(no subject)
So here's the second person version of the narrative essay i had to write for my english class. fun huh? As some of you can tell, this never really happened. a cookie for anyone who can tell me why!!
A couple of weeks ago campus woke up, and remained dark. You were in the midst of a power outage. You and your roommate got up anyway, neither of you could sleep, so you sat and talked. You remembered back to your past, to other times you were left in the dark as children, but more importantly to what you did during those times. Thinking about those times in your childhood caused you to remember one specific power outage. A couple of years ago all the kids at your high school were sent home at noon. Your parents were both at work, and had other things planned which meant that they would not be getting home until around eight o’clock that evening.
It was snowing out, still, and you were in the one room where open flame was allowed in the house. It had been snowing since the previous evening, but around eleven that morning enough accumulation had built up that the power lines fell. When you were walking home from school after being let out early, you saw that the sky was very dark, when you walked into the cold, silent house, you realized that you would need some light.
You lay on your stomach on the carpet. You suppose the carpet was forest green at one point. Whatever color it was in the past it’s much different now. Over the years the green dye has faded and is now a warm greenish brown. The carpet rests on a slate tiled floor in the entryway of the house. It sits in front of the door and a bench where you sit to put on shoes. In the room is the wood stove that heats the house in lieu of burning oil. You suppose that it’s the ash and dirt from the stove that has done the most damage to the carpet. They have changed it almost beyond recognition. You stare at the flickering light of the candle that sits on the tile in front of you. The power is still out, and the house is now dark, and you have reverted to the mindset of a Neanderthal; where fire is the most miraculous thing in the world, and you stare at it in wonder and awe. Awe that anyone could even discover that miraculous combination of heat and energy, awe that someone thought that it could be tamed.
As you stare into the tiny flame you watch as it flickers, fighting your breath. The faintly lavender scented, purple wax flows down the side of the long scented taper. A pool of molten wax forms where the candle meets the antique metal holder. As the wax cools it transforms from a transparent liquid, to a foggy, opaque solid once more. As you stare unseeing into the candle flame, you think that maybe the wax lost something as it changed. By no longer existing for a purpose, it has no reason. A rumbling crash interrupts your thoughts, startling you. You jump in surprise and your breath rushes out with your voice, the flame flickers and dies, unable to fight the rush of wind. You weren’t expecting the snow sliding off the roof, and now the candle is out, leaving you in darkness. You reach out with your right hand; searching blindly for the small object you remember placing in front of yourself. You remember that you put it there before darkness truly fell, when you could still see enough to get the candle out of the drawer. There must have been a reason you thought about this, though at the moment you can’t quite remember why. Call it a premonition, or intuition, or perhaps just a precaution. You can never be entirely sure, but you had the feeling that you would need it. You are glad you thought of it, because it turns out that you need it. You feel something under your hand, and know that you need to look farther to the left. You feel the object currently under your hand twitch, and you know for a fact that you are now holding the tail of the cat that has been keeping you company ever since you got home. You pause to rub her ears briefly, before pulling your hand back and continuing the search. Your hand closes over the small plastic device. It is smaller that the eraser you were using this morning in calligraphy when the power went out. You fumble with the object, trying to operate in the dark, one-handed what you have only used in broad daylight before, or at least some light. A flick of the thumb, and success, suddenly you can see again. You look at the gas powered flame, then reach out with the hand holding the lighter, and the candle burns again. You pull your hand back, and let the lighter go out, then shake it slightly, looking to see how much fuel is left in the reservoir. It isn’t much, but that doesn’t really matter. You are going to bed in a few minutes anyway. Really the only reason you re-lit the candle is so you can make it to your room without killing yourself. You lay back down on the carpet, pulling the sleeves of your sweatshirt back over your hands. You stare into the flame again, absently rubbing Byrdi’s ears again as you did minutes before during the search for the lighter. You try to think of nothing, but find yourself back at the same thoughts as before the candle went out.
“If the wax loses reason when it loses purpose, what does that mean to people?” you inquire of Byrdi and of the silent house around you. Byrdi’s only response is to purr and lick your hand gently. “What about the people who have no purpose? What about the people who have a purpose but no reason?” Byrdi lifts her head and glares at you. “Wealth? No, that can’t be all there is to life. We’re born, we grow, we accumulate stuff, and then we die? No way that is all there is to our life. I won’t accept that, I can’t accept that.”
Byrdi yawns and turns to look toward your backpack. You dropped it on the bench as you came in, and haven’t bothered to move it yet. Your other cat Java finally makes an appearance, using her paw to pull open the zipper on the bag, and climbing inside.
“Of course,” you say, looking in awe at the cats “we’re here to learn.”
Sometimes you wonder about those cats, they seem to understand so much more than you ever give them credit for. You lay back down, ignoring the question of how much those little fur-balls really understand in favor of a more pressing question. What are we supposed to learn? You rest your chin on your folded hands as Byrdi curls up next to your side, stealing heat from your body.
You blink suddenly, you are not sure how long it has been since you lay back down, but the candle is flickering again, on the verge of dying. You push yourself to your feet, and in the last flickering light of the candle, make your way across the room and grab another candle out of the drawer. You sit down Indian style in front of the dying flame, and light the new candle at the old.
“New from old, new life out of that which is passing, re-birth of the idea from the ruins of those gone… Of course!” You exclaim, Byrdi lifts her head and looks at you scathingly. “Sorry, but I figured it out, it’s not what we learn, it’s what we teach the next generation! Learning means nothing if we do not pass on the knowledge to those after us!”
Byrdi glares at you, almost as if to say “You interrupted my sleep for that? I could have told you that without you needing to wake me up.”
You laugh, and pick up your backpack, putting it gently onto your back, after all, Java is still asleep in there. You pick up Byrdi in one hand, and the candle in the other. You carry all three to your room, where you set the candle on the dresser, put Byrdi on the bed, and extract Java from the bag, placing her on the bed next to Byrdi. You put your bag on the chair to deal with in the morning, and then go to bed. In the morning you remember what you thought about last night, and write it all down. You have the feeling that it is too important to forget.
Once again it turns out that your hunch was right as a few days later you are offered a job to continue working as a swim instructor. You almost decline, then you look at the table beside your bed where your journal rests, and you accept the job. After all, what good is the knowledge you have gained if you do not share it with those who may have the key to doing something truly great with it?
A couple of weeks ago campus woke up, and remained dark. You were in the midst of a power outage. You and your roommate got up anyway, neither of you could sleep, so you sat and talked. You remembered back to your past, to other times you were left in the dark as children, but more importantly to what you did during those times. Thinking about those times in your childhood caused you to remember one specific power outage. A couple of years ago all the kids at your high school were sent home at noon. Your parents were both at work, and had other things planned which meant that they would not be getting home until around eight o’clock that evening.
It was snowing out, still, and you were in the one room where open flame was allowed in the house. It had been snowing since the previous evening, but around eleven that morning enough accumulation had built up that the power lines fell. When you were walking home from school after being let out early, you saw that the sky was very dark, when you walked into the cold, silent house, you realized that you would need some light.
You lay on your stomach on the carpet. You suppose the carpet was forest green at one point. Whatever color it was in the past it’s much different now. Over the years the green dye has faded and is now a warm greenish brown. The carpet rests on a slate tiled floor in the entryway of the house. It sits in front of the door and a bench where you sit to put on shoes. In the room is the wood stove that heats the house in lieu of burning oil. You suppose that it’s the ash and dirt from the stove that has done the most damage to the carpet. They have changed it almost beyond recognition. You stare at the flickering light of the candle that sits on the tile in front of you. The power is still out, and the house is now dark, and you have reverted to the mindset of a Neanderthal; where fire is the most miraculous thing in the world, and you stare at it in wonder and awe. Awe that anyone could even discover that miraculous combination of heat and energy, awe that someone thought that it could be tamed.
As you stare into the tiny flame you watch as it flickers, fighting your breath. The faintly lavender scented, purple wax flows down the side of the long scented taper. A pool of molten wax forms where the candle meets the antique metal holder. As the wax cools it transforms from a transparent liquid, to a foggy, opaque solid once more. As you stare unseeing into the candle flame, you think that maybe the wax lost something as it changed. By no longer existing for a purpose, it has no reason. A rumbling crash interrupts your thoughts, startling you. You jump in surprise and your breath rushes out with your voice, the flame flickers and dies, unable to fight the rush of wind. You weren’t expecting the snow sliding off the roof, and now the candle is out, leaving you in darkness. You reach out with your right hand; searching blindly for the small object you remember placing in front of yourself. You remember that you put it there before darkness truly fell, when you could still see enough to get the candle out of the drawer. There must have been a reason you thought about this, though at the moment you can’t quite remember why. Call it a premonition, or intuition, or perhaps just a precaution. You can never be entirely sure, but you had the feeling that you would need it. You are glad you thought of it, because it turns out that you need it. You feel something under your hand, and know that you need to look farther to the left. You feel the object currently under your hand twitch, and you know for a fact that you are now holding the tail of the cat that has been keeping you company ever since you got home. You pause to rub her ears briefly, before pulling your hand back and continuing the search. Your hand closes over the small plastic device. It is smaller that the eraser you were using this morning in calligraphy when the power went out. You fumble with the object, trying to operate in the dark, one-handed what you have only used in broad daylight before, or at least some light. A flick of the thumb, and success, suddenly you can see again. You look at the gas powered flame, then reach out with the hand holding the lighter, and the candle burns again. You pull your hand back, and let the lighter go out, then shake it slightly, looking to see how much fuel is left in the reservoir. It isn’t much, but that doesn’t really matter. You are going to bed in a few minutes anyway. Really the only reason you re-lit the candle is so you can make it to your room without killing yourself. You lay back down on the carpet, pulling the sleeves of your sweatshirt back over your hands. You stare into the flame again, absently rubbing Byrdi’s ears again as you did minutes before during the search for the lighter. You try to think of nothing, but find yourself back at the same thoughts as before the candle went out.
“If the wax loses reason when it loses purpose, what does that mean to people?” you inquire of Byrdi and of the silent house around you. Byrdi’s only response is to purr and lick your hand gently. “What about the people who have no purpose? What about the people who have a purpose but no reason?” Byrdi lifts her head and glares at you. “Wealth? No, that can’t be all there is to life. We’re born, we grow, we accumulate stuff, and then we die? No way that is all there is to our life. I won’t accept that, I can’t accept that.”
Byrdi yawns and turns to look toward your backpack. You dropped it on the bench as you came in, and haven’t bothered to move it yet. Your other cat Java finally makes an appearance, using her paw to pull open the zipper on the bag, and climbing inside.
“Of course,” you say, looking in awe at the cats “we’re here to learn.”
Sometimes you wonder about those cats, they seem to understand so much more than you ever give them credit for. You lay back down, ignoring the question of how much those little fur-balls really understand in favor of a more pressing question. What are we supposed to learn? You rest your chin on your folded hands as Byrdi curls up next to your side, stealing heat from your body.
You blink suddenly, you are not sure how long it has been since you lay back down, but the candle is flickering again, on the verge of dying. You push yourself to your feet, and in the last flickering light of the candle, make your way across the room and grab another candle out of the drawer. You sit down Indian style in front of the dying flame, and light the new candle at the old.
“New from old, new life out of that which is passing, re-birth of the idea from the ruins of those gone… Of course!” You exclaim, Byrdi lifts her head and looks at you scathingly. “Sorry, but I figured it out, it’s not what we learn, it’s what we teach the next generation! Learning means nothing if we do not pass on the knowledge to those after us!”
Byrdi glares at you, almost as if to say “You interrupted my sleep for that? I could have told you that without you needing to wake me up.”
You laugh, and pick up your backpack, putting it gently onto your back, after all, Java is still asleep in there. You pick up Byrdi in one hand, and the candle in the other. You carry all three to your room, where you set the candle on the dresser, put Byrdi on the bed, and extract Java from the bag, placing her on the bed next to Byrdi. You put your bag on the chair to deal with in the morning, and then go to bed. In the morning you remember what you thought about last night, and write it all down. You have the feeling that it is too important to forget.
Once again it turns out that your hunch was right as a few days later you are offered a job to continue working as a swim instructor. You almost decline, then you look at the table beside your bed where your journal rests, and you accept the job. After all, what good is the knowledge you have gained if you do not share it with those who may have the key to doing something truly great with it?