Travel Journal: Log 2 In wich I explain why my back is sore 22-30

Thursday: My granny (Abuela Maggie) took me to an aunts house for their dogs birthday party, Bonita. Well Bonita's birthday was really an excuse for them to hang out so I went to play with my Tia Carla. She is very sweet an d we played alot, we played Uno  watched Tron (again), Toy Story 2 (again), and played war. It was reallly really fun and incase anyone cares I am still sick. :C

Friday: HUZZAH! It's chrismas right? NO! but I still opened presents. I alwyas open three or four a day before christmas :). WEll around six something I went to my Tia Consuelo's house to a party and I was still kinda sick but my sister got even sicker so she had all of her defenses down leaving me with my too cousins Jan (five years old) and Cesar (2 years old). I played with them the whole night just running around and playing tag. You know, normal running games... It was really fun and they are so adorable *squeak*

Saturday-Monday: Well I opened the rest of my presents so I played video games most of the day. The parade thing was across the street from where I live so my mom invited Cesar, Jan, and many aunts and uncles to see it and all that family quality time. I did the same thing I did before play hide-&-seek, Tag, Sardine, Dominoes, Doodled, etc. And they were so adorable. But at one point I asked both of them for a hug and they fought each other to give me the hug (awww) so they ran up to me to give me the hug and I fell back into the floor and hit my head giving a chain reaction to my back wich is now sore.

Tuesday-Friday: Nothing just playing video games and listening to music although my mom has been blasting ABBA to wake us up in the morning I've been waking up at seven or ten a.m. so I practically have nothing to do in the mornings. Plus my mom is making me go shopping wich I really don't like.

Travel Journal: Day 1 In wich I resume what I've done for six day

Thursday- Friday:    Since Thursday the 15 I've been feeling down-ish,  My head hurt terribly and by then end of  the day I had ended as box of Kleenex.  My mom picked me up early because in the morning I had stated that I really wasn't feeling too good. In result I had a fever and therefore I couldn't go to school on Friday. I stayed in bed for most of the day and occasionally played Wii until my head hurt again and I fell asleep. When I woke up again to try and post a travel log their was no internet connection.

Saturday- Tuesday: I still have my fever but it lowered down a bit. My mom decided to take me and my sister out to the movies and see Puss in Boots (SOOOO CUTTEE *squeak*).  Also J.J. if you are reading this I saw you there, I was the one hollowing awww and daww all the way throughout the movie. Well before that I got hurt with the door in front of the closet. I don't mean the closet door, it's just that one door is too close too the other. Well the point is that my sister pushed the door while I had my foot there and the friggin' door scraped me about four fingers above the ankle and it still hurts. On Monday I got a haircut, finally. SO it is basically the same length with the same bangs from the ears to my face and from the back of my head to the other side of my ears it  degrades the length. I really don't know what is the name of the but or anything because I basically don't care much for the names. :) Also I still have my foot injury wich hurts like crazy because it still is on the second skin layer and starting to form the top layer.

Wednesday: Internet returned today. HUZZAH!! Nobody really says huzzah anymore it's kinda sad... I liked huzzah. Well today I stayed home with my fever, it is almost gone by now but I'm still coughing like crazy. I fell asleep twice today, once in the morning and then in the afternoon. The first layer of skin is completely finished so I can wear closed shoes again... Wait I didn't even wear shoes indoors I stay with socks every time and then rinse my feet for five minutes, yeah I really don't like to get my feet dirty. Finally I am nearly done with The Secret Life of Bees. Yeah that pretty much fills it all in. 

Happy December related Holidays everyone.

 For more travel journals go to Middle Minds

Wordly Wise Wednesday Short Story: The Island with a Room and Children

It wasn’t too far from Wednesday when we embarked on the voyage on Saturday or Sunday of the week before. Who would think that what we found on that Wednesday would haunt our minds so vividly that Johann can depict the occurrence. The conscientious planning of the Island Children and their many tries of mutiny against Lorress had finally taken a leap and let the revolution begin.

We describe the island as a remote piece of land owned by nobody yet still by something full of audacious children escaping for their lives. Three of those children, the Island Children, are with us in the cruise: Johann, Jones, and Lyra. All of the others could escape easily without leaving inkling to Lorress about their whereabouts or even the fact that they’d escaped. All of those children who were confiscated of the freedom they had were now running around with the freedom that was once stripped of them. To think that we’d be helping some kids from an island when we had started the trip as a serene cruise back to Spain.

I must give Lorress credit he let the Island Children grow in profusion as if they were flowers and just every couple of years he would pilfer three or four kids to go in the room. According to Lyra entering or leaving the room leaves some of the children lackadaisical and every kid around that one child would too. No Island Children came unchanged from the room according to Lyra, those who came back from there would easily cause rankles to the others. We saved Jones a day before he entered the room. If they wouldn’t revolt who knew who else would of entered the room.

One week has already passed since that Wednesday and we are four days away from Spain. Although it is futile to rebuke Lorress everyone except the Island Children does so. The poor children who’d entered the room would never be the same and neither would be the ones that knew them. Johann talks about Tim three times a day. Tim was his closest friend but one day he entered the room. Nobody speaks or describes the room but all everyone, including us, knew is that one comes out changed.  For Johann Tim is like a little brother, he’d protect the little kid with all he could but no matter how prudent one is no one can avoid Lorress taking someone to the room. It is funny though how Lorress was a computer, a super computer. He didn’t have an android version of himself or a robot or a giant mechanic claw nor human goons. He simply had nothing and it still took eleven years of Island Children starting to plan a revolution to overthrow him. When Tim came back from the room Johann’s world crumbled, Tim had grown irascible and easily scared. His hair had darkened and his eyes no longer shimmered and danced. He rarely laughed, harshly smiled and his friendship with Johann was ruined. Nobody could help anyone who entered the room because nobody knew what happened in the room. Even those who’d never entered didn’t even dare to say a word.

Their escape plan wasn’t that simple either. No one could act in a slovenly manner because precision and diligence had to be acted by everyone if they wanted to get off that island. The only problem in the plan was that one Island Child had to enter the room. None of the children present in the cruise know who he was or is but he will be remember as the hero of the revolution. That Wednesday is the day the Island Children escaped and we found them drifting in the water currents 25 miles away from the Island. Nobody wants to speak about the Island, not them or us.  The nameless island ruled by something not someone with the Island Children in it. 

For more WW Wednesday and WW stories go to Middle Minds.

Confesion Tusday: Old Video Games

I love old games and their way of playing it. Pac-Man, Space Shooter, and all of those. The little ”Waka-waka” sound Pac-Man makes as he open his mouth and closes it along a space related background. The way his mouth wants all those tic tac pieces as he runs away from the ghosts. Finally there is that wonderful sound that appears as you insert 50 cents and he starts to form in the screen. Then there is the Space Shooter game, a tiny little space ship all alone in space fighting for his life against the  herd of pixelated aliens.

 “Pew, pew,” Goes the Spaceship as I shoot the lasers. Three are down and the boss is almost dead.  “Pew,” I fire again as the last one vanishes in a distorted explosion. It is very unrealistic, fire in space. First of all fire needs oxygen which there isn’t in space. Second of all no space adventurer should be left alone fighting of giant aliens without help from others.

“YES!” I let out a scream of joy as I beat the final boss and got the second best score. 37560 reads on the screen as it flashes by and is replaced by my 37683 score. It was my first time playing Space shooter after two years and I wasn’t’ even good before. In Pac-Man and Mrs. Pac- Man I would only reach level 10 or 11 but this was different, I got second place.

Don’t get me wrong or anything I love old games and new games all right but the thing is that I’m better in the old games than in the new ones. Legend of Zelda,Mario, Assassin’s Creed, even in first person shooters I’m so-so. Yet old games are different, simple minded games that connect you to the screen for hours. Then there are those games that I can cheat and play perfectly like Bomberman. Hell that game was made for me I can beat the computers in “Hard” mode and beat eight players from around the world. The thing is that I can do it because it reminds me of Pac-Man, the setting of the board and everything. Especially when playing with my cousin, I kill her last to be compassionated but I grow mad in that game.

Sometimes when we play I break my own made up rules, basic ones that we made up so that we wouldn’t be angry at each other if the other one won. First rule: If we are both left and everyone else is dead we do not kill each other. Second rule: We help each other but DO NOT take the others path to the center or the crown. Third rule: We kill the computers first then Andrea if she is playing.

The last time I broke the first rule was on Sunday. I kept on pressing the “2” button around her encompassing with my bomb. Then I broke the second rule by killing her in her own path towards the crown and running for the crown myself, God was she angry at me. Finally I broke the third rule by killing the computer player with her by locking her up with my bombs. I know that one isn’t supposed to break the rules because of the morals and all but I just can’t help it. If there is a glitch in the game I use it, if there is a way of winning I’ll take it. But you can't really blame me, blame all those years of playing Pac-Man and Space Shooter

For more Confesion Tuesdays go to Middle Minds.

Fishing

I love and hate fishing. Mom throwing the net, Titi scaling the fish, Ana and Andrea throwing the line far out into the water. Me, I'm throwing the line too or annoying the crabs. Pinch. They go at my silverware. Pinch, pinch. Little did they know that they were going to be part of the circle of life.

I still remember being little and carrying the yellow bucked full of fish with Titi. 15 fishes and 11 crabs i counted. It was a tad heavy for me so practically waddled all the way to the car. The bucket is half full or half empty, I never really got that. I only care if there is water in it or if I can get a refill. Hello? Waiter why are you on Mars every time I need water?

"Get in the car!" She screams," GET IN THE CAR!" We all take off running.

"They're here," I scream. Mosquitoes. Annoying hell created female bloodsuckers. They suck your skin with no mercy leaving itches and red blotches. Yes, they are here, those miserable hell creatures.

"Ow, ow, ow!" we all scream in reasoning. I started to count them, I always do.

"Seven new ones." I say. That is really the only thing I hate about fishing, the mosquitoes. Yet I still love fishing, it's a wonderful experience full of fun and annoying the crabs. I can't really say much because I normally catch three or four but this time I caught only three, I just like the fact that we are together. Ana caught five and Andrea two.
For more Memoir Mondays go to Middle Minds

House on Mango street review

The House on Mango Street by Sandra Cisneros is the story about her in the United States of America as a Latina written in villents. She lives in the “Latinos” part of Chicago with Nenny (her sister), Kiki (her other sister), Carlos (her brother), and her mom and dad. Although her name is Sandra she uses the name of Esperanza, meaning hope in Spanish as she lives in her house that she isn’t proud. Esperanza’s first sight of the house on Mango Street isn’t what she neither hopes nor wants. What she would like is all that The House on Mango Street isn’t, small peeling painted walls with no yard in front and hallway stairs with one bathroom and two people per room, that is The House on Mango Street. She knows she can obtain better so she lives with high hopes of living in a “house on the hills” meaning a house like the rich. A house that nobody is ashamed to point and say I live there.

As the story unfolds she tells us she is coming to realize the cultural differences and daily sexism or machismo that take place and judge her daily. U.S.A. citizens have a better opportunity of a better life and when a different citizen is presented with the opportunity too many obstacles stand in their way. For example making mistakes like having a baby too early or dropping out of school.  Then part of the Hispanic heritage and the time period in wich women weren’t greatly appreciated men preferred their women not to be too smart and not too tough wich Esperanza was. This initiated Esperanza’s inner war against

Vasquez2

machismo. At this point she decides to no longer let men do what they want although sometimes it is unavoidable as in a part in wich she is held against her will and kissed by a stranger.

In Esperanza’s community there are all types of people but none of them are rich. She categorizes them as lucky and unlucky as well as unhappy by how they deal with their living for example Minerva is described as a person who’d lost all hope because she has to raise two kids in her own with  a husband who left that she later forgive because of her vulnerability. Minerva can only write poems to relieve her sadness. Her neighbors are mostly people who’ve lost hope and Esperanza is surrounded by them daily from bums in the corners who hit on her friends to abused women and unwelcoming neighbors. Yet she isn’t the type to lose hope as I’ve stated before. What she does is she uses the depressing setting to give her hope and relates to them to keep moving forward. As a motivation she uses four skinny trees to wich she can relate to her same hope of never letting anything bring her down. As she is obtaining friends she realizes more and more who this is not the environment she wants to live in. Through the book Esperanza becomes more and more decided in pursuing her dream. Her dream would let her escape Mango Street, escape from the sad future that awaits her and her race. It would let her become someone in that society.

I must admit that the book is lovely and the message is well expressed but for me it was unattractive and boring. The way she described the setting was great but for me it was lacking a bit more action and dialogue wich is what made it unattractive and boring.  Although I love the fact that she wrote in villents I still find it dry in content. The title of the memoir The House on Mango Street means that like a mango matures so did she on that

Vasquez3

tiny place in Chicago, she came to understand more about herself and others life. Besides the House on Mango Street played an important part in her life because if she wouldn’t of lived there she wouldn’t be who he is today. The title itself too is powerful because it doesn’t give enough inside on the book to turn it down but gives enough inside to pick up the book and read it.

 When one thinks of a house one expects to think about family, fun times, friendship, and neighborly surroundings but for Esperanza it is totally different. There are not enough fun times or neighborliness around. My favorite line is “Not a flat. Not an apartment in back. Not a man’s house. Not a daddy’s. A house all my own… A space for myself to go, clean as paper before the poem.” Page 180. This is my favorite part of the book because it is the one that best expresses her dream as well as everyone living on Mango Street’s dream for a better life.

Cather in the Rye

Should Cather in the Rye be banned?

            The book Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger should be taught everywhere and taken off the banned list. It teaches and gives examples of coming of age issues.  It also teaches basic morals wich are useful in any time period. Cather in the Rye although full of profanity is nothing compared to how common these words have become today. There are many reasons to why it shouldn’t be banned.

            This book should be taught because of the strong connection Holden has with his inner child, like kids today. By placing an adults actions on the point of view of a man that thinks like a child the reader can understand what is wrong and what is right in a simple way. From Holden’s point of view one also notices that sometimes Holden makes false assumptions that the reader notes to be wrong and learns the moral. “I can even get to hate somebody. Just by looking at them, if they have cheap suitcases with them.” (141). Here one knows Holden is “judging a book by its cover” so we know that he is judgmental. Yet later on Holden gets to know the possessors of the suitcases, two affable nuns.

            The book should no longer be banned because the basic morals it can teach anyone. Like every book has a moral Cather in the Rye is filled with them and daily life lessons in each chapter. Treat others like you would like to be treated is teacher in every chapter as Holden misjudges his friends and acts in a manner that isn’t normal. His friends notice this and find him annoying but as Holden starts to realize he tries to go for a change in his actions.

           One may think that a book about a kid expelled from school that falls victim of drunkenness, prostitution, and delinquency has nothing good to teach. It does, like many kids now days could use it as an example to be careful for the path they choose. They can use Holden’s experience from getting expelled as a reason to study more. Holden started getting all woozy and picking up fights because he is drunk or trying to act drunk can be used to teach kids not to drink. The delinquency too can be used to teach kids what could happen if they started to steal.

           In conclusion Catcher in the Rye shouldn’t be banned because it has great things to teach. I believe that not only Catcher in the Rye but all books shouldn’t be banned because everything can teach us and everyone has their opinion so just because one person doesn’t like it they shouldn’t take the privilege of reading it for everyone.

Mother's Day

Dear Mommy,        

The online magazine, Smith asked their readers to describe their life in six words. The result was worldwide as many famous and not so famous people started to create more. The Smith magazine ended up publishing book titled, Not Quiet What I was Planning. It became such as marvelous idea that some people were simply writing them everywhere from bathroom mirrors to street art. One had to describe one’s own life in a concise matter, six words not one more or one less. Therefore Mrs. Meadows asked us to create some of our own.

Thus, my mind was full of words that were all trying to come together to form the perfect sentence to describe you. I came up with tons, but once they came out to more than six words. Until I finally picked the perfect one. You are always showing me new things to learn from and always with that sweetness of yours. Plus you are beautiful and let nobody say anything else.

Sincerely,

Ximena Vasquez Perez

Anyone?

Hey I need followers, well I don't need them but it is actually quiet depressing to have 4.
1 Anonymous
3 asked to follow for a follow
I mean isn't that just sad?? Now come on be nice I don't really care if you want to do it anonymous but just let me have one more but If you can let me have more. If by the end of October I have at least 1 follower then I will change my image to one of these (your pick):

Please you know you want to follow me or at least tell someone to follow me...please? Just comment in the little lonely comment box and tell me please, even one follower will make me happy.

Ok doesn't have to be by the end of October or anything jsut as long as I have at least one more, please.

Stradlater's Composition

He used to have a baseball glove, before, you know he died. I own it now. It was real special to him, it really was. He used to write poems in it to see at the baseball games when there was no batter.

            The leather is worn out. It used to be light brown, the color of coffee sprinkled with cream and milk. Now it is dark, like wooden dark. Not ebony but pine tree wood like of dark. You could still read all his poems though, all in green ink. He’d never use another color.

            The poems are everywhere, up the finger, down the webs, between his palms, and encompassing the rim. Not all of it was his though, most were. Frost, Poe, Williams, Smart, Macari, they were all there. Not only are there poems in that glove, but sadness hangs in an air around it. So young, he could have been something bigger than just a baseball player or a poem writer; he could of reach somewhere more than school.

            His name was Tony. He died before, eight years old, so young. Of leukemia, on his deathbed he handed it over, his precious glove. I still remember the smile he had on his face that day, July 18, 1946. His head in its little heart shape was glowing, not because of the reflection of the screen that could only play bad soap operas, but it was a natural glow, an inside glow. Even with all the tubes and needles he was still smiling, even with the lack of his hair wich we all loved he was still smiling, in that tiny room filled with all of us crying and weeping he was smiling. Bringing a smile into such a room, whose green light puke walls hold the stench that hospitals have that’s supposed to smell like clean yet it smells like a fake try to make alcohol. His smile was pretty much what kept us alive. I still remember his red head. He was a real red head, not a ginger or dyed but natural coral red. We used to go golfing together; he could be 100 miles away and you would still know he was there, his hair was that red.

            Not only as he a red head but he was really smart too, much smarter than me. Such a shame he died. All his teachers wrote to mom, to say how a pleasure it was to have a kid like Tony in their class. They weren’t just writing bull like most do but they were serious, you ever had him in your class and you’d be the same. His sunny disposition I still charming, probably hangs around with his past teachers, they loved him they really did.

          No matter how much sadness hung in his glove, his warm smile stayed there. In the glove, in the green ink, in the leather, in the poems it stayed there. Tony wrote many, some weren’t his. Some Frost others Angelou even Bryant. But the ones his own were fabulous, no kidding. Most he wrote about me or Daniel, our big brother. Others he wrote about the family or holidays or even baseball. He wouldn’t write sad poems though, he didn’t like it, but he still did because they were part of him. He barely wrote about himself, there were a maximum of four poems that he wrote about himself and in three of those he included me. Even in the one about Rosen, Grandma’s dog, he included me. The dog loved him a lot yet he wrote about her final good-bye, to me. I knew he loved Rosen with all his tiny little heart, she did say good-bye to him after all he was the last one to see her before she died yet he wrote about her last good-bye to me. It went a bit like this:

Sun kissed fur

With welcoming blue eyes

Leaping, jumping,

All over Stradlater

Licking his face,

This was the last day

For Rosen

The last breath in the house

Came from her

Licking Stradlater

My Blog is Sad

My blog is sad people. If you want to make it happy, comment. That is like giving food to it... please??
My blog need more love, want to give it love.. then FOLLOW.

 

If you do then I will make this my image:
So please, if you want to help just do something of the above.
Ps. He has to pee. REALLY BAD. SO help the guy, you know what to do.
PSS. As I promised I have changed my image, whoever you are (anonymous follower) I thank you.

Historic Letter

Dear Claire,

            I know I’m a sinner for this thought but it’s eating my mind. My guile towards Momma was something I wished to put in action. I couldn’t, but I still hoped. She’s probably wishing the same. We all wish you here, with us. Yet we know God will keep your soul safe. Don’t worry you are in a better place. I bet Momma even wishes I died instead of you that day, in the ship. She loved your sunny disposition, she abores my happiness.

            So how is it up there, in heaven? Down here, it’s horrible. Everything is “for the general good of the colony”, ugh.  Let me tell you how it is, so let’s say you want to play hide & seek, well guess what you can’t! Why? Unless everyone wants to play you can’t. Joseph’s dad needed some meds. For Rosemary, his mom, but they couldn’t. These selfish beings wouldn’t let him go back to England because it would take days and preparation and a bunch of lame excuses. In the end, we were all present when she died.

Days later I tried to take a stroll with Joseph, to my favorite spot, Marie’s Pastry Shop. We never made it; a spontaneous winter came upon us. We’ve had to stay inside for days. So many that we’ve lost count. I did record something else, something of far greater importance.

Deaths.

Millions, Zillions. All dead!

            Oh, Claire we’ve dropped to less than half the colony. Now I have to do the washings, dishes, and hear Momma complain about how slow I am with work and the weather. It would be much better if you were still alive. You could help me end mom’s imperative announcements on how everything, including me, would be better if you were alive. In the end we probably will end up dead, like you.

            There is nothing fun in the house. We can’t even look for fresh flowers for your shrine, the snow is too dense. I’d wish I knew how to send this letter but all I can do is pray for God to lower the snow or to tell you how much I miss you. That and to be honest for him to excuse my soul. In the end everything here is so bad. Ok, it IS terrible, the food stock has been decreasing and Momma is unbearable but BEFORE the snow the new world wasn’t all that bad. Then again if the snow will ever decrease maybe the journey might be worth it.

Your beloved sister,

Rosen Ducayne

I Do Not Regret it and I Am Not Mad

     I still do not regret it. I do not regret killing that old man, neither will i regret it later. I'm probably going to rot in jail. Still I will remember my last night with the old man and his eye.
    Oh! His eye. What gruesome feelings it caused me. Don't tell me wrong I loved that man, but his eye, his evil vulture like blue eye. I could not stand such stare.
    The last week I gave to him, was I in my nicest. Every night, for eight days -- the last eight days of the old man--I would gingerly watch the man sleep. About midnight, never would I act with cursory. Never would he be able to corroborate evidence of me being in the room with anyone. For each day, had I put in a dark lantern all closed, closed so that no light shone out.
    When the last night came, and his eye was thrust open. I grimaced. a smile of contempt, not madness. He probably was dehydrated, woken by a mighty thirst. If he could see me that night I would of caused him fear. If anyone could feel my sagacity that night, too have they been scared. "Who's There." His last two words ALL IN VAIN. For I remained quiet. Hour past I made my next move.
   Do you fancy me mad? How could a mad man make such a wise plan? Could he have thought of a thief, maybe. He had a fence and the shutters were close fastened. He feared someone would derive a single coin from his dragon's hoard. Wich he'd made me keep inventory of for plain fear of robbery.
   Why is it that you; a Nobody,keep on insisting I'm mad. For I am not in jail for madness but for murder. Yes for this plane thing I find myself behind the bars. I do not regret it; Nobody, I never will. My endeavor to kill that old man was far to great to be madness. My wise plan was too careful to be madness. So why is it that you, a Nobody, a person who is of such little importance call such a wise man mad? Oh, you still desire to know how I killed the old man? Well, Nobody, let me tell you so that your life will have a meaning.
   Clad with the heavy bed the instant I had dragged him to the floor. His heart wich simulated the courage of a soldier, wich had made me nervous, now marked the old man's hour. It could not be heard through the wall. He was stone dead, no pulsation. His eye would trouble me no more.
   Now if you still think me mad, you better shouldn't for I'd taken my precautions. I took three planks from the flooring, the less abrasive and deposited all between the scantlings. I then replaced the board so cleverly, so cunningly that no human eye -- even his or yours.. could have detected anything wrong. There was noting to clean, there was no blood -- no stain-- I had been too wary for that. Four o' clock, I was done. As for the door, their was knocking, the bell sounded the hour.
   So now you think it's safe to surmise I was scared. You couldn't be wronger for what had I to fear? There entered three men, who introduced themselves, with perfect suavity, as officers of the police. Apparently a dammed neighbor heard the old man scream but what had I to fear? Eagerly I should them all the rooms even the old man's chamber.
   I lied to them, I said the shriek was my own in a dream and the old man was put of the country. I was so electrified my plan had work, they would have no clue. I asked them, no, pulled some chairs for them, mine was on top of the very man. They would never guess that they were in the room were he lay. While I myself, had convinced them. The officers were satisfied.
   Now you must be thinking, then how did you manage to be here? Well, while they sat and I answered cheerily, they chatted about familiar things. Some time within our conversation about where the old man was I felt myself getting pale and wishing them gone. I fancied a ringing in my ears, but it wasn't it was a sound low, dull, quick sound -- much such a sound as a watch makes when enveloped in cotton. I tried talking faster but the sound increased, I grew paler. Why did they not leave?
   Had I not provided all the information they needed? Mockery, that is what it was. I swung the chair, grated it upon the boards, I swore!
   Finally did I succumb to that horrid noise. Did they not hear it, Almighty God!-- no; no? They heard!-- They KNEW!-- It was me all along. I was in agony, anything was, no, is better than that agony. Anything was more tolerable than this derision! Hippocrates, they knew it all along with their hypocritical smiles.I snapped.
   "Villains!" I shrieked,"dissemble no more! I admit the deed!-- tear up planks-- here, here!-- it is the beating of his hideous heart!"
    Son now, Nobody, do you like having spice in you life? Talking to a murderer. Let me tell you I do not regret it. So do you still fancy me mad?

Day one

My first post. That's all i've done today, homework.