Final Piece- Draft 1

"I am moving to the North Pole and there isn’t anything you can do about it,” I yelled to my older brother, Terable.

“All I’ve done for you after mom and dad passed away and THIS is how you repay me? By moving to become some bullshit teacher and marry some dude I’ve never met?” Terable ranted.

I rolled my eyes; the internal heat had leveled to my head, making my hulk-like veins pop from my neck up.

“I’m tired of this. I won’t argue. I’m just gonna pack my stuff and leave now,” I said.

“Where the hell are you gonna stay until you sort out your big rewarding trip?” Terable asked. I didn’t answer, but just turned my back to head towards the room. As I entered my clothing cluttered room, I stared up at the ceiling. I noticed, once again, the small indigo blue stars painted against the off white walls. When Terable was only fifteen, and I was thirteen, we took on our wildest imaginations together.

“Ana, why don’t we put stars up there?” he asked, “So whenever we look up at night, we remember that angels are looking down, and we won’t get scared of the world outside.”

“Yeah! And we can show mom and dad when they get home,” I had said. A few moments later, our aunt had shaken the keys, indicating she was coming in. With tear-filled eyes, our aunt clenched her fists. Her knees withered and she looked as though the air was knocked out her lungs, she fell to the stained carpet.

“Kids, something…happened,” she paused and gasped for air through her soaked translucent skin. “Mom and dad…got into a car crash.”

And that was when it changed, my life spiraled in a different direction. The tender taste of sprinkled happiness ripped from under my feet. I had lost my parents, the only two people who ever supported my growing ambition to make something great out of people just like me.

I moved my eyes swiftly from the stars to the clock, 9:00 pm. My goodness is it that late already? I better call Engle now. When I reached for my iPhone, which usually sat on my bed, I didn’t see the bright blue phone case. Oh my goodness, please don’t tell me he went that low, I thought.

“Terable!! Dude, just hand over my phone,” I said.

“You can’t leave this house without it, though,” he replied with a proud smirk.

“I paid for that phone; you have no control over it,” I let out a deep, heavy sigh. I walked closer to my big brother, slowly glaring him up and down. Eyes locked, I whispered, “Terable, you can’t keep that phone locked in your palm forever.”

“What makes you think I can’t?” he asked. “I’ve held onto it for years.”

“Eventually, you’re gonna have to put it down. People are gonna call, send messages in and out, and you’re gonna feel helpless when you can’t respond,” I told him. His eyes dropped to the floor, I saw the perspiration drip down his temples as he thought about what to do next.

Getting serious once again, Terable did not hand me the phone. Instead, he kicked forward, dashing into the room where he took apart the bags I had packed. He quickly got a hold of the clothes and flicked them in the air as though they were papers of work on the last day of school before the summer vacation. I, still standing in my position in the living room, started to turn around and head towards my room. As my footsteps led my path, I thought of when we were growing up, and how much I loved Christmas with my parents. The wood toasting into a fine mixture of tall red, orange, and yellow glow, illuminating the entire living room, and the sweet smell of pine cone swam through our nostrils as we cuddled on the carpet. Still walking towards the room, one foot in front of the other, I pictured how my brother and I used to lay on the carpet and draw in our Rudolph coloring books. We’d color Santa’s rosy cheeks, and put frosty glass snowflakes on the evergreen Christmas tree. When my last step directed me into the room where Terable was destroying my packed bags, reality hit me.

“Terable!! I’m not dealing with this anymore. Go ahead, tear up my shit. I’m leaving without it. Keep my phone, keep my clothes, that’s what you’ll have to remember me by,” I yelled. My face was an apple, and my stomach flipped over thinking about what I had just said, basically promising to never see my brother again. Whatever, he deserves it, I thought. I rapidly snatched my leather jacket from off the chair and threw it on as I slammed the door behind me.

Behind the door, I stayed in place. My feet were glued to the ground, although I wanted to leave him, I wasn’t sure if storming out was the best way. Just go, he won’t change. He’s still gonna try to control you again if he sees you out here, I thought to myself. Ugh, I know. But, I don’t want him to be alone and worried about where I’m at. I don’t even have a phone. I sat in the staircase, wondering what I should do. I didn’t want to feed into his manipulation and end up staying. I have goals, and I intend to get married to Engle and move with him to the most Christmas-oriented location. Okay, just go in and calmly explain to him why you need to move. Maybe this time, without an argument, he’ll understand, I though. I got up and headed towards the burgundy red door. As I turned the key in the lock, I heard silence from inside. Why don’t I hear him banging on walls and throwing glass? I smiled to myself, thinking about Terable’s methods of coping with his anger. I always made fun of him when he caught his fits.

As I opened the door, I wondered why he didn’t greet me. “Maybe he needs some time to cool down by himself before talking to me,” I said under my breath. I walked into my room, what a mess, I better start cleaning up all these clothes. When I picked up a towel, the thumping from inside my chest increased. The air filled inside me until I could no longer intake any more; blood, lots of it. The puddles around my feet come into view, my panther instinct jolted across the room to look for my brother. There, next to the opposite side of the bed, he lied. With his front side up, I saw the slit going from one side of his neck all the way across. I stared. I began to jerk and I felt as though my internal organs were hot potatoes, dying to jump out of my body. I bent over him and touched his soft hand. After kissing his forehead and closing his eyes for him, I picked up my phone and dialed 911.

“Hello? Yes… I’d like to report a…suicide,” the warmth of the tears racing down my face brought back a familiar feeling. I tore the last of my family apart.

Journal #8

Racism

As Kayesean stepped out of the car, he overheard Samuel say to his friends, “He should feel more comfortable in that car,” while looking in the direction of a rusted Chevy of faded green, with noticeably tinted windows.

Growing Old

Walking into Starbucks, Harvey finished taking his Journalism Workshop Class in CUNY Graduate School of Journalism. He went on line and saw a little boy sitting on a chair next to his mother. He smiled seeing the little boy talk to his mother. The little boy asked if his mother could read Aladdin again. She nodded and laughed. She looked in her bag and reached for something. He stepped forward on line and asked for a Caramel Macchiato. He turned around to look at the little boy and saw the mother read from a red Kindle. He looked in his bag and had hard copies of books for class and for pleasure reading.

Salvation

Heading down the dark alley way, which was a shortcut to his house, Jerry heard a clack on the garbage dumpsters.

“Who’s there?” Jerry said innocently. No answer. He continued to walk, but was cut off by a rolling Goya can. While looking down, he saw a mysterious shadow behind him, with a knife-like shape in the person’s hand.

“Oh shit!” Jerry yelled. In a second’s time, a dark knight swooped down and collected the mugger with swiftness.

Injustice

The train doors opened and a lady walked in with a mink fur coat that swiftly moved in the breeze. As she sashayed in her seat, she stuck her nose in the air and pursed her lips and snuggled in the warmth of the creature.

Ambition

Hannah’s best friend called, squealing, “I got accepted to Hunter!” Walking into her building, her heavy steps and short breaths overwhelm her. As the edges of the key reached the rim of the mailbox hole, a surge of electrifying sweat attacked Hannah. I think I’ll get accepted, but I know I didn’t work to the best of my abilities last semester, she thought, while opening the mailbox. A regularly sized foreign letter is picked up and examined by her, reading the address out loud. Hm, is this what an acceptance letter looks like? she asked herself. She ripped open the envelope and read:

Dear Student,

Thank you for applying to Hunter College. We are proud you are interested in our program. We are sorry to inform you that you have not fit the qualifications to be placed in our university for the fall semester. However, we wish you well on the remainder of your academic journey and college decision.

Hannah walked into her elevator and, subconsciously, pressed “26”, the highest floor in the building.

Poverty
It was Christmas Day and Daniel was walking around Central Park enjoying the snow white morning. There was a crowd of people surrounding a specific spot by the end of the block. As he walked closer towards the throng, he spotted a family singing. There was a huge sign saying, Merry Christmas! Smile, For It’s a Happy Day. After they sang for three hours, he went up to the family. As he got closer to the family, he saw that they were weak and had no strength to do anything. He took the father’s hand and asked if he could help. Paying for their MetroCard fare, he took them to a Soup Kitchen. By the end of the night, he saw the family sitting in the corner, eating happily and enjoying the food.

Sexual Deceit
Ryan was ready for work and ate scrambled eggs with pancakes and a cup of coffee that his wife, Elea prepared. He kissed her goodbye on her cheek and she walked him off by the apartment door. Today was the only day he had no plans to distract him and he was glad. It was 8:30 PM and he left his office. He drove to a loft and took off his ring. After pressing the doorbell, a handsome clean guy stepped out, took Ryan’s hand, pursed his lips, and they kissed.

Growing Up

Posh Spice Barbie collected dust under the bed, while Sally got ready that bright morning for school. Sitting at her large Hollywood mirror, Sally carefully applied her foundation, powder, eye liner, eye shadow, and just a tad of blush. I wonder if Kyle will take a look at me today, she thought, giving herself a quick wink in the mirror. As Sally did her final touches, puckering her lips to smooth on some "Cupquake" lipgloss from Victoria Secret, she stood up to take a look at what time had created.

Wealth

Weighed down by her stuffed brown Coach duffel, she stepped into the sea of heads in the elevator. Through her dark Ray Bans shades, she stared at another lady wearing a pencil skirt and blouse. Man, why can't I be that successful? she thought, as she let out an audible sigh. When she exited the elevator and walked to her penthouse suite, she slid the key and opened to see her husband waiting for her. "Honey, I think it's time I worked for myself," she announced.

Journal #7- Symbolic Writing

Jane and Chuck are strolling down the aisles at the super market with their shopping cart. Jane began to collect her usual in each section; cup of noodles, cheerios, wonder bread, American cheese, and vanilla bean ice cream. Chuck pulled the shopping cart to a stop.
"Why must you always get the same groceries?" Chuck asked.
"I like consistencies. I need these to make the food you eat every day." Jane replied.
"But you make the same food all the time." Chuck insisted,
"You've never complained about it before." Jane bickered.
"Well I'm in the mood for something different." Chuck stated.
"Like what?" Jane snapped.
"How about jalapeños? And instead of your plain vanilla how about Neopolitan ice cream?" Chuck insisted.
"Where is all of this coming from?" Jane asked.
"Maybe I'm sick of cheerios and want some fruit loops." Chuck responded.
"I want to eat what we always eat." Jane said.
"Maybe I should just get my own shopping cart," he said as he strode to the opposite side of the super market where there were lines of new shopping carts.

Journal #6- Authorial Distance or Psychic Distance

Sentences:

1. Jade walked down the most sunlit street in her area, hoping it would dry her ongoing tears.
2. Jade's head dropped, her rose filtered eyes, too appalled to look at the passersby.
3. Jade was too preoccupied by the visions of her slaughtered sister to notice the pavement in front of her.
4. How could he do this to her? My OWN uncle...she thought.
5. She continued to think about her hidden spot, in the closet, her safe zone, while her sister had to endure the pain that came with a forced man upon her.

Paragraph:

Jade walked down the most sunlit street in her area, hoping it would dry her ongoing tears. Her head dropped, her rose filtered eyes, too appalled to look at the passersby. Jade was too preoccupied by the visions of her slaughtered sister to notice the pavement in front of her. How could he do this to her? My OWN uncle…she thought. She continued to think about her hidden spot in the closet, her safe zone, while her sister had to endure the pain that came with a forced man upon her. Her body shriveled up like a raisin, as she stopped off at the corner garbage can to throw up the memory in an oatmeal-like slime.

Journal #5 Part 2- Intruder

As I walked down the paved road with houses surrounding the complex, my stomach spoke to me. When was my last meal? Probably the dumps last week, I fringed at the thought. I couldn’t believe how I got myself into this; the price of addiction is too high. As I impetuously turned into the driveway of a rose pink home, I just hope the woman living there wasn’t resting inside. I sluggishly stretched my bony arm out, not even thinking of security systems, just yearning to get into the kitchen. To my surprise, the door made an easy click, and within a moment the door was wide open. “That was easy,” I whispered, in a slick staples-button tone. I walked straight ahead, one step behind another slow stop, into the kitchen. Maybe my mind was playing tricks on me, but I heard a moan-like noise coming from upstairs. Startled, I stumped my foot and accidentally knocked over a glass on the edge of the dinner table. Fuck! There’s no way she didn’t hear that, I thought. As I broke out in a cold sweat, I wondered if I should go up and explain myself. Do I stay? Do I go? I decided to creep up the stairs to see what awaited me. When I lurked around the stairwell once I got to the top, I heard a drip, drip from inside the room to my left. “That’s the one,” I said under my breath. I reached out my skeletal arm yet again, the one that gave me luck to get inside the house. I hope she’ll understand. I heard a creek from inside as I gently turned the golden knob…

Journal #5 Part 1- Victim

(1st person central narrator perspective)

Ah, what IS that? I wondered, blocking the sun beams from my sleepy eyes. Never had I felt so exhausted. I stretched and slowly climbed out of bed to see how I looked after a drawn out, dark, and musty night of drinks in the air, and endless lines to snort. Damn, I thought, rubbing the dark undertone now surrounding my eyes like raccoons. What did you do to yourself? Staring wide-eyed, in disbelief, at the girl in the mirror, I heard a glass break downstairs. Who the hell…? I could have sworn nobody came home with me last night. I didn’t say a word. All of a sudden, downstairs became dead silent, probably the best time to try and get away. However, my muscles locked. With my tightened fists, my feet were planted to the floor, and the sides of my temples began to drip a slow, steady sweat. As I heard the stairs creek, a drop of my sweat pounded against the hardwood floor, and I had no doubt that my intruder had heard it. Shit, shit! Blew my cover…What the hell am I gonna do now?? I thought frantically. At that very moment, the rusted golden knob on my bedroom door began to turn…

Journal #4- P.O.V (3rd person Objective)

In the midst of a bird-chirping blue sky, the summer breeze pushed an awful stench through the window of their 2-story house. Dunkin and Emilia had been together for a year, and were already living together. Emilia, in the kitchen, ignored the smell and the THUD she heard when Dunkin slammed the door behind him. His tiring days at work brought home the tension; Emilia already knew what was next.

“Yo! Com…show m some love girl,” Dunkin slurred. Emilia continued rolling dough for her mouth-watering biscuits. Always being busy, she never had time to cook a full meal, and she wasn’t letting him ruin it today.

“Di’ you hear me??” Dunkin begged. Emilia held her breath, and did not say a word. Dunkin had managed to stagger over to her location, snatched the rolling pin from her flour-filled hands, and clocked her on the back of her head. She felt a growing throb at the back of her head, as she lost balance and fell to the floor, she said, “You gotta do better than that to get my attention.”

Journal #3- Backward Plotting

Crisis Action: A man (woman) sets their house on fire
Characters: The Terrol Family (Mother, Father, Son, Daughter)

On the grim porch, the Terrol Family unlocked the front door, and slowly stepped into the creaky house.

“Why would you have us live here?” Mother asked Father.

“We didn’t have to pay a fucking penny for this, so stop complaining,” Father replied. The kids, one boy and one girl, stared at their parents bickering as they rolled their eyes. What’s new? the girl thought.

“I don’t care! This is like living in a trailer. But that’s just you, you’d rather buy the pharmacy brand than the real deal,” Mother accused. She walks over into the dull yellow kitchen and slammed her Louis Vuitton on the countertop.

“You’re damn right. It’s trouble enough that you max out credit cards with

nonsense. I won’t be pampering you anymore,” Father said. He stared at her until she let
out a breath and gave in. She started to walk up the stairs, as she heard a THUMP from
below her. Thinking it was only her husband’s small temper, she carried on.

“That’s why I have my own room!” she said, as she reached her solitary confinement.

As the winds howled and the power lines hissed, the brindle grandfather clock struck eleven. Mother felt the shivers down her spine as she studied her new room from her queen-size bed. Mother walked over to the apricot drapes and brushed the right side up and locked the windows with her left hand. She stared at her naked ring finger. She could not help but let her heavy lips frown. She walked to the drawer beside her bed and opened it. She remembered when Father proposed to her seven years ago with the ceramic steel ring, but on the day before the wedding, Mother did not want to be discomfited in front of her friends. She made Father buy a green amethyst cocktail ring with eight carat. She closed the drawer and got ready for bed. Abruptly, the windows slammed opened.

“Ah! Oh, my god!” screamed Mother. What the hell? I swear just locked the windows. Mother walked over to the windows, gripping onto her amber-colored bed sheet. She locked it again and pushed it to experiment its robustness. It didn’t budge. Her nostrils engorged from the sudden shock. Suddenly, the lights began to flicker and Mother ran out of her room. She pounded on Father’s door. Father opened a little crack and rubbed his eyes.
“I can’t explain it, but something really freaky is going on. The windows were locked and then I locked them and then all of a sudden, like out of nowhere…” exclaimed Mother as she tried to catch a breath.
“Relax, crazy witch! I’m sure it’s nothing,” replied Father. “Go back to bed.” Mother remained standing outside her door, gripping tightly onto her bed sheet. Father remembered the bed sheet was a birthday present he had bought for her because he realized Mother had been eyeing it in Macys during their vacation in New York City.
“Fine… You can sleep here tonight,” said Father. Mother walked in in relief. After such a rough night the Mother was terribly scared. She could not believe there were actually ghosts in their brand new home.

“We have to get out of this house, it’s haunted. I can hardly sleep at night. There are bad things in this house and it is not normal.” Mother complained.

“We cannot leave this house. It is the biggest in the whole neighborhood and I cannot afford to buy you a bigger one. Stop making up excuses to leave this house, ghosts do not exist.” Father assured. Suddenly he was interrupted by his son screaming. They rushed to the bathroom and Father saw his son’s head being dunked in the bathtub, but there was no one holding him. Father carried his son out of the bathroom and laid him on the carpeted floor. Father began to check for a pulse. He placed two fingers below his son’s jawbone. Father pinched his son’s nose shut and breathed two slow breaths into his mouth. His son began to cough out water.
“Paul!” exclaimed Father. Father gave Paul a hug and carried him outside of the house.

“Stay here,” Father said as he ran back into the house, telling Sarah to do the same. Father ran upstairs and signaled Mother. Mother and Father grabbed the gasoline and poured it down the stairs and down the halls.

“Hurry!” Father yelled. “We got to burn this son of a gun down! Mother panicked heavily and emptied the gasoline jar. Her eyes widened. Vehemently, she ran into her room and opened the drawer. She grabbed the steel ring, slipped her Louis Vuitton bag on and ran back out. Mother, suddenly, slipped down the stairs.
“Honey!” said Father as he scurried down the stairs and helped her up. He was about to bend toward his right to pick up the Louis Vuitton bag when Mother suddenly screamed out,
“Forget that shit! Let’s burn this hellhole!” Father cracked a grin and lit the matches on fire. He dropped it on the gasoline-filled floor. Mother ran into the kitchen and smashed all the wine bottles. She, too, lit the matches and dropped them on the alcohol, incinerating the area.
“Hurry, Karen!” Father called out, as he waited for her by the door. Mother ran out of the kitchen, through the halls, and passed the living room as shrieks echoed behind her. Mother grabbed his hand and said,
“Eric, let’s go.”

Father and Mother ran for their lives with sweat running down their faces. Father and Mother got outside the burning house and took a ten second rest, trying to catch their breath. They carried Paul and Sarah far away from the burning house before the fire caught up to them. After the house burned to the ground, the Terrol family saw that the house was no more, but only a huge pile of ash. The family looked into each other’s eyes, exchanged smiles and had one big hug. They put their soot covered hands on each other’s shoulders and walked away, toward the sunrise without looking back.