that the entirety of Christianity revolved around this duo; and when one respected translator named John Allegro published his findings and theories with the book “The Sacred Mushroom and the Cross” in 1972, it was soon after banned from America and his book has yet to be republished.

The mushrooms amanita muscaria and psilocybin, now fall under the category of hallucinogens and psychedelics, but are now more popularly referred to as “‘shrooms”. Other lesser known street names include Boomers, Little Smoke, God’s Flesh, Mexican Mushrooms, Musk, Sacred Mushroom, Silly Putty, Hombrecitos, Las Mujercitas.

Psilocybin mushrooms, being a hallucinogen similar to LSD (and having a much similar molecular construct) share a near-identical experience to it’s aforementioned synthetic relative. Upon ingestion (a usual dose ranging from an eighth to a quarter of an ounce of the mushrooms) it takes approximately fifteen to sixty minutes for the effects of the psilocybin to kick in. Once the first stage of the trip comes into effect, the user well begin to feel a sense of disconnection and dissociation with the world and reality around him/her. After the first stage, which well last around a half-hour pending on the users body chemistry, the real trip starts. At anywhere from one to two hours after the ingestion of the mushrooms the user well reach the height of the trip. Positive effects that the user may feel while under the influence of the psilocybin include mood lift, euphoria, laughter, heightened creativity, philosophical/deep feelings, increased fluidity in ideas, sensation of insight, intense feeling of wonder, and life changing spiritual experiences. If the user is experiencing a ‘bad trip’, they my have feelings of intense fear, headache, severe anxiety, dizziness, confusion, light headedness, and may experience frightening hallucinations.

While Psilocybin mushrooms are generally only used for casual use today, they did serve as a powerful medical drug in other cultures. From as far back as our known human history goes, there are records of Mesoamericans who would use the mushrooms for both spiritual and physical healing. Most of the native Shamans and witchdoctors would give Psilocybin mushrooms to there patients for almost any physical or spiritual problem they reported. Egyptians, on the other hand, made more use of the mushroom amanita muscaria, a powerful hallucinogenic mushroom that carries both a deadly poison and the poisons only known antidote. The mushroom was generally used as an anesthetic to put medical patients to sleep while Egyptian doctors operated on him/her. It was usual for the users of the mushroom to talk about traversing to the “Land of the Sun” (also known as the land of the dead) while under the mushrooms effects.

After the finding of LSD by Albert Hoffman in the late 30s, scientists began further studying of psilocybin mushrooms for medical use. Some scientists suspected that, due to the heightened levels of serotonin produced in the brain, that Psilocybin mushrooms could be used to treat patients with schizophrenia, whom already have high levels of serotonin in there brain. It was also suspected that the drug could cure Alcoholism and other compulsive drug addictions, but after LSDs illegalization (and the ban of psilocybin mushrooms soon after), all funding was taken away from the studies.

Unlike other synthetic and more popularly used drugs, Psilocybin has virtually no known negative health effects, no known possibility of physical addiction, no withdrawal symptoms, and the only suspected way to overdose off the drug is if you ingest an amount equal to that of your own body weight. The only physical consequences a user may experience (aside from the internal chemistry of your bodies increase of serotonin production) are dilated pupils and possibly a feeling of dizziness and lightheadedness. Also, as is a problem with ingesting any raw fungi, a user may regurgitate or suffer from diarrhea, pending on the quality of the mushrooms.

Among other famous mushroom eaters in modern America (including popular authors such as Ken Kesey and Tom Wolfe, and popular musicians such as Pink Floyd’s Syd Barret), perhaps the most infamous were Richard Alpert and Timothy Leary. Richard and Timothy were both Harvard professors and good friends during the early 60s. When Timothy (a psychologist Professor with a doctorates degree in the subject) introduced Richard to LSD and psilocybin mushrooms they were both fascinated by the effects and pursued psychological experiments with their newfound psychedelics. In 1963 they became the first Professors ever to be kicked out of Harvard due to their illegal drug use. Upon being kicked out, Richard Alpert journeyed to India, joined the Maharaj Ji guru, and changed his name to Ram Dass. When he returned to the United States, he wrote the psychedelic best-seller “BE HERE NOW”. Timothy Leary journeyed around the U.S. and into Mexico, pursuing the effects of LSD and Psilocybin on the brain, writing, and becoming a pop-culture icon for the psychedelic era.

Herson-Ortolan, Ezekiel 03/14/2007 Health Ed. 1st Hour A Beautiful Mind

In the film ‘A Beautiful Mind’, the protagonist John Nash (played by Russell Crowe) suffers from a mental disorder called schizophrenia. Throughout the film John Nash, whilst being a mathematical genius, shows numerous strong symptoms of the mental illness. He’s anti-social, experiences full-blown visual and auditory hallucinations often, and undergoes some periods of unprovoked paranoia. In the beginning of the film, before the audience understands the protagonists mental condition, we accept his differences and believe all his ‘friends’ to be real people outside of his psyche. Later on in the film we learn more about John Nash and find out that he’s diagnosed with schizophrenia. We also find out that his best friend and boss/co-workers we’re just hallucinogenic byproducts of his condition. Eventually his disease gets so bad that he’s forced to be sent to a mental hospital. --

Herson-Ortolan, Ezekiel 01/15/07 English Comp. Mrs. Schroetter 9th Period

English Comp. Final Paper (second draft)

Education is like a planet. At the very beginning- a planet’s merely an asteroid- floating along in space lacking any magnetic pull whatsoever, like the knowledge we withheld pre-kindergarten. After a period of time, said asteroid well collide with other asteroids- and the collisions well build the asteroid into a larger, more defined sphere, with the slightest of- yet existing gravitational field, like us maybe after the first grade. As more asteroids collide with the sphere, it grows larger in size and thus produces a stronger gravitational field capable of pulling even larger objects to itself and thus growing even larger, and the same can be said for our knowledge, the more we learn the more we are capable of learning. At first we start learning rudimentary arithmetic, then we can move on to more complex adding, and then multiplying, followed by exponents and exponential increase. Perhaps when I first began my schooling I had a better understanding of the metaphor stated above. Not necessarily involving asteroids, but had a better understanding on the gaminess of attaining knowledge. Learn “Mathematics 8” to evolve to Algebra to gain an understanding of Geometry so your prepared for Algebra 2 which is essential for Calculus, etcetera. Maybe the ‘gaminess’ of schooling is a little fainter when your bound to a desk for fifty-three minutes an hour, seven hours a day, five days a week, 180 days a year, but it’s still present- just perhaps not as fun and engaging as it was in the simplistic days of Kindergarten. The daily activity of school can be intense, stressful, and easy to resent, but at the same time it can be fun, engaging, interesting. We just have to open our minds to it. When my day begins, it begins with a contrast from my other classes, a class that is constructed in a way entirely different then my other courses. My day begins with a class that’s interesting. Creative Writing, the sole extra-curricular course in my schedule, is a class where the students teach themselves practically as much as the teacher herself. And that’s certainly not a bad thing. Our teacher, Mrs. Blanding, assigns the class to write papers which, while holding minimal rules and guidelines, mostly allows the student to write what they want unrestrained. We may be assigned a paper in which we have to construct an internal monologue of a person of the opposite-sex, but with that sole rule the rest is up to us, we can inject our own creativity and spirit into the paper, give it life- have fun with it. Once we’re engaged in the writing, we’re more likely to care about the quality of the paper and show more respect for the class in general. A great example of such a ‘free-bird’ assignment would be the first major paper our teacher assigned to the class; to chose any sort of picture we could find and write a descriptive paper about what was occurring in the scene during which the picture was taken. Show what was happening outside of the picture as well and construct a story around it, fictional or otherwise. I was slightly inspired by the picture I had chosen, an older photograph of a punk looking adolecent with tattered clothing sitting next to a seeminly dead autum tree, and thus had no problem in completing the assignment the same night I had received it. The assignment was a great example as to what I could expect later on from the class. Infact, it met sixty-seven percent of the Sun Prairie Area School District’s power standards. Whilst providing a fun and enjoyable writing experience, it also showed “effective creative writing for a variety of purposes” (B. 12. 1,2,3), it “refined, critiqued, and revised writing and the writing process through the use of oral presentations and discussions” (C. 12. 1,2,3), helped improve communication “through the use of intermediate and advanced strategies” (D. 12. 1,2), and analyzed my work with “appropriate use of computers and other technologies” (E. 12. 1). Creative Writing has also tought me how to effectivly use working and proficiency skills such as the ability to conduct more in-depth analysis' on basic human interactions and convey said actions into words on paper, exploring more advanced and colorful synonyms for commonly used words, and becomming more proficient at making deadlines. The next course in my schedule, Geometry Method, is in sharp contrast to Creative Writing. Completely going against ‘creativity’ for linearity and ‘right or wrong’ answers. The rules of Geometry, whilst being much more strict then in Creative Writing, are at the same time significantly more gamey. Geometry is, essentially, like a puzzle. When you look at the questions, formulas and unbalanced equations you see symbols, and they rarely have a direct answer, one of the reasons why it’s easy for people to get lost in mathematics. Once studying the formulas and equations, however, and learning how they work and what equations and formulas you use to find the answers to other unsolved formulas and equations, solving and creating proofs can actually become pretty enjoyable. And once you ‘get’ the equations and proofs, it’s like a Moon-sized asteroid just collided into your planet, and suddenly you can ‘get’ so much more, and you can understand how all the equations, formulas, and geometric proofs relate to each other. One of the strongest assignments that my teacher, Mr. Floutum, assigned the class in order to help us ‘get’ it was the “Mid-segment Theorem” worksheet. When you first look at the sheet it can be pretty confusing, but on closer inspection, and if you have the present understanding of Geometry that you should have by the time of receiving the assignment, it’s fairly easy. Once you learn the definition of the mid-point you can, using the distance formula, with ease find the midpoint of any two different points (knowing their coordinates). This assignment was also a helpful preparer for the unit test and met a couple of the Sun Prairie Area School District course power standards, including “using the language of mathematics to express mathematical ideas precisely” (1) and “using deductive and inductive reasoning to come to a conclusion” (2). Geometry Method has also trained me to better use skills that I’ve learned in matheimatic courses previous, such as making assignment deadlines, studying for straight amounts of time without distraction, and, the most vital, the ability to listen to a person lecture about a seeminly unlogical subject that you can’t relate to and care nothing about for fifty-three minutes a day. Keeping with the linearity; the next class on my schedule is German II. Not only one of my favorite classes of the day, but also perhaps one of the most important. Successfully conquering another language is like a Pluto-sized asteroid crashing into your planet. Learning another language not only opens your mind to other cultures, it also helps you look into your own with much more clarity then any United States History course could present. A great example of what I’ve learned in German and German II can be showed in my most recent German chapter test entitled “Bei den Baumanns”. By passing this test I demonstrated that my knowledge of the German language was up-to-par to with where it should be at the end of the first quarter of German II. The test also met two of the Sun Prairie Area School District power standards: “communicate and recognize information related to their basic needs, opinions, feelings, and emotions in the target language in written and spoken form” (1.1, 1.2, 1.3) and “demonstrate knowledge and understanding of practices, products and perspectives of other cultures (2.1, 2.2). Learning another language has also taught me important life skills; including concentrated listening skills, studying through repetition, and being able to construct grammatically correct sentences in a forign language. Now, breaking from the mold of the previous, more formal classes, is my favorite class (and I’m sure, the shared favorite of many other students) in my schedule: Study Hall. I walk into the audiotrium, take my seat, and take out a non-school-required book to read at my learsure for the next fifty-three minutes. In a seven-hour long day a break like this can be vital, as a thirty minute lunch period just doesn’t give me enough freedom. It’s also an extra plus that my study hall is placed directly after my lunch period so I can, if desired, enter the library at the begining of my lunch period and take an hour and a half break from school. It’s a common misconception that Study Hull is just school ‘filler’ and is an unproductive period. Over the years, I’ve probably gained my knowledge from my Study Hall periods then I have in some core classes. Instead of reading required school materials and engaging in required work, I can explore the world of knowledge myself, choosing my own books to read. It’s also helpful, and more respected upon, to complete required school material in your study hall period, but when your doing so for the other six hours of the day, it’s usually much more attractive to just take time off and get engaged in a good book- or, if you have the right teacher, a good nap. I also have aquired a few study skills in my study hall, such as the abilty to create a proficent and attractive product, meeting deadlines, and engaging in concentrated, undistracted studying. Easing back into my required courses; my next class is World History with Mrs. Peters. Like German, World History, while teaching us the history of our own culture, enlightens us on the history and cultures of other countries of the world. The class also carries the same vibe as German, both with the linearity of the learning and ‘right or wrong’ answers, and also being a class where oral teachings and group discussions are much more vital to the learning experience then in most of the other core courses. Whilst it’s easy to pick at social studies for being ‘former knowledge’ and useless, the education and knowledge aquired from the courses is vital for learning more about the world you live in and fighting ignorance. One assignment in particular that showed the knowledge I had gained from hitorical eropean culutres was a worksheet of absolute monarchs of the enlightenment period in Eruope. While preparing me for the World History Unit Three test and forcing me to read through chapter twenty-four in my history book, the assignment also met a couple of the Sun Prairie Area School Distric power standards for the World History course and taught me valuable study skills including being a more concentrated listener, being able to present engaging oral presentations, and the ability to produce an attractive, accurate assignment by a designated deadline. After the relativly easy World History course I enter in to one of my hardest classes of the day: English Comprehensive. Whilst being an English Course, its nearly a complete polarity from my other English credit, Creative Writing. Even though both classes require writing papers and involve/require an understanding of the English language and English literature, that’s about where the similarities stop. Unlike Creative Writing, English Comprehensive takes a more conservative learning approach to writing papers. Instead of having a few basic boundries for the paper, like in Creative Writing, we have sheets of strict rules, more “can and cant’s”, and a strict outline and process for which we write the paper. Even so, though, we do take breaks from the stirct vibe of the class for refreshing group discussions- which can be much more informative, educational, and engaging then some of the assignments themseleves. A great example of the contrast between Creative Writing and English Comprehensive can be showed by compareing my Creative Writing ‘Picture Setting’ paper and My English Comp.pusuassive essay entitled “The Legalization Of Free Choice”. While I could write my Picture Setting paper in a night and still attain full credit, the English Comp. two-times-as-long pusuassive essay required, literally, months. At first I chose my topic (the legalization of drugs), then, after a few weeks of planing, constructed the six page rough draft of my outline for the paper. After that was my final outline, rough draft, and, eventually, my final draft. While being a long, important paper (700 points?), it never really became stressfull as our teacher, Mrs. Schroetter, helped us along the way, showing us and critiqing our rough drafts so we knew exactly what do once the final draft came due. The essay also met numerous power standards for the Sun Prairie Area School District. English Comprehensive has taught me a handfull of valuable skills that I will most definatly be using in the future, such as being able to analyze and interpret writings based a greek mythology, engage in concentrated research on a designated subject, and produce and accurate and credible research paper. The end of my school day is hard hitting, with, easily, the hardest class thus far. Chemistry, with Mr. Gilette, is a lot like Algebra. You see symbols, formulas, and equations that don’t make much sense at first sight, but require the knowledge of other symbols, formulas, and equations to understand. Once again, like Algebra and Geometry, it’s gamey. Truly understanding Chemistrty also requires a fairly decent ‘magnetic pull’ to fully grasp onto it. It’s essentially required to take Algebra and Geometry before hand and also recommended to have taken Biology and one semester of Phyiscal Science. Even though it’s hard, confusing, and at times stressfull, the conecepts of Chemistry can be pretty fun the learn. It’s like algebreic equations and formulas applied to real life. One of the more interesting ‘assignments’ we were givig was the Flame Test Lab in which we had to observe the color of flames after mixing with different elemental samples. The lab, while being highly informative on how certain elements react to fire (and vice versa), was also fairly entertaing, and much more engaging then the normal class activites and leactures. The lab assignment really only required us to put the elemental samples over the flame and write down the flame color and other observations, but it was still intersting and met some of the Sun Prairie Area School District power standards for the class, including: “collecting, interpreting, analzing, and evaluating data with appropriate use of technology to make informed scientific decisions (G12.1) and “decomnstrating an undertanding of the concepts of chemical bonding and chemical nomenclature” (D.12.4, D.12.5, D.12.6). Chemistry has also taught me vital study skills that I can apply to my other science and mathematics courses, including being able to meet poject and assignment deadlines, being able to engage in concetrated listening, being able to abosrb facts and usefull information from lectures, and the ability to distinguish between what notes would be usefull to take for a future test. After all my years of shooling up to now, I’d say the graviational field of my planet has grown much more powerfull since I first entered Kindegarten, capable of grasping onto previously incomprehensible concepts and ideas. And I have barely even put a dent into the world of education. After highschool I still have years of schooling and educational oppurtunites lieing ahead, ones that well make my planet of knowledge more then twice the size and other star systems-worth of knowledge appear closer in reach. To help me do this, I still plan to graduate from my current classes and increase my productivity and study habbits, as anyone has to do when they increase their rank in the education system, and I believe it well all be worth the work because, after all, there’s a whole universe of knowledge to explore. --- Herson-Ortolan, Ezekiel 01/21/07 Creative Writing 1st Hour

A Package For Chris Lombardi

Sitting next to the small-sized broken brick fireplace, on the dirty velvet carpeting is a two-by-four foot brown postal package, with the corners beaten to dull round edges and the see-through scotch tape tearing off in sections, the exposed sticky parts becoming a cloud of accumulated dirt. On the thin formerly-white-now-dirty-grey rectangular sticker it reads “5376 Santa Cruz Boulevard, Christopher Lombardi”, due to the packages beaten nature it’s practically illegible now, but I have that one important part memorized.

Outside of the three-story Victorian era brick tutor of which I’ve been occupying for the past four hours is a dark, cold, dissolute land mass called Southern America in the long and “Wasteland” in the short. Once a jungle covered, relatively peaceful, life filled tropic, now a fungi-filled death-filled grey nothing created by the clean-cut white men with their ironed black suites, businessman haircuts and currency inspired mind set that rules out any sort of conscience toward other materials that aren’t thin, rectangular, and green colored.

After what could be theorized as a greed-inspired Armageddon of death-bombs, the Southern America had taken a new form. Away with the humanoids that used to be the dominate species of the environment, the colorful tropic had now undergone a dense grey makeover with an entirely transformed eco system and a fascinating up growth of fungi, which now seemed to take over dominance, even as a predator. Mushrooms spurted out from the ground like weeds, some of them small, thin, and crooked, others the size of houses and breaking through gravel, pushing aside man-made architecture and destroying entire buildings outright. The whole “Wasteland” transformation truly must be a prodigy to the scientific community and anyone whose life isn’t directly affected by it, but for the former Southern American inhabitants its far less a marvel and more of a petrifying fear, as even if they had survived the bombings, which considering their eco-system morphing power is unlikely, would surely die if they had not yet abandoned or vastly adapted to their new environment.

As for me, a Brazilian mailman given the remote gift of survival, I do not intend to leave. Nor do I intend to embark on an epic quest to rescue remaining civilians. My sole intentions as of now is to finish my job; deliver the mail. Perhaps it’s some sort of human drive to help people that struck me after my survival, and if I were any better of a person I’d love for my actions to show some sort of meaningful symbolism, perhaps giving the receivers hope? Thus far my adventure has been more-or-less a fiasco, as after twenty-three of the twenty-four packages in my mail bag (I gave up delivering envelopes a while ago, as I believe tax refunds are fairly low on the needs of persons surviving an Armageddon) I have yet to discover a remaining human soul, or at least not one populating their written address, and even on horse back travel the whole transmutation of the environment has caused my little escapade to take what has seemed like several weeks. Even traversing in straight line distances it seems to take longer in the newly formed Wasteland, like somehow the new environment has expanded and the earth has literally grown.

As of the present I’m down to my last package; the small beaten one sitting next to the fireplace. Formerly it surely wouldn’t be frowned upon to give up now, but what have I else to live for? And honestly, there’s something unexpectedly heroic and noble in delivering the packages under such brutal conditions, something giving me motivation and, possibly, even life meaning. Looking back at my thirty-four years of living, it’s hard to decipher a moment in my life that has shown any sort meaning or magnitude. I was born in Venezuela unexpectedly to a mother who’s face I can‘t remember, I was beaten by my worthless drunkard of an uncle, and spent the better half of my teen years on a coke farm in Peru harvesting coca seeds. In fact, underground cocaine dealerships were the reason I initially entered into the postal business. Anyone who’d look at my life story on paper would be hard pressed to find a redeeming value for my existence. This is my chance.

I pick up the package from the fireplace and exit through the busted front door. Outside of the tutor, on the gone-to-seed front lawn is Amadeus, my horse and sole companion, grazing on the grass (which is quite a rarity now that mushrooms and fungi seem to replace the fields). I untie him from the fence and bend down to put some of the grass into my self-constructed (mushroom skin) pouch. Eating grass may seem an oddity to some, but in perspective of a man whose been forced to eat random-growth fungi due to food-waste; it’s somewhat of a delicacy, even if it doesn’t hold much of a nutritional value, at least it’s something that I can chew on.

As I mount Amadeus I look into the sky. It’s hard to predict the time of day, since the color contrast ranges from light grey to pitch-black, but right now I’d say I have a good couple of hours of grey time left, as I can see a fragment of a light-pink, a sign of sun, in the skies above to mountains; east. With a strong day ahead of me I should be able to find Chris Lombardi (or confirm his nonexistence) without another rest stop, as according to the package he lives (or, at least lived) in Sorriso, some couple of miles from the Victorian house.

Amadeus and I are at no hesitancy- charging through the remains of fungi damaged roads, bearing only dedication, anticipation, a fragment of hope, and a package. The longer I’ve been in the Wasteland the more surreal its become. What used to be houses and man made synthetic buildings have become more attached to the world, decomposing and blending into the fungi, becoming organic, almost as if bearing some sort of life-force. Places I once knew, like Sorriso, no longer carry any sort of emotional affinity. Each day the man made world diminishes and the world which I once new as my home becomes unfamiliar.

Through this barren alien landscape Amadeus and I pass by a half-eaten, thinning, worn sign, standing on the side of the road with the stability of an eighty-year-old arthritis patient on a walker, with the letters “Sorriso” spelled in unconfident fading black letters. This, however, is not Sorriso. Traveling down the gravel streets we come across an intersection, there used to be a Hotel 8 here, and lines of low-rent single story town houses, now there are only piles of decaying bricks covered in dark-green fungi. Trees that once held nostalgic memories now bearing hundreds of pounds of fungus, the leaves with shimmering spring colors of green and yellow are now vacant, and the once lively branches collapsing from the weight. Great hundred-year-old Oaks leaning at ninety degree angles, dieing. I truly never expected to feel so much sympathy for a tree.

Further down the dark, dank, town-hood I caught glimpse of a legible address: 5285. The Santa Cruz Boulevard should be near, but it would be much easier if I could decipher another address to know which direction, or at least have the ability to differentiate a boulevard from the other broken huddles of gravel and stone.

Pulling my head back up from the address I caught view of the uttermost arresting spectacle I’d seen in the past weeks since Wastelands creation: a humanoid figure walking along a gas-station sized mound of decaying materials, only some-fifteen feet ahead. It was a man, older then I was, with scruffy, torn clothing, walking along the rubble undistracted, as if he had confidence in whatever it he was doing. He hadn’t yet seen me. I opened my mouth in preparation; my jaw trembling from both excitement and nervousness.

“Ka…Ka….” I began, testing out my vocals. “…Chris Lombardi?”

The man stopped walking, cocked his head toward me, and froze. Apparently he hadn’t seen another human individual in sometime either.

“Uhm…are you…Chris Lombardi?” I repeated myself.

He moderately squinted his eyes and slowly shook his head.

“Well. If you see him around, this is for him”

I threw the package down in front of his feet

“G’day” I said as I nodded my head in conclusion, and without another glimpse of the mans face I turned Amadeus around and retreated toward the road from which I had appeared.

As I rode Amadeus at a full gallop down the now-familiar torn gravel road, an unpretentious smile appeared on my face, and I could still see that fading pink light above the eastern mountains.

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Herson-Ortolan, Ezekiel 01/21/07 Creative Writing 1st Hour

Creative Writing Reflection Creative Writing Summary: When my day begins, it begins with a contrast from my other classes, a class that is constructed in a way entirely different then my other courses. My day begins with a class that’s interesting. In Creative Writing I’ve learned to write in a different mind set then my other core English courses have taught me to think. Unlike English Comprehensive where my writing is restricted to strict guidelines and content rules, Creative Writing allows me to go against the standard and write about subjects that inspire me. I think this less restricted environment allows the writer to produce creative works the reflect themselves much more than they’re able to in any other class. What Have I Learned From Creative Writing:

In Creative Writing, the sole extra-curricular course in my schedule, the students teach themselves practically as much as the teacher. But that’s certainly not a criticism. The main portion of our grade is dependent on papers, where we’re given a topic and loose guidelines, and the rest is up to our own creativity and input. After a few papers we begin to get a better feel and realization for our writing than we do in other classes.

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Why should people respect me?

It depends on how you define respect. As the dictionary defines it, respect is “esteem for or a sense of the worth or excellence of a person, a personal quality or ability, or something considered as a manifestation of a personal quality or ability or the condition of being esteemed or honored.”

Honestly, do I think I should be looked upon with a sense of excellence over that of anyone else? Should I specifically be honored over my peers? No, I shouldn’t. I believe in respect in the form of looking at people with a sense of self-worth, and respecting them enough to be courteous, but otherwise respect isn’t something that I’m going to give out just because of a social status.

Should I respect someone because they went to law school, or because there a doctor, or because there a teacher. Based solely on their social status, I don’t think they deserve a higher appreciation then anyone else. The only people whom I truly respect are the people who I respect on a personal level, people I

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THE BATTLE OF LEYTE GULF

-Where did the Battle occur? The battle of Leyte Gulf occured in the seas surrounding the Philippine island of Leyte.

What were the events leading up to the battle? -The Allies commenced the invasion of Leyte in order to cut off Japan from her Southeast Asia colonies, particularly the crucial oil supplies for the Imperial Japanese Navy.

-The Allie troops, specifically the U.S., initiated the battle by trying to cut off Japan's trade and resources (such as oil supplies) from their Southeast Asia colonies. To do this the Allies set out to recapture the Leyte island in the Philipines.

Why were they fighting? -After the Allie troops set out a massive naval fleet to recaputure Leyte, the Japanese issued another huge counter-attack consisting of all of their remaining naval forces to stop the Allies. The battle of leyte gulf was the largest naval battle in modern history.

Who were the generals? -The commanders involved in the battle consisted of Wiliam Halsey Jr. (who commanded the 3rd fleet for the U.S.), Thomas C. Kinkaid (7th fleet for the U.S.), Takeo Kurita (Centre Force for Japan), Shoji Nishimure and Kiyohide Shima  (Southern Force for Japan), and Jisaburo Ozawa (who commanded the Northern Force for Japan).

Casualties -The Axis powers lost 10,000 soldiers, four aircraft carriers, three battleships, eight cruisers, and twelve destroyers. The Allies, on the other hand, only lost 3,500 soldiers, one aircraft carrier, two escort carriers, two destroyers, and one destroyer escort ship.

What was the battle called? -The battle has become known as the "Battle of Leyte Gulf" and is also known as the "Second Battle of the Philippine Sea".

What dates the fighting took place? -The Battle of Leyte Gulf lasted for three days between the 23rd and 26th of October 1944.

What happened during the battle? -After the Allies set off to recaputre the island of Leyte and cut-off Japanese resources and trading from their Southeast Asia colonies, Japan gathered up all of it's remaining resources and naval forces to commence a counter-attack. This counter-attack failed horribly, however, and Japan suffered deeply. This battle was the largest naval battle in modern histroy and was the final naval battle in World War II.

Who won and who lost the battle? -After the three days of fighting, the Japanese had lost severly, losing over 10,000 soldiers and 12 preciouse destroyers. After the Battle of Leyte gulf the Japanese navy was too weakened to initiate another battle.

What was the significance of the battle? -Despite being somewhat ignored over the bigger battles that occured during World War II, the Battle of Leyte Gulf was a very significant battle during the war. The battle of Leyte Gulf was the largest battle ever recorded in modern history and due to the Japanese' devistating loss, they were essentially incapable of another naval engagement. The Battle of Leyte Gulf was the final naval battle of World War II.