All Quiet on the Western Front- Number 4

Authors Note

Chapter Four spoke to me as one solider ran out from his cover to assist another man in putting on his gas mask. For no personal reason did he feel the need to help this man- but he felt the urge, the need, and the sense of liberating certainty in performing this act of kindness. My short story highlights the concept projected here with the random act of kindness this man feels through impulse, just as a solider would do for another.

 

Droppings shoot at the dashboard like bullets. White clouds pan out as far as the eye can see- how amazing that I keep straight. *The cars disappear, they are invisible, dissolved, eaten by the storm. Faded red lights- those are what I follow. Faded lights and tire tracks. Inching, as slowly as possible. My eyes glued themselves to the road, monitoring the tracks of the man in front of me. As I felt my car vibrate under my feet and shake uneasily I swerve my wheels to the left and look back for the lights. But I saw different lights now. They were faded too, but these ones blinked, and they were farther away, and they were downward. As I came about realizing that the tracks that so almost lead me to the hole had veered off of its original path, a saw a man; in my side mirror I saw a man, in the ditch- that’s when I stopped. I may never see this man after today, but for his own sake, neither may his family.

            People ask me why I stopped. The worst blizzard of the year attacked my body as it tossed me around in the air and pelted my fact with hail, and I stopped. Why would I do such a thing? Risk my safety? Risk my life- for a man whom I do not even know?

            Why so many questions? Where is the level of confusion upon my gesture? Not a second went by in my mind that questioned my assistance to this man. I very well could have been in the same position as him, with no help to my name just the same. The grace of my aid accounted as more or less of a facilitate to him, but as for me, it was, as you say, all in a day’s work.

*The wood vanishes, it is pounded, crushed, torn into pieces.

All Quiet on the Western Front- Number 3

Authors Note

This response highlights the similarities of the naïve life of a child and torturing life of an army soldier. In the regular font is the mind of a young boy and the italics is the mind of a combatant and a day in the life of each of them. Their thoughts, so similar, under such opposite circumstances are so fascinating and in the slightest twist, a sense of irony in the situation can be unraveled.

“Come on honey you have to get up for school. The bus comes in 20 minutes.” “Ugh, only because I have to.” I wish I didn’t have to take the bus. I wish I could just sleep in for as long as I want, every day. My bed is so comfy too, I don’t want to move. But Mommy says I have to go. She said it’s called ‘following a schedule’. Whatever that means.

 “You’re late men! It is 400 hours it’s time to get moving let’s move! Move, move, move!” I want to lie here on my stomach; my body wrapped in my sheets and my face stuffed in my pillow for just a little bit longer- five more minutes. But I know I cannot do that; I am forced to follow orders. And I’m already late- 400 hours? Whatever that means.

“Guys be quiet! Come on guys!” Ms. Woody said if we can stay quiet all the way down the halls for the rest of the day we get a movie party! “Shh, guys!” Single file- No one can move and no one can talk, that’s all I know. This is important.

“Atten-Hut!” General Woody said if a man steps beyond his boundaries he’s not going to like his consequences; now I’m not sure what those consequences are but I’m not ready to find out. He’s coming! Stand up straight- nice and tall! This is important.

“Now Johnny you say you’re sorry or you are not going outside for recess.” I hit Andy. But he started it! I didn’t even do anything wrong! “I’m sorry.” I didn’t mean it. But I guess if I’m sneaky I can get what I want. And I guess if I do what I’m told I get what I want. I did what I was supposed to do, right?

“Do you understand your order Private Jonathan?” I don’t think I can do this anymore. I thought this would be easier to do once I got here; but it isn’t. I can’t do this, I won’t do this. “Yes Sir! General, Sir!” But open fire on innocent people? That isn’t fair. But this is my job- my order. And here’s my signal…

            How would I ever become Corporal or a General for that matter if I didn’t take my first steps? I’ve been taught to do what I’m told to get what I want. I followed my orders. I did what I was supposed to do, right?

All Quiet on the Western Front- Number 2

Author's Note

The naive innocence in the life of a child can relate to the treacherous lives of soldiers in the war in more ways than we realize. All Quiet on the Western Front underlines the depth of relation between the two polar worlds, but yet how identical they really are.

The indefinable loss of purity in growing up too quickly is not only painful but mislaid. Destruction and death seems to young men as all fun and games- until someone is hurt. The strive for power and control is all liberating and enthralling- until you lose sight of what good the value that the power truly has. In the grand scheme of things, the approach of war highlighted itself as a place of courageous and daring heroes- until living in it invites the idea that these brave men are more or less children in uniform. These soldiers are nothing more than boys! Boys with dreams of power; boys with a message to send; boys with a point to prove. While they live as fighters, they are living under the watch of a general- a father figure. Obeying the consistency of a schedule and doing as they are told highlights the longing of order in their lives. Listening to the commands of their officers exhibits no more than the reliability toward their boss, but following orders as they are told, as we had been taught to live by as children. Organization and obedience signify not just the order of life in the armed forces, but the order of a kindergarten classroom we all go back to, every once and a while.

All Quiet on the Western Front- Number 1

Authors Note

As these men are thrown instantly into a workforce as intense as the army, they are forced to teach themselves to live on their own, fend for themselves, and live within their own tortured minds throughout this time of emotional distraught. Within the danger of this story, it can be picked up- this sense of structure and attention given to these men in forms of childlike manner.

           The divinity between the gentleness of emotions and the powerhouse of confidence that “adults” continuously attempt to override with masculinity defines the concept of the Iron Youth. As men are conscripted to the war, their protective, defensive mentality expands to a higher level of expectation in their own subconscious. The tedious usage of childlike references implies directly to the youth inside of each of these men- forced to grow up too fast. Their instant fascination toward power and uniform causes them to forget of their time of childhood- “But young? Youth? That was long ago. We are old folk”. These men have not yet reached even twenty years old and they have come to believe that they are “old folk”. While still sitting under new forms of supervision and accustoming themselves to new ways of living, these strongly built men are still living somewhat as children. The deeper underlying sense of fear and need for structure shines through, despite the sense assurance and control they are so desperate to project.

Jeykll and Hyde - Number Four

Authors Note

Throughout every chapter of this novella, biblical references from, specifically, the Our Father prayer, jumped out to me like nothing else did. Each word of the verse can directly vary in the mess Henry Jeykll brought upon himself.

“Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy Name”. The gracious and holy man who created the world we live in today sees us as all great and wonderful people; he believes his children deserve a second chance under the conditions of the original sin. Dr. Jeykll, much like the lord, showed compassion and respect to men as if they could act as his brothers- exhibiting a positive label to this special name for so many people.

“Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven”.  The sincerity Jeykll elutes as a holy, angelic beam of heavenly energy in comparison to the cynical, devious energy his own alter ego projected of him. The gentle half of this distorted man enlightened the people around him with the grace that heaven could even provide- explicating the initial polar duality of the two.

“Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us”. While the world turned its back to old Henry Jeykll, causing him enough craze and dysfunction to perform such a task as to become another, he directed himself down a destiny of disoriented despair. Mr. Utterson held out his hand along the way to help find an answer to the madness he felt all around him. A serving of daily bread provides a stepping stone in order to achieve forgiveness; forgiveness of the sins Utterson sensed had occurred stirred his insides but other outcomes had a potential for positivity.

“And lead us not into temptation”.  Temptation circled Jeykll like a hawk until its unattainable annoyance lead to the resort of indulging pains, physical disarray, and an unstable mental outlook. The possibilities sparked his interest into the shoes of a new man, a new set of eyes, a new set of problems. Temptation intoxicated his body and brain both figuratively and literally, leaving his own life with an eternal sin as a price to pay.

“But deliver us from evil. Amen.”

Jeykll and Hyde - Number Three

 Authors Note

As overflowing layers of clothes may have disguised Hyde for a while, but his suspicions rode on. It was obvious that something was not right when he initially was wearing clothes far too big for him, and the men were starting to see straight through that. Eventually, when Hyde is transformed back into Jeykll, his clothes fit perfectly and they connected the baggy clothes with the transformation. My story expresses the idea that clothes are always just a shield and if they are a bit crazy, they usually have some meaning behind them.

            Weights around his neck keep his head hanging low. Loosely fitted clothing drags behind him makes even walking in a straight line a difficult task. A poncho type shirt enables the controlled movement of his arms, which connects throughout the rest of his body. This cloak of appearance creates an effect of distraction- the act of a shield. Layers and layers protect him- his mind, his ideas, and his thoughts that push and shove to break through his brain every moment of every day. A mask of manifestation brings him comfort; around his friends, he exhibits what they except, what they want. Behind the covers the drape his body is a regular person. The clothes cannot change who he is, they merely cover it, hide it even, to give off the impression he is so desperate to display.

Jeykll and Hyde - Number Two

Authors Note

The last paragraph in Chapter Seven highlighted one moment as “a glimpse for the window was instantly thrust down”. Mr. Utterson and Enfield caught themselves a glimpse of Hyde somewhere within the features of Jeykll. At this point, there was no possibility of innocence anymore. They finally realized that being a part of the will and Jeykll and now the dangers of Hyde was all a very cynical path they were leading themselves down. My very short, completely fictional creative piece I wrote expands the concept of these men realizing the evil they were now a part of and would always have to be from then on out.

And now he is yelling. He never yells. This is not even his voice; his voice is soft, respectful, fake at times almost. Now his eyes are wide, he allows his typically simple, self conscious face to a distorted mess of emotions. He never does this is front of me, ever. There has to be something better, I do not find joy here: My body shudders from the cold welcoming his presence generates; my stomach wrings our like a soaking wet towel never releasing its grip; voices scream back and forth from opposing sides of my brain- “You are so happy some of the time; happier than you’ve ever been”, “Why are you still here, you’re miserable.”

            A relationship of excitement and anticipation has intoxicated itself into a tumbling, crumbling array of unspoken words, stories, and secrets. Never again will my eyes light up with joy despite the situation, for now I see the darkness on the other side. Never again will I jump up and down with a sparkle in my eye like a little kid on Christmas morning running downstairs when I see his face; that tingle through my body has been replaced with shivers down my spine. Those tears of joy fogging my vision flushed away with a waterfall of desperation and uncertainty. The element of surprise had been demolished- hook line and sinker; the queasy feeling that lingers in the pit of your stomach you feel when you know a secret you are not supposed to know- that feeling. That moment when your little sibling tells you what is wrapped under the tree for you, and no matter how hard you try to forget or attempt to express that excited emotion when it is truly reveled, you cannot. Your reaction is written all over your misplaced, deformed assortment of the features on your face. This gentle, carefree soul my mind used to chase after is now haunting me from the inside out, and there is no way out. An assurance of his evil overthrew everything my brain once believed as his voice truly began to make my bones shake and my entire body tremble itself to a feeling somewhere between sick and numb- and I knew I could not leave. There is no way that leaving could be a possibility, he would never allow it. God forgive me, for I know I am not only unhappy, I am negatively enthralled in a life my heart can no longer live in.

Jeykll and Hyde - Number One

Authors note

So far throughout Jeykll and Hyde, I have been repeatedly seeing comparison and contrast between the two, explaining the familiar friend-feeling Utterson has around Jeykll, or even when he is alone, but the dark, mysterious sensation that arises once Hyde approaches the scene. The perfect opposites between the two worlds is even somewhat of exact parallel symmetry, which Stevenson has done a wonderful job so far, indirectly explaining.

Distinctive diversification between the characteristics of Dr. Jeykll and Mr. Hyde demonstrate ultimately exact polar opposites through not only the obvious duality of their approach as people, but through their difference in presence, the enunciating scream of parallel structured universes. As clear as day can be, Jeykll presents himself in a light of positivity. The moment Mr. Hyde comes about, only Utterson, the one far more pure of the two, stands under only a lamp of light; enlightening his solitude and sobriety of the moment in comparison to the darkness Hyde supplies. While standing safely alone in the dead of night, “At last his patience was rewarded… the lamps, unshaken by any wind, drawing a regular pattern of light and shadow.” Once again in reference to Jeykll, the transition between the abominable traits he acquires, flashing in comparison to the dark alter-ego (of a good man) that Hyde possesses, mirror imagery and absolute opposition is highlighted or even more so, simply stated blankly within every sentence. Stevenson is spinning us as an audience into a trance between the chemistry and contradictory the men in this story illustrate; our minds have kept set on the purity and innocence of Dr. Jeykll but the sinister vibe that Mr. Hyde releases into the air through every opportunity that has come- while at the same time, every action, every move, every feature of this evil man reflects directly into a parallel figure that is Dr. Jeykll. The silhouette they each portray matches perfectly inside one another, giving an appeal that these men are not only complete opposites, but identical twins.

Creative Piece

Authors Note

Writing this creative short story was by far the greatest assignment I feel I've been given, personally. Being able to deeply explain my emotions and attempt to incorporate some of the writing techniques we have learned so far, I felt I could write a very personal story (from my past, of course), while fully and truly expressing everything I have had built up inside.

My body sprawled out onto my stomach; my wilted limbs crashed against the ice cold bathroom floor in the basement of a boy whose last name I could not recall. The stench of the air within that jail cell that I could not escape did not compare to that of on my shirt, my hair, and my hands that were covered in a color I could not make out; red maybe? Though my body found difficulty obeying the commands my brain had sent, my thoughts had stayed in the same place that had begun that night; unable to move a single muscle, in a helpless state of desperation, my conscious attacked my essentially innocent mind until the room stopped spinning and the blurred colors turned black.

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            My home resembles a prison. A number of statues stroll from room to room, blank expressions drawn across their mouths; their presence not only undesirable, but unnoticeable at times. A shiver trickles down my spine and shoots back chills throughout my body. Nothing is missing but something is not where it needs to be. A slam of my door allots for me hours of silence- enunciating not that I have anyplace better to be, but that I would rather be any place but here. My fingers click-clack across the keyboard until they bleed. My ears bizz-buzz, ringing from music I do not like to listen to- but everyone else does, so I listen. My eyes zig-zag, scanning the computer screen, faster and faster; then slower and slower, until the figures start to morph; then blur; then fade.

Five of us are together- Friday night, just waiting, waiting for something to happen. One hum of a cell phone and we felt our lives start down a new path, toward somewhere none of us knew. All hell broke loose. Flashes of different colors flew past my eyes; the clink and clatter of brushes and hairspray bottles irritated my ears- still exulting in a sense of excitement. Hot tears welled in my eyes as the assortment of scents emanated their fumes into my system, initiating a head ache that I so desperately attempted to ignore. My head was already spinning in circles imagining where it is we were going, what it was going to be like, what was going to happen…

            Gravel stones bolted at the tires like darts under my feet in slow motion for what felt like hours but with the blink of an eye the car door crashed like a grenade in the desert. People were everywhere: singing, screaming, shoving. The older kids made jokes toward us, doubting us. Before I could remember putting even a single cup toward my lips I opened my eyes face down on the floor; my head spinning and my body shaking. My stomach made a curdling noise so unsettling there was no way it came come from a human being. My face absorbed water like a sponge, as my head lifted from the floor- I could only picture my body, dead as one could be while still alive, searching for breaths through the pool of my own tears. My heart and my head were back wherever I could feel safe- in that moment my thoughts were back in my home. My home of solitude and silence, with the strolling statues- their oblivion toward me provided still more comfort than the level of acceptance I felt here. Cold, queasy feelings of disappointment flush my insides with a poison that will make me feel worse than I did in this moment; my mind was lost.

            My head may have been in the clouds, or glued to the ground, but my mind slowly floated back into place. While I myself knew in this moment of clarity what must be done, my still somewhat twisted mind could not wrap it’s conscious around the concept that people could live lives like these and not feel this sickness, this guilt, this pain, everyday. Something snapped in me this night and it was not the toxic inside causing damage, but a snap back to actuality and where my capabilities truly lie. My stomach squeezes again. But I am feeling a sensation of guilt- and want not to live yet a life like this. In one night living my life, I lived it all. My mind, with no exceptions, had modified itself. Never again will I feel knives slicing at my spleen like the slash of a tire. Never again will I suffer again the way I am right now: squirming, uneasy, vulnerable- like a fish out of water. Never again will I ever lie helplessly on the floor watching my life and opportunities be flushed in front of my eyes. My stomach seemed hollow as a log, for everything once inside pooled in a bowl inches before my face. This is not the person I came to this earth to be; there has to be a more something more. I am better than this; I am stronger than this…

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            A shudder of comfort and discomfort quivered through my stomach. Tossing and turning, spinning and swaying- it made me dizzy. It was dark again. The battle unreeling my eyelids from one another revealed a haze of figures that puzzled me. A cocoon of blankets held me tight, sending my senses a rush of protection- yet some level of helplessness. The beaming rays of sun peek through the curtains, burning my eyes. Voices chirped like birds at the crack of dawn- squeaking loudly of our experiences and reliving the night. No matter how tight my eyes shut closed and no matter how fast my brain ran in circles, searching my files, looking for answers, the only conclusion resolved ended with the prescription of an Advil. The previous night appeared in my vision as a cloudy blur; not even one story told sparked a flame of remembrance. All I could do at this point would be to take their word; I guess I had a good time.