Turning Tables

Authors note: This writing piece was about how Jekyll was a healthy and bright man on the outside in front of his piers but on the inside he had a dark state that no one knew about. I related this to real life and how everyone has a side that people don't know or see. Even family and friends never see the side of people when they are in solitude. In high school I think this is even more important. People are different when they are by themselves maybe because their hobbies and likes are rejected or unpopular.

On the outside I am 16. I am a regular teenager. I have friends. I live in America. I am a teenage girl living in Georgia. Everyday I go to school, talk to my friends work out, and go home. Everyday I go to school as a teenage girl. I listen to music. I drive fast. I go to school where I act as my friends do. Driving home I am stripped away of stress. I let go of the days work. The closer I am to home, the less I am a teenage girl living in Georgia. I open the front door and I strip away the clothes that are accepted to my piers. I layer myself in sweatpants and a bulky sweatshirt. I watch history shows and science fiction movies. When my friends ask what I am doing I tell them Im watching mtv and reading the latest teen vouge. I replace my Facebook internet tab with a job application. Everyday I replace myself to the what the world wants to see. Those fortunate and smart enough enter and return from school each day as themsleves. I am not a s fortunate. I must layer and hide myself to become the accepted model of a teen. I must be accepted by my piers, who judge people by the color of their shoes or straightness of their hair. I am 16. I live in Georgia. And everyday I'm turning tables.

Scars of the Mind

Authors Note: The poem I crafted is about Jekyll, and his wish to be able to have no conscience and to be able to separate the good from bad from within him. The poem is about someone wondering what it would be like to have no conscience, to not have to think or ponder over something you really want to forget, or to think over things that will haunt you forever.

Silence

That is the sound

I most greatly want to hear

My mind stirs

But I ask for none of this

A sense of urgency overcoming me

Knowing that I must know

 Thoughts are dangerous

They cause knowledge

They cause power

But most of all

Scars

Right now

My mind wants to ponder

But my soul

Wants nothing more

Than quiet

The sense of thought

Brings a throbbing to my brain

My brain is crafting

It is unorganized

As thoughts flow

My mind is loud

Emotions run

My conscience is to blame

I am angry

I am embarrassed

For seeing yet again

A scar

But for a minute

I stop and ponder

Of the thought

Of no conscience

No train of thought

Nothing that demands the past

Something so beautiful

As peace and quiet

In every humans mind

Short Story

He took a tissue from his pocket and slowly wiped the tears his wife had left on the shoulder of his uniform. Each wipe reminded him of the pain he and his family went through saying their goodbyes. It had only been fifteen minutes ago, but felt like a lifetime. In six months he would be in the desert of Afghanistan for his second deployment, and all Rob could think about was his last deployment to the broken desert land. He had lost his best friend in an explosive on his Humvee truck. He watched as his friend’s truck burst into flames before his eyes. He could still hear the screams of his fellow Marines in the truck. “Please fasten your seatbelts” said the flight attendant as she walked through the aisles with a broken smile. This was not uncommon. Civilians always seemed to flash a smile to any soldier that was in uniform. And every soldier, Marine or sailor knew it was a silent, “thank you for serving, and good luck on deployment”. 

                  Hours stacked on hours being trapped in the plane, everywhere Rob looked he saw desert camouflage uniforms. From his left to his right many marines were writing already to their families. Rob couldn’t bear to think about seeing his baby daughter for the last time for six months. Not even one year old, he knew he would miss her more than the baby would miss him. Little baby Chelsea, born just eight months ago. Rob would miss her first birthday. It hurt to think of his wife the week before deployment, every night she would begin to cry before they went to bed.  

                  Rob picked up his backpack from under his seat and walked out of the isle. His rifle was slung over his shoulder and his helmet was placed neatly on his head, with it strapped over his chin. His uniform was crisp, almost perfect. His sleeves were rolled and folded precisely. Three inch long cuffs and two inches from his elbows. The plane door opened and he could see the bright sun shining into the cockpit. The closer he got to the door the warmer it got. He finally stepped out of the plane and the heat engulfed him. Immediately sweating he grabbed his canteen from his belt and took a sip of water. He walked down the stairs and climbed aboard the truck that would take him and his division to camp. Although Rob was quiet, he was a leader. He was a Lance Cpl. For the United States Marines, he was in charge of about 15 men. He knew all of them like a brother, and he would risk his life for one of theirs in a heartbeat, as they would do the same for him.

                  The truck pulled into the base that would be home to them for six months. He jumped out of the truck and was directed to his new barracks. Walking to his barracks he gazed around the base. It looked exactly the same since he last saw it. Everything was tan. From the sand on the ground, to the cheap military barracks and buildings and of course the uniforms. Rob walked to the far left corner of his tent carefully scanning the dirt floor for scorpions and camel spiders. He set his bags down and saw a piece of paper fall from his pocket. He picked it up and saw a picture. A picture of his wife, her arms wrapped around his baby daughter.  Baby Chelsea was sleeping as his wife Brianna stood by a statue. He stared at her smile; it had been a while since he’d seen his wife smile like that day. It was their vacation to Key West. Brianna loved Florida, especially its small island not too far from Cuba.

“Hey Lance Corporal Schmidt! Didn’t see you on the plane how are you?”

Rob turned to see a good friend, private Turner. He was a cute kid, only 19. Joined the Marines after his father went to jail. He was a good kid, and Rob always looked after Turner as a father.

 The barracks filled slowly until every cot was filled with a Marine. It was quiet. A lot of young Marines were in Rob’s division. Marines who didn’t have a lot of experience. Young men who had never seen war. Suddenly there was faint noise in the distant. Then it began to grow louder and louder, and he knew that his war had started-knew it with reluctance for he was now in a war zone. A siren sounded and the base became disarray. Rob snatched up his rifle and sprinted to the trucks. He counted his men and got in to the drivers seat of the Humvee. He looked back and saw the Humvee was too crowded.

“Turner move to the next Humvee, I don’t want these too crowded”

The truck engines roared as they started up and they rolled out in one single line. Rob was leading the pack, -which he had never done in his career-with five behind him. The passenger, reading off coordinates and routes as Rob was driving, directed Rob. The closer they got, Rob could hear his heart pound harder and harder in his chest. Everything around him was merging into one blurry picture. All he could hear was his heart pounding through his ears. The only thing on his mind-his family.  The passenger’s directions became a nagging voice; the gunshots around him didn’t take Rob out of his trance. But then there was an explosion, it was behind him. It was around him. It was even above him. He could feel the heat of the flames surrounding his arms and face. His heart filled with almost every emotion possible and his body became stiff. Looking in the rear-view mirror, he saw it up in flame. It was gone. Completely gone.  And for the second time in his life, he watched a friend’s life burst into flames as he thought to himself

“I led him. I led him into death.”       

Turner.

                  “Dear Mr. and Mrs. Turner,

I regret to inform you that Private Daniel Turner was killed in battle at 2:00 PM on the afternoon of July 6^th 2011 while an enemy force attacked American military forces with IED explosives. Your son died with honor, serving under the United States Marine Corps. As Ronald Reagan once said,” some people spend an entire lifetime wondering if they made a difference. The Marines don't have that problem.” Your son was an important counterpart and a brother to everyone. He will be missed, but never forgotten.

                  Sincerely,

                                    Lance Cpl. Robert M. Schmidt

                                                      United States Marine Corps

He read his letter over and over; tears were welling under his eyelids. How could he ever write a letter trying to make the death of a son sound honorable. There was nothing honorable about any of this. Not war. Not death. Not serving in the Marine Corps, no matter how strong or great it was. And it was all his fault

No. He thought. It couldn’t have been. He couldn’t help that he missed his family. But thinking again, it was his responsibility to stay on track. He was leading the group. And unfortunately he led them to death. And for the rest of Robs life he would have to live with the fact that he didn’t die, and because of his mistake he killed others. NO, it wasn’t fair. Where were the officers! Where were the enlisted higher in rank than he was! Why did he take that drivers seat. Looking back, it wasn’t in his place to step out of his comfort zone, and take the life of Marines.

“It wasn’t my fault, I couldn’t help it”

“I didn’t mean too”

These are the words Rob whispered to himself every night as he wept to sleep. Depression overcame him. Overcame him to a point where he couldn’t function any longer. Rob hated everyone and everything for a very long time. He lost himself, and everyone close to him could see this. But no one could help. How could anyone inquire the courage to help a man in denial? A man with sorrow. A man who will never be the same man he was. And so the man Rob is today is the man he was the day of Private Daniel Turner’s death. And that is the story of war, and how it can break a man.

Authors Note: This story was inspired by a broken Marine I once met. He had gone on two tours in his life and his stories of war were stories that no one should ever hear or expierence. He suffered greatly from his tour. Although he was fortunate and received no physical injuries to himself,he suffered from Post-tramatic sydndrome. He no longer lives the same as before Iraq. I wanted my story to symbolize the hurt and phycological injuries soldiers like my friend did in my short story. 

         

 Authors Note: 

Fog

Authors Note: Fog was a motif that was powerful to me in the story. Every time it was mentioned the scene became dark and evil. The fog symbolized darkness and questions. When there was no fog there always was happiness. I used fog in my poem to show darkness in the way the author did in Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.

Everything was bright

Happy and solitude

Loving and cherished

Disquietude took over

A glooming fog filled the air

It touched every soul

It killed every blossom

Blocked the Sunlight

Its iniquity killed life

And killed all hope

For people

Were no Longer happy

I walked out the street

Unable to see

The fog blurred streets

And signs, even orchards

The street was dead

Not a sound was heard

My boots became boisterous

They became an itch to my ear

The fog was in layers

From my toes

 to the top of the buildings

But then something amazing

Occurred.

The fog, became lighter

No longer grey

Silver, even white

Color emerged

The sky was now visible

And then all a sudden

The sun began to peek

The light touched everywhere

All souls emerged

And happiness transpired

Jekyl and Hyde

Authors Note: I felt the motifs of light and the door were important concepts in Jekyll and Hyde. I wanted my short story to give an eerie feeling of the door but also thoughts on what is behind the door that no one opens. Light is an important motif that gives the reader an emotion of fear and unsureness. No one feels comfortable in a dark surrounding, so putting the eerie house with the locked door in a dark street was important. The character wants solitary which is found in the house but soon finds the solitary of the dark road. Something that other people never realized that was coated behind their fear.

Looking back, the door became smaller and smaller. Its indents and molds became blurred and its large lock became a small metal hole. The street began to grow longer and longer. I was in a never-ending line, the more steps I took the further away the door was. I stole through the street, a stranger to my own small city, and coming to the house I saw the never ending gap. I was locked out. I was trapped. There was nothing that would get me to the other side. The happy side. The side full of light. The side full of answers. Behind the door there was no crying, sorrow or melancholy feelings. But on the outside it was not noticible."never judge a book by its cover" people say. The eerie outside of the door filled with moss and spider webs shaded the meaning and purpose of the door. On the outside people were afraid of the old house that was abandoned. The dust on the windowsill and broken glass was a eye-sore to the house. Mice scurried along the roof. Every lamp post on the street was broken, unable to guide citizens at night.  I was the only one who wanted to step inside. I was locked from solitary and there was nothing that was going to change that. I looked around the house, to the left of the street to the right. The snow began to pile quietly on the stranded, dark road. There were no sounds of people whispering to each other or of children yelling and playing in the next street over. It was completely silent and still. And at that moment I decided to sit on the stair of the old broken house, and think in solitary.