Ledwin: A Short Story

Some nights the sky wept stars that quickly floated and disappeared into the darkness before our wishes could meet them. Under these stars and sky I used to hear stories, but now it seemed as if it was the sky that was telling us a story as its stars fell, violently colliding with each other. The moon hid behind clouds to avoid seeing what was happening” (Beah 80).

It was as if the sky was on fire. Red and orange flames painted over the once clear blue canvas and burned. Fog enclosed the area like smoke and ash. No one would bother to notice the sun, weary from burning high in the atmosphere begin to settle. November was coming. Shorter days were creeping up on them. Cold air would soon envelop the region and the year would repeat itself.

"It is with considerable difficulty that I remember the original era of my being; all the events of that period appear confused and indistinct. A strange multiplicity of sensations seized me, and I saw, felt, heard, and smelt at the same time; and it was, indeed, a long time before I learned to distinguish between the operations of my various senses. By degrees, I remember, a stronger light pressed upon my nerves, so that I was obliged to shut my eyes. Darkness then came over me and troubled me, but hardly had I felt this when, by opening my eyes, as I now suppose, the light

Suddenly we felt the earth beneath us shudder. There were screams outside and the tremors were getting sure. We felt the heat flowing.

The sky was lit up with blended colors of orange, red and yellow. The contrast created between the dark waters and the luminous sky makes the horizon look like a meeting of two worlds. The outer edges of the blazing sky have begun to cool with the indigo of the night, as it slowing sinks away. Before we knew it, it was pitch black dark and all you heard was a big pop, bang and boom. A soon as the firework popped in the sky, different colors lit up the sky. Fountain of colorful sparks, racing into the dark night sky. Crackling fire crackers creating a rhythm of sound. The ocean acting like a mirror, reflecting the colors of the fireworks on across the water. Everyone’s face lit up with excitement as the fireworks, pop and seen a glare of light across the sky. Kids running around with sparkles and roman candles, holding them up to the sky as they shot our like rockets toward the sky. The fireworks went on and on for about another fifteen minutes and we all called it a

The two men lay in the snow, listening to the branches creak in the forest. Silence. A crow cawed in the distance, interrupting the calm only for a second. As the two men’s fate approached, they began to perceive things that they had never experienced before. All the crackling, shuffling, and whistling became crystal clear to them, and they wondered how they had never heard these sounds before. Little shimmers and sparkles caught their eyes as if to tell them to enjoy their last moments in this world. Frost glittered in the slivery moonlight, cascading upon them through an opening in the dense canopy

Soon the moonlight illuminated the scenery. As I was standing on the balcony admiring the scenery something finally went wrong, a huge black cloud covered the moon. I soon heard the thunder. It seemed to be nothing to worry about, so I didn’t acknowledge it. A few hours later the thunder grew louder and I could see the flashes of lightning headed our way. I went inside to inform my parents of the weather, but they didn’t seem to worry about it much until the cloud was almost over the lodge. My family and I left the reception alone while everyone else stayed in cover; they were the smart ones I thought.

Bogard’s opening paragraph begins with a memory of his family’s cabin in Minnesota. He describes the night, “I knew woods so dark that my hands disappeared before my eyes. I knew night skies in which meteors left smoky trails across sugary spreads of stars.” By starting off with a personal account, he is effective in establishing an engaging description of a truly dark sky to the audience. The use of his own personal experience assures the audience that he is reliable in defending the fight for preserving darkness. Bogard goes on to explain,“I worry we are rapidly losing night’s natural darkness before realizing its worth.” He hopes that future generations will have their own experiences of a truly dark sky, as he did. Bogard also uses keywords to inspire emotions from the reader.

Whew! It is HOT up here! I’m in the Thermosphere, where the spaceship left me behind, and I am so hot. It is not this hot where I was born. Hey! What are those lights? They are beautiful…… whoah. Hey, well, I guess here I go, right on through them. Blues, greens, purples, reds, pinks, it is so cool! I think I heard of them before…...the Northern lights? Yes, that’s it. Hey, it getting cold.

Evening had arrived and everything had been packed away ready for its next use. It had also brought the grim warning of a storm. The sky was brimming with a dark shade of grey and black, making the mood eerily mysterious. A storm was brewing; it was about to blow, just like a volcano about to erupt. Then, “Boom!”. A lightning strike crackled across the sky, one after another. After three lightning strikes a downpour of rain fell from the sky.

It was starting to become dark, the light was lifting as the sun went down, and the sun streaks climbed up the wall and fell over the feeding racks and over

The lake darkens as the ominous clouds race across the sky, as black as the devil’s soul, and swallows the bliss-blue complexion of the sky faster than you can blink. The world has abruptly become cellar-dark and the heavens above look to collapse down upon me. A deafening wind runs over the landscape like a thousand horses, the noise of the raindrops their clattering hoofs. The threatening force of the gales knocks and blows the trees in precarious ways, almost as though, if it had wanted to, the wind could blow them away as if they were but feathers, not heavy pines. Lighting lights up the sky like liquid, golden ore streaks being forged into forks up above. Wriggling and writhing with the pain of their own existence. Flashing once, twice, three times, polished and glossy like the cold prongs of the apocalypse. Shaking myself from my weather-caused trance, I hurry for shelter under a nearby fern tree. Staring deep into the blackness of the storm I wonder whether I will ever see that bliss-blue appearance

The vast sky above the trees was home to an array of clouds. At the turn of night, a sparkling variety of stars. The clouds were as fluffy as cotton, each with its own unique shape. As delicate as daisies, yet unbending like metal. The stars were as sharp and as piercing as thorns, but also as lovely as the bud itself. The clouds conquered the day before all time, but they gladly let the stars race across the plains as it darkened. It was the natural order, and was seen by all as equal and fair.

A chilled breeze caused my hair to stand up on end, so I peek over my shoulder to see the window in my bedroom door open. The blue, polka-dotted whipped around violently but I couldn 't hear the sounds of a strong wind. Huh, could have sworn I 'd closed that. . . I spring to my feet and shiver as I step across the cold floor toward my room. On my tip-toes, I pull the screen down to shut it and take a minute to stare out the window. The moon cast a dim light over the small town, illuminating only the fronts of houses and the tip of trees, abandoning all else to darkness. A light fog danced in the distance and I smiled thinking how perfect it looked on Halloween 's night. I looked down from the top floor one last time then tugged the curtains shut.

The sunset was not spectacular that day. The vivid ruby and tangerine streaks that so often caressed the blue brow of the sky were sleeping, hidden behind the heavy mists. There are some days when the sunlight seems to dance, to weave and frolic with tongues of fire between the blades of grass. Not on that day. That evening, the yellow light was sickly. It diffused softly through the gray curtains with a shrouded light that just failed to illuminate. High up in the treetops, the leaves swayed, but on the ground, the grass was silent, limp and unmoving. The sun set and the earth waited.