My Hero's Short Story: My Journey To The Underground

“Small town big heart,” they say locked away behind their cold immaculate castle gates that rest on the remains of the previous farmland and plains. The collective heart beats but only at a convenient time suiting parties involved. “A place where everyone matters,” they utter as their motto in indistinguishable monotone voices. The people are too wrapped up in their everyday lives to ever be concerned about their neighbor, they look through life with gilded glasses. It’s as if a fog had descended slowly creeping into their view distorting what they once held most dear.

The years following the Second World War were bleak in regards to Canada's future as a country, with the public and politicians alike set against each other, but soon a Québec man by the name of René Lévesque entered journalism, and then politics, voicing his views for all to hear, with great success and vigour. Though obstacles presented themselves often in his life, he changed the views of Québec, Canada and the world as a whole. René Lévesque was a passionate and charismatic politician who greatly contributed to post-war Québec and even today through his beliefs in separatism, founding the Parti Québecois and passing Bill 101.

Sonnet 130 is a parody of the conventional love sonnet, made popular by Petrarch and, made popular in England by Sidney’s use of the Petrarchan form in his epic poem Astrophel and Stella. When comparing the stanzas of A & S to Sonnet 130, the reader can clearly see that the sonnet does not use grandiose metaphors or allusions to build his beloved into a divine figure. Despite it being an obvious parody, it will be compared to the chosen lines from the Tempest. In Shakespeare’s day, metaphors that allude to putting the beloved on a pedestal of beauty had already become a cliché, but they were an accepted technique for writing love poetry nonetheless. The way these poems would describe the poet’s lover was high idealized, making comparisons

EXT. CHURCH OF SCIENTOLOGY - RUNWAY (GOLD BASE, CA) - dayFLORENTINARodger that commander Joshua.They board on a jet on the runway.INT./EXT. Jet - Day - travelingFlorentina and Destiny walk into the cockpit. Shane sits in the back where he lays his weapons down.Shane(whispers to himself)I can't believe I am doing this.DESTINYI hope you have a strong stomach Shane.FLORENTINABuckle up boy.Florentina goes full throttle. The plane takes off, Shane sees the ground.SHANEOh shit, I think I am going to lose my lunch.DESTINYHave you ever been on a plane before.SHANEIts been so long, I can't remember.Destiny looks at him as if he was some kind of idiot. The plane reaches 10,000 feet.SHANEHow come the ground looks so flat.FLORENTINASo you still don't believe in what Daniel told you, wait until we

“Run!” the little boy cried. The roman soldiers came attacking at village and killing 2 dozen men and women. The little boy was named Damon. His father is a god, his name was Mercury, the god of speed. Damon was just a demigod.

There I was sitting at the table eating what the nuns like to call food what just looked like to me slop I was sitting with my friend Felix. He came across a carrot and it was a full-size carrot he just sat there and stared at it not even touching it if he did not hurry up and I was going to grab it and eat it.

A few months later, I found myself riding with Halt back to his quaint little cottage nestled in the woods. He was teaching me about animal tracks. As our horses tread against the snow that lay on the ground, I noticed a massive print next to the cottage, and Halt said it was a giant boar. A man was lying in the bushes and came out to claim that he had seen the boar first hand, and that it was a mad and destructive one. Halt told him to go to the castle and tell the Baron to gather a group of men so that we can all go hunt the boar in the morning. The next day, I found myself on horseback on the outside of a circle of warriors, and Horace. If the boar were to escape through our circle, I was to chase it down and finish it off with my bow.

My life has always been a series of transitional phases that was as every-changing as the seasons themselves. The words of my literary heroes were my utmost comfort; they inspired my confidence and my character, and moved me to be a more visceral, understanding person. I believe that during my time I have been wizened, and connected to the roots of all humanity; in my imagination I see it as the growth of a sampling into the dampness of the earth and the jaded formation of rough bark. Ralph Waldo Emerson, whose transcendental views have inspired me, was once quoted as saying, “Once you make a decision, the universe conspires to make it happen.” I believe that is true, and with every choice I’m reminded of that hopeful and assertive message.

Mankind had believed themselves to have escaped the horrors that preyed on them in bygone ages. Perhaps they were right. Mostly. The torch of scientific progress kindles by newton and his companions spread like wildfire over the centuries that followed, and drove the beasts that dwelt in our shadows scampering back into the darkened pits that had spawned them; turning the hunter into the hunted. Physics, the idea that our world operates through universal laws, defeated the ancient magics that had once left Kings and nobles alike shivering in the all concealing night. Darwin and his concept of evolution banished the ancient monsters with such speed and ferocity that even hercules himself would have been envious. But there are still places in our world where the light of modern day hasn’t come to contact with . i come to you not with a tale of some hidden cave in the heart of the wilderness, but that endless sprawl that surrounds all of humanity's great achievements. The last great uncharted territory. The ocean

I was born from the gravel and clay. The clay was kneaded by the hand of the gods, and it was made to be a tool that is capable of taking on infinite shapes. When I opened my eyes in a wilderness, I have seen the original scenery in the world. It is the boundless earth, the vast sky and the city which stand at the distant horizon.

Let me tell you a short story about this boy. It was 9 o'clock in the afternoon when his parent asked him what he wanted to be when he grew up, he said with enthusiasm "I want to be a doctor", not knowing what it is. After that we just went about our days. Ten years later, he's a senior in junior high school getting ready to embark on the road where many have failed. He did what he had to do so that he can graduate. Graduation day was here and pretty quickly. His parents said to him, "no more fun and games, you are going to enter high school. All I want from you is to pass your class of high grades , graduate and go on to college to pursue your career to become a doctor." This kid heard a lot of things when it comes to becoming a doctor and

On August 3rd, 900, my parents found out they were having a child. They prepared for a

I enjoyed the female author Zara Neale Hurston. I found out a few things about this author born well over 100 years ago and she was black. She had an impressive resume for a black female brought up in the south. What I discovered while reading about her is the short story called “Sweat” that describes a working woman in relationship and the antagonist is her husband and his name is Sykes which is actually how you spell my name. The sad thing is Zara died penniless doing something she truly enjoyed and forty years after her death is when it’s been decided to publish her work. A critic mentioned that through her work you will discover a real “negro theater”. (Cole and Charles, Zora Neale Hurston, Project MUSE)

October 23rd, 2002, a very dreadful day for my family… my day of birth. Maybe it was wonderful, but I’ll never know the truth. My dad will not actually tell me what he was thinking in that moment, and I will never hear my mom talk about that day, or any day, or actually anything ever again. I’ll get to the death of my mom later. As I came home from the hospital I have no memory of that, but my earliest memory is around the age of six. Six years old, and sitting on a bar stool. I’d sit, sip a Sprite, munch on some crackers while my dad got shit faced drunk. I remember the small room. Smells of smoke and alcohol fill my nostrils. I sat on a bar stool so long that my butt print was engraved in it, kind of like the fat guy that I used to talk to. He was up

The horn sounded, and that's when the chaos ensued around me. I ran swiftly towards the Cornucopia, and when I heard someone call out. "Ice-" Denmark. Boom. The sound resonated throughout the arena, making me jump. Deciding to risk a small glance behind me, and trying to find out what cut Denmark off, I yelped. Russia had Denmark in a headlock, with a knife ready. Belarus was next to them, dead, her blood spilling onto the dirt. My breath caught in my throat, and I tripped, hitting the cold metal ground of the cornucopia. There were footsteps that were getting closer, and I quickly pushed myself up, grabbing a bottle of alcohol and a rag. Boom. I spun around, with wide eyes, only to find Denmark on the ground next to Belarus, his blood also spilling onto the dirt. Boom. I turned, seeing Lithuania staring at a freshly dead Hungary. Did he..? I shook the thought out of my head, and looked back to Den. Realization slowly hit me that Russia probably wasn't done killing, and I was the closest thing to him that was alive, and vulnerable for that matter. I gulped, looking into Russia's eyes, before bolting as fast as I could away from the Cornucopia, and into the woods.