Creative Writing

Idea 1:

“To answer your question Doctor, I’d scream. Even if I lost myself,  went mad with the anguish of those I had forsaken, and thus having tainted the essence of my very being. I’d scream. For those whom I could not save, who were within the grasp of my fingers, yet slipping through my palms, and departing miles away. I’d scream. For the family I once cherished, now leaving my soul to rot for putting the lives of my country and its people first, abandoning me to eternal solitude and despair. Once again, I’d scream.”

Francis sucked delicately at his pipe, testing the airflow. It was not the finest day he had, had. As a matter of fact it was quite displeasing. He lit the pipe, taking a light puff, enjoying the lingering taste of tobacco on his tongue. It was surely one of the finer things of life, and helped him keep calm and concentrate. For today, he had started to some rather disappointing treatment, by both man and mother nature.

Francis opened the door to a glum and sorry looking day. The sky moved at a lethargic pace, dragging along with it the fleeting memory of summer days. A blur of dismal greys and whites, blotting out the sun. A mild spit trickled down his clothes and wizened skin, already clinging to the wrinkles that sagged under his eyes. The sprays of salt and creaks of old boats were carried along a tired breeze; while grey people walked solemnly past, absorbing the bleakness of the day. Francis had always liked this part of town, it may have been dismal, but it had been his home since he was a lad, and he wasn’t going to just up and give up on it.

The embers danced in the bowl as they grew and shriveled with the time of his breathing, another bowl. He pinched at his waist, taking his tobacco pouch and beginning his familiar routine. “I see your still using that thing.” Simon said as he pushed past the door. “Guess, its not so easy to quit is it?” he laughed a deep booming laugh, “or maybe you ought to clean this den of an office you keep.”

“Everything is where I want it, I could leave a thumb tack on this floor and know where it is,” francis replied rather smugly, “and I don’t see you quitting any time soon either.” Simon carried with him the smell of countless cigars; enjoyed throughout a lifetime of money. “You ought to though, I’v still got years to waste, however your getting pretty far up there yourself” Simon had been a mentor and friend to Francis since he had just entered the world of politics, and had to suffer his dry wit for it.

His carriage arrived late, by this time hair sagged and clothes stuck to skin like an awkwardly familiar coworker. He hurried in, the rain was worsening. People ducked out of the way as the horses pulled their haul along the road, taking shelter where they could from the frosted wind against buildings and wagons. A shimmering blur as the droplets reflected what little radiance the sun could provide through the deep blanket of grey. Francis was jerked forward as the carriage halted suddenly, the horses brayed, while shouts echoed from the coachman. He peeled back the dark curtains to reveal figures in hoods of pure crimson, they were arguing with the coachman. Eyes met, dead, soulless eyes, and Francis quickly drew the curtains to a close again, a sense of foreboding washing over him. His breath seemed to catch in his throat, as he fell back into the seat; who were they?

“Ha!” Simon bellowed, “It’ll take more than a cigar to kill me!” He lit another, Francis watched the fresh cigar decay behind the embers, flickering as if trying to pull itself away from the heat. He found himself smiling stupidly at Simon, the way you do when perfectly smart men do something stupid just to make themselves seem a little more interesting; which of coarse, was exactly what Simon was doing.

“It is a sin to kill oneself,” Francis said almost jokingly, “even if slowly.” 

“God may judge me, but his sins far outweigh my own,” Simon sighed, he suddenly seemed quite serious and it put Francis off slightly. “I actually needed to speak with you today, something urgent has come up and I’d like you out of town for a while.”

The carriage pulled toward the town hall, its wooden frame seemed to sag under the weight of the rains endless torrent. He fled his sheltered coach, fighting his way through the wind and rain to the large oak doors,  which seemed to push back as he tried to open them; their weight familiar against his palms. As he entered the ever present concoction of timeless dust and scented candles met his nose, it began to run. “Goodmorning Jean,” Francis sniffled.

“Early as always,” Jean replied, “Simon should be in shortly.” She waved him past her desk, eager to get back to the days thrilling crossword, it was either that or she didn’t care for him very much, both plausible explanations. Francis gave her a nod and made his way toward his office, it was small but comfortable, messy like a childs bedroom; the difference being littered across his floor were papers and documents, rather than dirty clothes and discarded toys.

Idea 2:

“The mind, it is a beautiful thing,” I’m told. It has the potential for great depth of development, such intricate and fragile ideas, yet it is also volatile, chaotic and easily manipulated. I never asked for such a gift, I never needed it, not for my purpose; yet I have it all the same. It’s said to be the product of your environment, as a fruit is the product of a tree, surely that makes mine a rancid thing, disease ridden and rotten. I was developed for slaughter/destruction/murder, but they were not content with the metal zombies that came before me, they needed something smarter, something that could devise plans, understand the enemy, something that could decimate an army. Thus here I stand, peaceful among the gushing rivers of blood that spew forth through this valley of the dead, a land of my creation.

The rattle of guns, pleads for help, screams of both pain and terror; they merge into the ever consistent orchestra of war. Bullets ricochet off me as if they were birds to a window, unaware that I am impassable. I return fire, the flare between bullets raging out the barrel of my weapon, eager to escape. Death follows. They probably did not want to die, I  believe most men don’t, yet I feel for them because like me they have no voice in this battle. Defeat or triumph are the only words our masters understand. My feet are heavy in the oozing mud, sinking in, as if the dead are trying to hold me back, trying to drag me into the earth. Their efforts are futile, I move on toward my next target.

An ambush is waiting for me, there are people rushing to their positions within the settlement ahead, taking cover in buildings. They hold positions in doorways and under furniture. I study the area, find weaknesses in their defences, and proceed. The buildings are old and heavily damaged, roofs have collapsed and dust clings to the walls, falling softly as I drift my fingers only their edges. I find my feet on the earth with each step, making myself ready for any situation. Cautiously I enter the center of the settlement, there is no movement from those in hiding, its as if they have frozen solid. The emptiness of the square is haunting, a cold lonesome area devoid of anything, apart from the dead vehicles who of which I could call ancestors. 

Footfalls, heavy and fast from the building behind, rushing toward me. I turn as he appears, attempting to tackle me to the ground, he is unarmed or armoured. Others rush from the buildings in the brief opening he has created, at least the moment he attempted to create. It is clear the rest do not intend to ingage, perhaps they are regrouping with a larger force, this cannot stand. The man at my waist is large and muscular, he is determined to restrain me. I peel him off like a candy wrapper, tossing him to the side, as I open fire on the fleeing units. A red mist forms in the air around them as they fall, dominos, one by one. A blunt force deflects off of me. The man is red, streams run trails through his face, and his expression changed to one far more like that of a soldier. He bares a face of pain, anger  and detestment. He swings again, I fire.

Quiet grips the area once again, as I stand above the fresh nameless, yet another scratch on the wall. Red stains the earth around me, as I record the faces of the deceased to my memory, red is always around me. My body is stained by the crimson rivers that flow through the dust and metal, down to join the growing pools at my feet. I tread through them, dragging blood through the dirt with every step, leaving muddy footprints behind me as I move to search the surrounding buildings. There is something inside, warm, moving, alive, perhaps another threat.

 It’s a ragged building, almost crumbling compared to the other structures in the area, barely keeping itself composed around the well maintained buildings around it. The door creaks as I push it open, it cries out for the years of misuse and neglect, unloved like the frame it is stuck too. Light breaks through the walls, surrounding the disturbed specks in the air, as they descend slowly toward the bare floor. A door lies ahead, swung ajar, open before me. I bow under the door frame as I enter the next room, trusting it to keep the walls aloft as it has always done. Broken furniture litters the room, and mouldy mattresses lay empty on the ground. Some of those from outside must have lived in this den of disease, perhaps their death was, in fact, a mercy. I turn toward my target, it gazes puzzlingly back at me, scrunching up its nose and puffing out its cheeks. It shifts around in a blanket, anxious about something, it sneezes.

Idea 3/Final:

The blood ran. My wrists were fountains as the shackles buried their way through skin into muscle. They dug further. With every pull of the chains agonizing pain shot through my arms, my body screaming for mercy, yet my mouth stayed silent. I was determined not to let them take anything more from me, not a single wince or grimace. There is a crowd up ahead, a mixture of curiosity and disgust squeezed around the haunting image of the gallows. I’m dragged forward, more pain, I want to thrash around, fight back, escape. “Hold it in,” I fought with my own mind, “it’d be a wasted effort to try at this point.” The crowd parts as I’m dragged through, stumbling. Scum,murderer,beast,devil,monster, these words echo in unison through the air as I am paraded onward, while rocks beat against my damaged body. My eyes scan over those nearest, their mouths move, but their words are swallowed by the hateful chorus. Reason has left their eyes, they have been stirred up like starved dogs eager for a meal. To them, I am no longer human.

The heart of the crowd opened up before me, and my end beckoned me forward. A noose hung loosely, yearning to embrace me, ever waiting. Soon it shall get what it wants. Ancient wood creaked as I was lead up toward the gates of hell. These gates, not doors, but a portal for the spirit that the body cannot traverse; gates that only open, can only be seen by, and can only be entered by the damned. I could almost see them, flickering into view as I made my way above the crowd, standing atop the gallows. A shadow stood beside me, only eyes poking through his black shroud. Bright blue eyes that looked wrong wrapped in darkness, yet also belonging in the way they pierce through the soul, as if gazing within and judging your worth. He was perhaps the saint at the gates, deciding where I am to go. I like to think I am worthy of heaven, but I knew my destination was not quite as pleasant. The rope was before me, its almost over.

Looking back, was it worth it? So much blood, and misery brought about because of a selfish child’s dream. A slave, a thief, a pirate and a murderer, and what else did I expect to come of my actions? I did find one thing though. I found a family to share my dream with, a bunch of hopeless idiots, just like me. Sure it was a scarred path, but I believe it was the right one, and if I have to take this burden so that my companions may enjoy a future, so be it. Surely they were watching me here, visible to all those who glanced my way. I longed to call out to them, but did not dare tempt them to plot my rescue. Knowing those idiots they were doing it already, but I prayed they stay back, else my actions had been for nothing. I walked my own destiny, so only God may judge me for my actions, thus I looked death in the eye and smiled.

I looked like a chicken at the markets, hung up by the neck. My toes ached as they barely held my body to the ground. I could barely glance to my left, the shadowed saint waited by his lever, waiting to send me on my way. To my right some pompous arse listed my crimes to the crowd, some were lies, things they tried to tie to my person so that I am left as a sinner in their minds even after death, however many were the truth. I had somehow hoped that the list would go on forever, that this near death moment would last forever and that I’d be able to stay like this, experiencing my life through wiser eyes; but of course it does not work like that. The man finished his list, the saint pulled his lever, the gates opened.

Sorry for the depressing beginning, or end? I guess you’re wondering how I got here, what was it that led to such a dramatic, charismatic and devilishly sexy man being strung up by the neck to die? Well you’d have to know me to understand, so grab a drink and I’ll regale you about how I, Scott Connor, became the richest man to ride the waves!

End Chapter.

My intention with this first chapter is to set up a soft ending for the purposes of drawing the reader into the story right away. The final paragraph hints that our protagonist is not dead, as he would otherwise not be able to tell his story, making the reader wonder how it is that he survived, and also how it is he got into the situation in the first place. I believe this is an effective way of telling the story because it shows us that Scott has a flair for the dramatic right away when it comes to storytelling, however he is himself quite light hearted. It also shocks the reader with something much less depression giving them a sense of fresh air so that its not all too sad.

creative writing

Eyelids, heavy, slow, yet forced open. A crack in the curtains leaks light, slowly drowning the room. A push, sitting up, the room before you, white walls, burning bright where the light touches. Sliding the soft black duve off, now standing. Barefoot, fumbling your way through the room to a wardrobe, slipping your hands through the bars, ignoring the handle, then pull. Its open, met by a small assortment of shirts and jackets, greys, browns, blacks and whites blur together. Reaching in you pull out a random jacket and shirt, your fogginess is beginning to clear. Next is pants, you make your way across the room, steadier this time, set toward the drawers. Taking the handle, pulling, and before you, are pants, taking the top pair of dress pants, you slide them up your legs, the black fabric molding to your body. To the door, slipping brown leather shoes one you are ready, and the day awaits.

It is summer, the blinding sun holds the city in its hot embrace. You move away from the door, a trickle of newfound sweat finding its way to the earth. Endless towers grab at the sky, climbing higher as you move toward them. The glisten of the glass and sun, almost blinding. People pass, left and right, a blur as you mutually ignore each other’s existence. The bus stop, crowded, focused. A large man breathes heavily to your right, perhaps he had rushed to the stop? You pay him no mind. To your left, another man in a suit, like you, though better groomed. The bus pulls up, a cloud of dust close behind, that covers it, not losing its momentum. Its white, advertisements lining the sides.

A, hiss and the door opens. The crowd shuffles inward, desperate to get inside the, hopefully, air conditioned bus. Inside, cool, bliss. Finding a seat near the back you rest, letting the chilled air coat you. A stop, more people crowd onto the bus, a woman sits next to you, and another next to her, squishing you into the corner against the window. They immediately start chatting, as if the walk from the bus door to the seat was like plugging a leaking submarine. It was short lived, temporary. Another stop, your stop.Your squeeze past the two girls, trying to keep it from being awkward. Make it to the isle, and walk your way off the bus.

The sun is beginning to set, casting a orange glow across the city. Look, lethargic clouds stretch across the sky, casting mighty shadows, fighting against the dipping sunlight. The towers of glass begin to shift colors, trading gold for orange, orange for red, and red for a deep purple, and then black. The clouds fold and weave together, forming a thick blanket over the sky, smothering the remaining light. A light rain begins to fall, tickling your skin as it trickles its way to the ground. Rushing up the street, arms above the head, trying to protect your body from the wet bullets. Shelter, your destination, finally. You open the nearby door, wooden, and slightly wet, the handle cold in your hands. Your here.


I’d like to start with a quote from a man called Simon Sinek, and this quote is “every generation is affected by the environments in which they grow up.” Now I found Simon on the internet researching this topic, he’s a great speaker and I recommend you all check him out. But I’m not here to advertise, I’m here to ask you all a question, are you doomed to fail? Our generation is being brought up in a world with endless possibilities, and we are taught by our teachers, our parents, and our idols that we can take hold of any one of those possibilities and you will feel fulfilled. Home prices are going up, while our wages are doing nothing to compensate, we are wracked with debt as soon as we finish our education and are cursed with the highest suicide rates in recorded history! There is a lot of crap our generation has to deal with, but I think our biggest challenge is our addiction to the screen, our obsession with social media and our lack of social ability. Because without interaction, we can’t even take the first step in this journey we call, ‘life.’

2 Science & social media

A couple of years ago I did a speech on ‘Why money can buy happiness,’ and at the time, I thought I was right, the facts were there, everything just lined up. However, looking back with my current knowledge, I realized just how wrong I was. I had given a speech, lying to my class, to my teacher and to myself, because I fully believed I was right. Now my excuse was the Dopamine, the happy chemical, that when released into your body say if you bought something you liked, or you wanted, was technically buying happiness. However, it was actually buying you an internal prison, of addiction, and numbed feelings. It was really bad.

See when you release dopamine into your body, it feels good, and people get hooked on that, its that ‘high on life’ feeling, and that’s what you are. You are ‘high on life’. Its the happiness drug. However like most drugs, dopamine comes at a cost, and that cost is addiction. You love that feeling, and so you seek more of it! That is where it goes down hill. Because like the instant gratification of buying things you like, there are other ways of releasing dopamine. This can be through alcohol, bad, smoking, bad, gambling, life ruining, so how can social media an exception?

After continuous use of chemical drugs, they begin to stop working. So when we apply this to dopamine, our happy chemical, we begin to lose touch of the normal things that make us happy. We forget that the world, we live in, is beautiful. We forget that our friends can make us happy. And in case you didn’t notice, forgetting such basic knowledge, is bad.

Now onto social media. Social media is one of our biggest dopamine escapes. So how is social media affecting our happiness? Well, let me start by saying, we all seek attention, we all want to be noticed, and we all want to be appreciated, because it feels good! Now imagine that we can do that at any time, anywhere and get praises from the hundreds to thousands; for taking a photo of our cereal before we eat it. We are brought up in a world where we are praised for everything we do. However studies have shown, that the more we are praised, the less we actually feel appreciated. This is because we are dulling our happiness chemicals effects, and we are doing this now! We have only taken the first few steps on this road of life, and yet we are jeopardizing our well being for the whole trip.  A real life compliment from a friend feels dull, and we are ever seeking of more fake attention to fill the hole we have dug for ourselves, by seeking it in the first place, and its gotten bad. We are addicted!

So the next question is, “We have this hole, how do we get rid of it?”

To do this takes a lot of self control, and just like all addictions, it will be hard. You’ll be irritated, you’ll stress about it, you’ll feel as if you are going to explode. You have to, now bear with me on this one, leave your phones at home. And I know what your all going to say, “I need it for emergencies,”  “I need it in case my parents call me,” “I need it for when I’m bored on the toilet.” Well let me tell you something, you are making excuses for yourself. The school will be called in emergencies, and by your parents if it is so important. I sit in a class and every morning the teacher has to tell their students to put their phones away, and the students ignore them. We are the most social anti-socials in history, and this unconnected connection is a major cause of bullying, depression and suicide. This is bad. So stop the bad, by being good. And be good, by leaving your phones at home.

Reading Responses

Time gun views – article: 1


For this reading response I decided to a magazine article from time. This was different to my earlier responses, because it was quite topical. It was about the school shootings in America, and the debates about whether guns need to be banned, have regulations placed or stay the same. For this article many people across America were chosen at random, with different backgrounds, views and morals on the topic. So I thought I would throw in my own opinion on this, as well as go over the reasons others had for their opinions and the articles overall intentions.


There were alot of different views on this topic, and from what I could see, the majority backed the anti-guns side. This didn’t surprise me, due to the recent events in America, however I was still undecided on which side to take at this point. On one side, guns injure or kill people, it’s what they are designed to do, but on the other, they can be used for self defense, hunting, sport and other activities. The comment from a man called David Preston really hit me hard though. He said, “My mother committed suicide with a gun. I believe in the second Amendment, but I’m willing to consider keeping guns from people who do harm with them.” This comment was a powerful one, he supported the pro-gun side, but was willing to listen to the anti-gun side because of his own experiences, and it got me thinking what I would do in his shoes, because I don’t think after something like that I could still support guns. But he did, while also keeping an open mind, and I thought if someone can go through something so terrible and still support them, then are they the problem? Another pro-gun speaker had a much different view than David, and he looked at the statistics of gun violence, and reinforced my state of thinking that the guns were not the problem. This man Dan Zelenka pointed out, Gun crimes have gone down since the mid-90s. He said, “America has gotten safer, but we watch night after night the news about the epidemic of gun violence.” He then pointed out what he thought the problem is, saying it was, “The Criminal’s.” I think I supported his view as I read this, supporting change to stop criminals from gaining access to guns, however, we both believed the right to bear arms is important. I believe access to guns should change, but they should not be completely outlawed. I believe a criminal will always find a way to kill a person, so disarming everyone will only increase the casualty rate, because guns aren’t only used to kill others, they are used to defend yourself.


In all honesty, after the above paragraph, I’m not so sold on a no-gun America. I compared some of Americas school killings with ones from other countries and made a discovery on a school murder case in Japan. I found information on the Osaka school massacre, which was a case of stabbings in a 2001, Japanese elementary school killing 8 children, in which the culprit used a kitchen knife.To me this represented a fact, that killers will kill, whether they have a gun or not, and if America is disarmed, then you may have taken a singular weapon from a murderers arsenal, but you’ve also taken a means of defence from the people. There is another more recent case in 2016, where a man went into a mental health care center and killed 19 people, again using a normal kitchen knife. Japan has very strict gun laws, with psychological tests, gun safety tests, house checks, and other such methods preventing people from getting guns. Even if you do manage to get a gun license in Japan, the best you can own is a hunting rifle. However even with this lack of guns in Japan, people are still killed, knives and other weapons still exist and are easy to get your hands on. Does this mean we ban ownership of every kitchen utensil, tool and brick lying on the street? Of course not, they are important to our very way of living, it’s no different with guns, they provide entertainment, pest extermination, sport and food for some, and for them, it’s a persons way of life, they grew up in these environments. Mathilde Wimberly, one of the Anti-gun speakers, said “My questions [for gun-rights advocates] is, what are you so afraid of? But that’s offensive.” I’d like to reply to this comment because I believe there is a lot to be afraid of. As I stated with the above examples, with or without guns, murder still happens, the tool may change, but the acts are the same. And if murder still happens, there is a lot to be afraid of, and with guns, we can keep that fear, just a little bit lower.

The Articles Intention:

The idea to bring all these peoples from different backgrounds and having different experiences with guns or having no experiences at all was a bold one. However, I believe it was a interesting and overall successful event. At first I thought it would go up like a barn fire, just getting worse and worse. However I was pleasantly surprised to see open discussion and changing opinions, even extreme talkers from each side were listened to and listened to others. This proves that, people from all different backgrounds and situations can come together and logically discuss something for a greater good, sharing and listening to the opinions of people, they normally would never talk to and its empowering to see people put aside their conflictions and work toward change.


So should guns be banned? Was the experiment successful, and what did success mean for it? Everyone will have a differing opinion on this but as for me, I don’t think that guns should be banned, but the experiment, I believe was a success. I came into this discussion completely neutral, since I don’t live in America; I can’t imagine the circumstances these people may have been in, however from what I have read from the discussion or researched personally, I have come to my own personal conclusion that; yes they may be dangerous, as is everything, and no they should not be banned because of this. However I have a single opinion in a sea of many, and so I ask, what’s your opinion?

A monster calls – extended text: 2

A monster calls is a novel written by Patrick Ness based on the original idea by Siobhan Dowd. It was published in 2011 and is about Conor O’Malley, who is a 13 year old boy, bullied and alone at school within the events of the book. It is about his meeting and interactions with, “The Monster,” that appears outside his window. However, this is not the only monster in the story, there is also the monster in his dreams, the one he can’t face, the one that scares him more than anything, himself. I believe in this book, monsters represent knowledge, not only knowledge about the world, but also knowledge about oneself. When the monster appears outside Conor’s window, its not the monster he expects, it is a timeless creature, who has intervened in many lives, larger than a house and knowing many secrets, yet Conor is not afraid. This monster returns, night after night, to tell Conor its stories, in order to try and reveal to him, the true monster. This real monster, the one his family had tried to deny to him as soon as it arrived. Because, this book is not about stories, not about a small boy who is bullied, but about the unspeakable monster, the one that is denied light throughout the whole story, the one word Conor needs to face. This is a story about cancer.

“Your mind will believe comforting lies while also knowing the painful truths that make those lies necessary. And your mind will punish you for believing both.” – The Monster

Conor O’Malley suffers a monster in his dreams. One within himself, that he fears more than anything. One that if spoken of, will be let loose and take away that which he loves. But why does he think this way? Why does asking for help and speaking out fill him with such a deep dread? Conor is following in the footsteps for all those around him. His Grandmother, his father, everyone he is close too is denying what is happening to him, and he believes them, or at least tries to. However there is this nagging knowledge, this understanding monster that he is fighting back. Because he knows what is going on, he understands the situation, and that is why he fights so hard to deny it. As I said earlier the monsters represent knowledge in this text, and the one in his head specifically represents the forbidden unspeakable knowledge, it represents the inevitability of his mother’s death to cancer, and the fact that he is waiting for it to be over. But the fear of this knowledge, the overwhelming, terrifying fear of it, is preventing Conor from letting it loose.

The other monster, is the one that visits him at night, and this one represents all knowledge, and helps Conor to accept the other monster inside him. He resolves to tell him ancient stories, in an effort to convince Conor of what he is doing, believing both truth and lie, and bringing about the other monster while doing so.

The Alchemist – extended text: 3

Recently I read the short story The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho. The story is based around protagonist Santiago, a shepherd from Spain, who goes to Egypt in search of his treasure.

Santiago is having dreams, dreams of a far away treasure surrounded by sand with pyramids reaching the sky behind it. In the Alchemist, by Paulo Coelho, Santiago is a shepherd, who moves his flock through the country of Spain. He travels, enjoys life, and even falls in love. However Santiago’s dreams are urging him on, and with a little push from a stranger, he finds himself selling his flock and sailing to Africa, so that he can find his treasure. He undergoes trials, as all heroes do, he meets new friends, and discovers new cultures. Santiago travels the desert, and meets The Alchemist. Its at this point that, I believe he truly starts his journey. I believe this because it is here that he meets his true and final mentor, and it is also the part of the story, where he thinks about giving up. I believe it’s important because it also speaks to the reader, about finding comfort and staying there. Just because you get comfortable, does not mean your story is over, and just because you get comfortable, does not mean you should not continue. It teaches us that we must always strive to finish what we have started, to reach out with both hands and take control of our treasures, and to believe that there is always something more for you.

The Alchemist is a story that the reader can relate to. I believe everyone has felt a sense of adventure or curiosity. However, this was especially true for me. My mother lived in Japan for 5 years, and growing up, she would tell me stories of all the amazing things there. I often dreamed about what it would be like, or what I would discover if I went there. This is similar to the dreams of treasure in Egypt that Santiago was having. And like Santiago, I decided to go to Japan, and find whatever it was there that was carving me up with a blade of curiosity. When I got there, I faced challenges, such as language, culture, and not knowing what was where, or how to get there. However I met wonderful people who supported and helped me and I was held up, I explored, I had fun and, I believe I found my treasure. In Japan I found out who I want to be, where I want to go, and what I want to do with my life. Like Santiago, there was no chest of gold waiting for me under the sand, or in my case snow, there was only a sense of achievement, and gratitude, to all those who helped me reach my personal treasure. The Alchemist felt like a reflection of what I had gone through, although a little more dramatic, and I thoroughly enjoyed reading it.

Paulo Coelho is truly a inspirational writer, and deeply touched me with his book, The Alchemist. He manages to induce true emotion in the reader, through the feelings of Santiago.

The book thief – film: 4

The Book Thief movie is a film directed by Brian Percival and adapted from the best selling book. It follows along with the life of Liesel Meminger, as she lives her life in Nazi Germany and how she loses and regains her family

The Book Thief begins with the trip to Liesel’s new foster parents, where her brother dies and her mother leaves her behind. This is where her mother leaves her. I was quite in shock at the fact that a parent could abandon their child, even knowing the fact that it is not uncommon. I think because I was brought up in a comforting home, with loving parents, I found this scene quite upsetting. I try to think of a life without my parents, and at such a young age, makes me feel sad for her, because in my eyes, my mum is one of my greatest friends.

Afterward, however, Liesel is met by a new caring parent figure, Hans Hubermann, an old but kind man who becomes one of his foster parents. Unfortunately she is also met by her foster mother Rosa Hubermann. Rosa represents one of the early antagonists in the film, being the new but different mother figure, that Liesel has to learn to accept, however in vise versa, Rosa, must also learn to love Liesel, who seems to be her own hurdle to jump. Rosa being the early antagonist gives her a chance to grow her character and accept her new family.

When Hans is headed to become a soldier on the Train Liesel tells him not to go, and says, “I don’t to lose someone else.” This brings me back to the beginning of the film, where Liesel’s mother leaves her, and her brother dies. I felt quite emotional here, because I think everyone has experienced loss, and therefore can relate to this moment. However, the sheer amount of this loss that Liesel faces in a few short years, makes me feel incredible humble about my own. It gives us a view into the world of WW11 when people were losing loved ones all around them.

Game of Thrones: Hardhome Episode – film: 5


Within the world of Westeros not a single character is exempt from a brutal death. Game of thrones is a tv adaptation of the world famous book series a song of ice and fire and was directed by Miguel Sapochnik. Please note that reading beyond here will spoil the events of season 5 episode 8 in the show. I will specifically be speaking about the character Karsi, whom died in the events of Hardhome, because she drew a moral line on her actions. This got me thinking, where does a person draw the line when fighting the wights of GoT, (Game of Thrones) because they used to be people, they used to be innocent, and for all we know, there is a possibility that a human mind can still exist behind the monstrous undead.

When Jon goes to Hardhome, he holds a meeting with the Wildling Chiefs, imploring that they help him face off against the wights. It is here that we meet Karsi. Karsi is probably the most reasonable of all the chieftains, however she still begins hostile toward Jon. She openly states the people she has lost, fighting the night’s watch, those among them being her father, uncle and two brothers. However when Tormund vouches for Jon she says, “I’ll never trust a man in black…but I trust you, Tormund. If you say this is the way, we’re with you.” It is Tormund who has Karsi’s trust, not Jon, and this shows us she does not just throw her life into the hands of another. However we also know that this response is due to her looking out for her own children, because where she goes they go.

This leads us too the attack of the whites. As the people of Hardhome are being evacuated Karsi sends her daughters off ahead to the ships, while she stays behind to hold back the whites as people evacuate (Major death flag raised here, by the way.) She fights along side Jon and Tormund against the whites, killing many before she faces a group of undead children. It is here where we know for sure that she is going to die. We know she will die here, because we know that she would give her life to defend children, and thus cannot bring herself to fight back against these little monsters. I for one, do not believe I could fight back, and like Karsi, I would choose to let it happen, because if my family, or friends, or even someone a I knew a little came back like that, I don’t believe I could fight back. I don’t know of any cures, but that does not mean there isn’t one, so am I morally right to fight back? I don’t think so.

So here is where I’d like to bring up morals, because yes it is self defense, and they are no longer human, however they were once, and its not known that there isn’t a cure for their current situation. Does this mean we would kill each other at the slightest event of disaster? Perhaps a pandemic arrives and we start killing each other to avoid spread. Can we really still call ourselves human after such acts? I think not.

Ice god of Hungary – Song: 6

To most people listening to ‘Ice God of Hungary’ the song seems nonsensical, weird and random. However, I believe those people are lacking the mindset to truly understand what its about. So here I am, to educate you all, to help you understand what makes this song an absolute banger.

Ice God of Hungary is a song written and performed by Glitter Job, and it teaches us to search through the meaningless to find the meaning. Ice god of Hungary’s lyrics portray a journey, of how a being became known as a god. It portrays him sailing, and it portrays his harsh rule as a god. 

Within the early Lyrics of Ice God of Hungary, there is little to no sense, an intentional decision on the bands part, which help draw you to the actual story of the song. Such nonsensical parts include, “The guy that sat on his potato put the socks around his neck,” and “It was the dog that bit me for the burger meat.” I believe these parts of the songs were intentionally put in to make you search for meaning within the song, because that is what we do, we search for some meaning, or something to connect to with music. And yet with such random lyrics there is nothing to connect to.

So the lyrics purpose? They were put there in order to highlight the chorus, which told a story, the story of the Ice God of Hungary, in which to song shares its title. The song portrays the Ice god as a evil, or dictator like god, we learn this when he says, “Bend a knee or be blown away,” and also when he says, “I don’t mess around, get your back to the sky and your face to the ground.”

As the song progresses the lyrics begin to intertwine with the story more and more, and we begin to learn more about the ice god, through the lyrics. We learn that he was part of a prophecy, that may have misled or lied to the people, in the lyric, “Blood was not part of the prophecy, still the snow had turned to pink.” Doing some extra research, I also looked up the Hungarian gods, and tried to determine which god it was that they spoke of in the song. I found no specific ice god, but did find one that sounded similar Hadur, was the god of war, and was also the weapon smith of the gods. We know the ice god of Hungary is a smith in the lyrics, “And then, the hammer that he forged, in flames of red and orange, fell in perfect summitry.” Being a god of war, blood being a part of him would be only natural, there were also sacrifices dedicated to him before battle. The god Hadur was also known to be erratic in nature, doing things for no reason, not even to help him, in fact he sometimes hindered himself. This nature might even explain some of the earlier song, being strange and weird, put in for no reason, or erratically.

So we know Ice God of Hungary tells the story of the Hungarian war god Hadur, and i think its really cool to get some religious history in the song, yes some of the lyrics are strange and nonsensical, but that is what draws us in deeper when we reach the story and may even be yet another link to the god, Hadur. I think its an awesome song, and deserves more attention, because with a little understanding, you can love the song as well.

The Book Thief


The book thief is a book written by Markus Zusak based during the German Holocaust. Its a real eye opener, giving us a view into the terrors of WW2, even if it is a work of fiction and I think the story of Liesel is especially important, because her story runs through every base, including Jewish people, German mass adoration and the life of those who have experienced the loss of friends and loved ones due to the rising hell that was WW2. An especially important symbol in The Book Thief is the different books that Liesel comes into contact with, and what they mean in the story.

The books Liesel steals are symbolise her own defiance. They symbolise a act against Hitler’s Nazi regime, while also symbolising the steps Liesel takes to becoming a independent German. The Gravedigger’s handbook is the first book Liesel gets, and it can be seen to represent a connection to her brother, since she gets it from where he is buried. However I believe it has even more significance, because it can symbolise her beginning literally from the ground up. It is almost as if she is digging herself out of the grave, with this first book, that she can’t even read yet. I believe this book is extremely significant and that without reaching for this first book, Liesel would have remained the small helpless girl she is in the beginning of the story, forever. Another significant book is Mein Kampf, its a book, written by Hitler, in order to explain his ideologies and the paths in which he wishes to take Germany. This is the next significant book, because it represents the different views of the people. With both the copy written by Hitler and Max’s copy. The original Mein Kampf represents Germany as it is, ruled by hitler. However Max’s copy, renamed “The Standover Man,”  represents a blank slate. The whited out pages represent the desire to change, and the hope that it will. It is important that in the beginning Max carries this hope, as he is able to escape thanks to his mother, and carries her hope for change as well, and then he hands this hope down to Liesel. Liesel carries hope forward after this point, all the way to the end of the novel.

There are some books that, once picked up, cannot be put back down and I believe Markus Zusak has written one of these books. I may not know exactly what goes through his head, however I like to think that all authors strive to make every encounter within their stories meaningful. I believe this is an important way to engage your audience and to make sure not a single word becomes meaningless. The symbol of the books is something that lured me as a reader, so that I sought to discover a deeper meaning behind them, and see exactly where this story was taking me. I believe the attention to detail put within this book is amazing, and I thoroughly enjoyed it.

Liesel Memingar

  1. The difference between Liesel and your common thief, is her innocence. When I think of a “book thief,” I think of someone in a time where knowledge is valuable, and he is stealing these books to sell. However she is just a child, in a hard time, seeking some kind of knowledge, any kind of knowledge.
  2. The harsh reality Liesel has been exposed to at such a young age would cripple most people, or send them into denial and in the beginning, it nearly does. She is introverted, scared, and unwilling to open herself up upon meeting her new foster parents. The death of her brother and loss of her mother has made her quiet and sullen. I believe her goals from here would be to simply survive, and to avoid connection at this point, however as time progresses she will learn to lean on people again.
  3. I think her desire to learn is driven by the death of her brother. I think this because she receives her first book, the gravediggers handbook, at her brothers funeral, and it is like a connection between her and him, even though she cannot understand it. However I believe as she develops more relationships, she desires more knowledge since her bonds are formed upon the desire to learn.
  4. Cause he is a pig boy.
  5. I think her and max’s loss are completely different entity’s. Whereas Liesels loss is beyond her control, Max feels personally responsible for the loss of his mother, because only one of them could be saved, and he was forced to leave her behind.
  6. I believe it could be one of two things, with everyone connected to her gone, she tries to keep these connections through books, so that she does not feel truly alone, or she does it as a way of defiance against those who would keep the non Nazi people of Germany down.
  7. Yes, I do believe Liesel has lived a fulfilled life. I believe this because, even through all the barriers, she pushed through, after loss, after pain, she made it to the end, and learned from it.

Rudy Steiner

Rudy Steiner, the runner, the pig boy, the boy who paints himself black. Rudy is the ideal person, based on Hitler’s ideals, blonde, athletic, smart, he is the poster boy of ideal arian race. The only problem was, his mind was not ideal, he idolized Jessie Owens, a black runner who won 4 gold medals in the Olympics, going so far as to paint himself black with charcoal to re-enact the Molching race.

We see Rudy, stick up to Hitler’s Ideals time and time again, because in his eyes, appearance does not make someone who they are, rather, ability does.

However, unfortunately Rudy’s desire for success and recognition become a danger to him and his family. We see this when he wins many races in his hitler youth athletics. He is noticed by the Nazis and is selected for a special elite youths school. His parents then decide that his father would go to war, in an exchange to spare Rudy from this. This event will give Rudy a view of how the Nazi party works, taking one thing for another constantly, never accepting of both.

Rudy becomes significant because of his both ideal and opposite characters for the Nazi party. He represents so perfectly the ideal people that Nazi Germany wants, however he is in complete opposition, as proven when he hands out bread to Jewish prisoners. He is important because he shows us what Hitler wants, but also shows us, that Hitler can’t have him.

Sandstorm – Poem


A flurry of aggressive orange and brown,

stinging eyes and coughing lungs.

I force myself deeper, trying not to drown,

as I make my way through the sand.


A ripped tea towel across my face,

My air tank in this sea of dust.

But the winds still hit me like a mace,

yet I do not falter.


I’m nearly there now, only a few more steps,

The gale still fights to stop me.

I open the door and take a fresh breath,

I’v made it to the store.

Doomed Youth

The poem talks about what sort of events and that can be seen in the World War, for example the wailing shells, and the Bugles calling for them. And it also speaks about the lost wishes and prayers and thoughts of the soldiers.

However the poem does not mention sides, most likely because dead men, have no country. Nor does it give us any imagery of death.


Throughout the poem there are contrasting ideas, for example, demented choirs. Choir is a great prayer, or song sent to the lord, in heaven. However for them to be demented, shrill and demented, is to make it evil, corrupting it, and confusing it.









Used with Choirs of wailing shells. Demented can be corrupted, evil, or irrational. This gave me an image of what I’d like to think of raining hell, or hellfire. It is a wailing hellish noise, and it is coming toward them.


Anger of the guns


This specific quote made me think less of the gun, but rather the man behind it. This is because guns are but a tool, and the person is the killer. The anger of the gun, the anger of the man. Grief of loss, or loss of control to bloodlust and adrenalin, killing mindlessly, out of survival. Therefore I think the use of Personification on the gun, perfectly describes the events.


Demented Choirs


Throughout the poem there are contrasting ideas, for example, demented choirs. Choir is a great prayer, or song sent to the lord, in heaven. However for them to be demented, shrill and demented, is to make it evil, corrupting it, and confusing it. It tells us that in this time of war, god cannot hear us over the death, and destruction in the battlefield.


What is included?

Language included.

The poem Dulce et Decorum est is a shocking poem that is written from the view of a soldier in WW1, dealing with dangerous but everyday scenarios. I believe that what is written in the poem was common throughout many soldiers lives, and from my understanding, may have been weekly, if not daily. I get this impression through the single word “Ecstasy,” or the sentence “An ecstasy of fumbling…” This is because the word ecstasy, is often associated with something experienced often, or familiar. For example, the familiar ecstasy of chocolate, melting in the mouth. I know its a long stretched example, however the same principals apply. Because they have experienced this so often, it triggers a reaction from them, that is all too familiar.

Another example of language having this sort of detail within the story is the word dreams, which is seem twice within this poem. First seen in “In all my dreams before my helpless sight…” and then again in “If in some smothering dreams.” These examples lead me to believe that the experiences that the author of the poem went through are so horrifying that the are repeating in his dreams. He may have purposefully used the word dreams rather than nightmares in order to lighten the impact, or maybe even increase its shock factor.

My last example for language used is the word drowning. I believe there is a significance to this word, as it is not commonly associated with gas, or what we would normally call the effect, choking. I believe the word drowning gives us an idea of how smothering and thick the gas was, there is no way to swim out of it, and the only way to survive it is with a gas mask or gas helmet. Instead of using the word choking, he used a more detailed example of how the people really died.