A Hero's Journey

Cal walked through a trail in the woods during the last gasps of dying summer. Browning ferns brushed against his jeans while he paced. The trail was overgrown and undefined, and Cal stomped through sticks and tree branches to make his way through. He emerged through the thicket into a clearing for a power line route. He saw the old derelict boat, his family’s boat, nested in its 30 year resting place. He walked up to it and put his hands on the giant steering wheel and looked down at the undergrowth of plants at its base. Traditionally, the end of august was prime huckleberry season. And the base of the old boat was traditional grounds for some sizeable huckleberry bushes. When he was younger, Cal, his sister and cousin would bring buckets

As he walked past the water he saw what was left of what was once his domain, a ruined memory of what he considered his golden age. Abandoned towers, broken pipes, and beanstalks grown up to great heights, leftovers of a world that he knew and loved, over and gone what once was golden and bronze. Afterthoughts of what was now gone leave him depressed, leaving him angry and sad, something which he would surely lose sleep over. Yet somehow he knew he had it good now, his life wasn't over and gone in a pile. Walking past the shores and the dock on the water, he looked past the bricks, the blocks in a pile. He noticed great items, thrown in the water, fungus and ferns and tossed about the area. These items he once used, he would swallow them whole,

One of the most influential book of all time could be Joseph Campbell’s The Hero with a Thousand faces. In his book Campbell uncovers the pattern that I the foundation of every story ever told or yet to be discovered ‘The Hero’s Journey’. Campbell analysed the myths and legends from around the world and from different time periods and found that all the stories are a variation of one another told time and again throughout the history. Campbell gathered the main ideas from these stories, recognized them and came up with a pattern that binds all the stories, every story ever told The Hero’s Journey. Stories based on this pattern of Hero’s Journey articulates with the unconscious part

Breathless, Alex ran through the forest. It was twilight, normally his favorite time of day, but this golden hour took on a malicious tone. These woods were full of weeds, slippery moss covered stones , and twisted, thorny vines. Alex’s foot caught on a snarled root, and he tumbled onto the cold dirt. Alex sensed something was amiss, and he knew The Beast was growing ever nearer. As Alex lay sprawled on the forest floor, a single thought ran through his mind. “I’m done.” with the will to live draining from him. Alex lay still in the dirt and leaves resting for his last time. The soreness in his legs was so unbearable he wanted the release of death; craved for it even. “Thump”....... “Thump” The Beast's feet approached slowly and

Red. The color had become sickening after all this time. Neko no longer remembered how long it had been since that accursed day, but he had grown too tired to care. Any grasp of time was lost on this desolate land. It must have been months, he thought, as his hair was long enough to touch his shoulders and food supplies were becoming scarce. He remembered vividly when everything had gone wrong and he couldn’t stop reliving the moment over and over again.

How does one become a hero? The process of becoming a hero involves several steps such as, initiation, when the hero overcome a feat, crossing the threshold, the hero proving himself worthy of the quest. Road of trials is an excellent time for a hero to prove himself or herself, they have to survive through different landscapes. You can see this through the comparison of Star Wars The Last Jedi and The Hobbit.

Suffering is the most important trait in a hero or an anti-hero and therefore it is necessary to have suffering in a heroic journey. Suffering elicits a human reaction by giving the reader the ability to relate, it provides obstacles in the hero’s journey, it is a human trait that has been present in every generation of life, and suffering provides opportunity for both the hero and the reader. When readers can relate to a story or situation, the hero will have more meaning or purpose. Suffering is necessary because it provides the challenge or obstacle the hero will overcome.

I had my Nintendo DS to make it seem like it only took a couple minutes to drive to the water park, my siblings had also brought their own DS’s. Since everybody liked to play Mario Kart, I put it into my DS and set up a race for us to do. They connected to the race and we all played while Mom drove the car. Little did my siblings know, they were not going with us. Mom drove to our grandma’s house and said we were going inside for a couple of minutes.

Have you ever had one of those moments where you see something and it just inspires you?

It was late afternoon when we made camp, I found a rock big enough to put the map on and I sat on the ground with the map on the rock. I was trying to see where we were and how close we are to our destination.

It was a hot summer’s day in NYC. Many people were out, some because they wanted to be, and others because they had nowhere else to be. A large man looked around disgustedly as he waddled down the street. His name was Stanley. For 50 years he had been living in New York, and he didn’t truly enjoy one minute of it. He had been handed everything he had ever wanted his entire childhood, and he expected the same as an adult. Though rich, his parent had been neglectful and inattentive to him, and when they were with him, they would tell him that he deserved everything he desired.

This story is not one of exclusive pertinence, to be understood and appreciated restrictively by those who have experienced similar hardships, or who hail from the same geographical setting. I believe this story is marked by a unifying sense of universality; a testament to the relentlessness that resides at the farthest reaches of the human condition, far beneath the superficiality of everyday consciousness. The letters on this page before you are meaningless in their own right; simply symbols strung together with some phonetic sense about them. Their value is exclusively contingent upon you; on your experiences and insights, tools with which this story can take form, and manifest into a unique and intimate appeal to that individualized relentlessness

John sat at the foot of the grave, watching the sun slowly set behind the headstone as he had done ever evening for the best part of four months. Usually, he wept once the sun had set, but for now the tears did not come. He murmured into the grass, so quietly that he himself scarcely heard the sounds – the plea’s. Then the tears came, slowly at first, one or two escaping him eyes and trailing down his face. He tasted their saltiness on his lips, and wept, head in his hands.

A bulky, vigorous elderly man, who had voyaged an incredible journey was prepared to combat the rest of his life with bliss. He appeared to be callow with small thin patches of hair connected to the sides of his glassy, bald head. He had only a single viable kidney sustaining his life, the other having been appropriated from him at the age of forty, but, nevertheless, he still managed to stimulate a lively charismatic presence around himself. Though his occupation remained only as an accountant, he still managed to regard the positive aspects of life. He would watch the adversities only as a spectator, and would attentively escape them with the people whom he loved. The land around him contained an hyperactive aura that compelled him to thrive from the energy surrounding him. I never understood how he could take pleasure in fervently listening to the repugnant chatter and bickering of the townsfolk that could be heard from my bedroom window. I never understood how the bittersweet melodies of the pecan colored nightingale that perched upon his chalky windowsill at dawn served as a source of amusement to him. I had always indulged in deep admiration for my grandfather, for he was a strong man that had guided me through the most difficult points in my life. Yet I did not have the ability to guide him through his.

Life in the Eyes of A Poor Child; A Light at the End of the Dark Tunnel