Dicton and Disaster

Night – the breaking point of our sanity, the inevitable transformation from day to day, enveloping dusk, creating dawn – leaving the hopeless citizens of Sighet to question their values, their moral instincts, as God’s everlasting grace, no longer remains an essential building block of Jewish culture. As the Nazi’s continue to progress, working their way through Jewish communities, capturing, destroying, and exiling innocent victims as they go, author Elie Wiesel of the novel Night, paints pictures in the mind of the reader with beautiful imagery and crafted diction; in order to give a better understanding of the emotional journey the Jew’s encountered, when taken into the authoritative arms of the Germans.

Covering up their inhumane intentions, the German’s masked their sins with false accounts of sincerity. Wiesel brings attention particularly to an instance regarding a woman’s encounter with a German soldier on the home front. After moving in with the woman and her family, Wiesel states that he had heard, “he was a charming man, calm, likeable, and polite” (10). Three days after moving in, the soldier had purchased a box of chocolates for the Jewish woman, presenting himself as a respectable human being, without evil ever taking capacity in his twisted mind. Only days later, “two ghettos were created in Sighet” (11). The Jew’s took this as a grain of salt. Maybe this was for the better? After all they were still all together weren’t they? It wasn’t until the Germans took severe action, placing Jew’s in cattle cars as if they were the animals themselves, taking them to an unknown place where they all were to face their final solution – death. Throughout this section of the novel, regarding the departure from their homes and their arrival at Auschwitz, Wiesel’s simple, yet powerful diction helps to illustrate the reactions of the people and their surroundings. Their greeting was not from those who worked there, but rather “the smell of burning flesh” (28). The burning, the killing, the mass murder of their own kind, represents the descent to savagery the Nazi party must have endured in order to find pleasure in such inhumane anguish.

What does it mean to be an adult?

Growing up, innocence overtakes youthful minds, creating dreamlike versions of reality. Everything is perfect and nothing could possibly go wrong, for the toughest decision that had to be made was who would be today’s playmate at recess, or what color crayon would successfully complete the latest masterpiece. This innocence however, slowly begins to fade, as magic no longer remains the center of creation. In the novel All Quiet on the Western Front, Erich Remarque proposes the question as to what was the cause of this loss of youthfulness. What could have possibly transformed easygoing children into savages on their road to adulthood? Remarque’s character development makes it clear that the reactions to traumatic experiences and possible hardships along the way remain the main factor that truly separates the boys from the men.

Paul, a boy nearing the end of his teenage years, takes his love for his country to the battlefield, risking his life as he chooses to do so. “[He] [is] twenty years old; yet [he] [knows] nothing of life but despair, death, fear, and fatuous superficiality cast over an abyss of sorrow.” (263) Upon enlisting in the war, Paul never thought that a lack of food, painful wounds, and death of not only the enemy, but comrades as well, would come along with it. He drives himself nearly to insanity as he soon becomes comfortable with the sins that he is committing. While on the front he experiences his first true killing stating, “This is the first time I have killed with my hands, whom I can see close at hand, whose death is my doing.” (221) Granted, “Life is short;” (139) however, when it comes to an end, which would a soldier rather have flash before his eyes? His great memories? Or rather the murders and wrong actions that he has achieved? These experiences and the process of acceptance afterwards is what illustrates the level of maturity necessary in order to successfully complete the transformation from childhood to adulthood, a transformation that Paul and the rest of the men in his unit, have greatly failed.

O Earth - Response to page 55

Author’s Note: After reading chapter 4 in Erich Maria Remarque’s novel, All Quiet on the Western Front, I was particularly inspired by the last three paragraphs on page 55. Remarque’s diction and beautiful imagery help to create a heavenly sanctuary for the soldiers, when in reality it is quite the opposite. The beauty of war; however, was not the main point that I took out of the reading. The fact that as life nearly flashes before one’s eyes, as life’s end draws near on the battle field; one must take a moment to realize the blessings that life brings along with it and take notice of even the smallest of details. That was my inspiration because that is what holds the truth. The breathtaking imagery on this page also inspired me to include a mimic line and I hope I may do Remarque even the smallest bit of justice.

Gun shots firing, gas masks flying, soldiers throwing themselves upon the barren ground; I run for cover. Desperately seeking even the smallest bit of shelter, a grave, a hole, a body, to protect me from the savages that maneuver the fields before me; to protect me from the savages who run frantically, killing everything in sight, only in hopes to save themselves. This is not how war should be! Soldiers should be ones to help, to save, to heal. Not ones to simply slaughter all of mankind!

I find refuge in a rundown home, for now a safe haven from the evilness that progresses about me and soon find that I, myself am not the only one. A British soldier stares blankly back at me, slowly raising his gun – his only protection – from the dirt floor, and aims as I reach to do the same. He is no match for me: smaller, shorter, and much weaker. He is clearly not a product of German boot camp. I prepare for fire as I feel a shot from behind. Tumbling down, I turn to see yet another British soldier breathing in the smoke from his own gun. O Earth, thou receives back one of your own powerless men after short-lived life. Embrace me in your loving arms and catch me as I fall back into you. Wrap me in your warm caress and find in me new life. Forgive me for all my sins, for I know that I have failed you.

“O Earth, thou grandest us the great resisting surge of new-won life.” (55)

Living in the Unknown

Author's Note: I wrote this piece from the perspective of a soldier from the novel All Quiet on the Western Front. The boys came into the war not expecting it to turn out the way that it did. They believe that now that they are off at war, they are superior to all those around them, when in reality they are just 18 year old boys, who rid themselves of their innocence and thrust themselves into experience with the constant death, and gruesomeness that surrounds them. The power thirsty men that they take shelter with, help them to create images of a peaceful meadow to take away from their brutal surroundings; each of these occurrences inspiring my response from chapters 1-3.

Along to war I take, a gun, my dignity,
The life I chose to make
A greenhorn on the battle field
My imagination remains my most powerful shield

Creating perfect pictures of the life I wish to live,
Swaying grasses, clear blue skies,
A gift that nature continues to give
Yesterday at home - loved, and sheltered,
I left, leaving my innocence behind
Opening new doors,

New opportunities,

Opening new eyes

Men whom I have grown to hate,
Power thirsty savages determining their own fate
Sickness spreading, diseases unknown
Please dear lord, let me go back home.

Duality's Displacement

Author's Note: After doing 3 creative type pieces I decided that for my last response on Jekyll and Hyde, I would go back to more of a literary analysis/fact based response, just to switch things up. After finishing up reading I knew that the dependency on the drug had to be symbolic of a certain defense mechanism so I looked back in my notes to try and figure out what it could possibly represent. Because Jekyll/Hyde tried to avoid dealing with problems as themselves they "displaced" their emotions from reality to the drug that brought them their escapism, giving me my inspiration for my final writing response.

Displacement is the redirecting of thoughts, feelings, and impulses, directed at one person or object, but taken out upon another innocent victim. In the short story Jekyll and Hyde, each character, trapped in their own extremes, represent the evils that lie beneath a pure human heart and the harmful side effects of taking out these feelings and evil mindsets with a potentially fatal decision.

Henry Jekyll – a well to do doctor – found his escape from reality at the bottom of a red vile, giving him the ability to act out against society and react to the evilness that lay within him. Jekyll proposes the question as to whether or not we are born wholly good, or if savage instincts exist within us, only to be brought out in extremities. Edward Hyde was a man that cannot easily be described, “There [was] something wrong with his appearance; something displeasing, something downright detestable.” If Hyde was looked so far down upon, feared, and thought to be the face of evil, why would a man such as Henry Jekyll, who seemed to be living a life of luxury, want to transform himself into the animalistic representation of humanity? Scientific studies, as conducted by scientists such as Sir Francis Galton have been created to try and explain the duality that takes place due to our nurture, and our instincts; however, it has not yet been proven as to why humans result to the projection of their feelings onto others; “displacing” the feelings of their initial anger or dissatisfaction with themselves.

Teens going through depression, or those who put themselves under large amounts of stress, turn to self harm, acting out onto others, or potentially suicide. Countless lives have been lost due to the underlying side effects of their displacement, adding Henry Jekyll and Edward Hyde to the list as well. By relying on a drug to be rid of the hardships that they were forced to face, the moment it could not provide the pleasure they hoped to achieve, life could not be gone about in the same manner, bringing both of their lives to an end.

By placing personal struggles onto another victim, the doors are open for error and possible death. Dealing with hardships in a displeasing manner has the ability to turn fatal, causing more and more lives to be lost because of it. Jekyll and Hyde were unable to cope with their unsettled emotions – their extreme ways of life – forcing them to continually descend into the gallows of unhappiness and displeasure.

Curiosity

Author's Note: As Jekyll and Hyde came to a close, my hypothesis was proven right from the beginning; they are in fact the same people, living as one, doing as another, demonstrating the evilness that lies within. Jekyll created a potion that gave him the capabilities to transform himself into a beast whom he could turn to in order to portray his beast-like qualities. What could have possibly possessed him to perform such evil tasks? And what would make him think to create such a potion in the first place? His intial curiosity that must have taken place in order to drive him to savagery was what inspired me to write this piece. Although I didn't base my poem off of a particular quote, the downfall of Henry Jekyll could be seen throughout various chapters and my goal in this piece was to use "show-not-tell" to illustrate this.

Curiosity

Uncertainty ringing from ear to ear,
Echoing throughout my mind,
No worries, no fear

Ruminating the consequences,
The odious task at hand
Each memory lasting,
Like footprints in the sand

Not knowing where I’m going,
Not knowing what happens next
My consecutive wonder overtaking me,
Forcing me towards unbearable tasks

Trying new things,
Experimenting with objects renewed
Mixing
Combining
An ominous brew

Taking over my body
My spirit
My mind,
A controlling addiction, I can no longer hide
Finding pleasure in the harm that it makes,
Perfecting my insecurities, each little mistake

Altering my appearance, my hair, my eyes
Becoming a new being, the perfect disguise
The more I take, the more I need
A want, a desire, I can no longer feed

The effect slowly fading, the high I can no longer reach
Slowly, recklessly I fall to my feet
The life being drained, suctioned from my being
A light - - a flash - - my emotions now fleeing.

The Door

Author's Note: Throughout the reading, doors have been a reoccuring motif in the lives of Mr. Utterson, Doctor Jekyll, and all of the people that they seem to encounter. The doors and keys that are continually brought up, I feel have the capability to dictate the confinement of their souls and their incapability to free themselves and their ways of thinking. Whether Jekyll and Hyde be the same person or not, each project the opposite of eachothers personalities, which the other may wish to portray, but is unable to do because they keep it trapped behind "doors" or the social baracades that keep them from doing so. My goal in this piece was to write a rhyming poem in the closed format because I felt that this would be the best way to get my point across. The author of this story continually uses dangling modifiers so in recognition of that, I included them as well.

The door

Open are its arms, its cold embrace
Welcoming the passersby, a smile on its face
Contrived by man, stringent in its making
Endless opportunities, not mine for the taking

One door opens, another door shuts
Forming a ruthful evilness, returning in my gut
Dreaming as one, doing as another
A mask of my uncertainty, a mind protecting cover

The door, the door,
To keep one out, or let one in?
Guarding my evils, guarding my sins
Confining my spirit, unleashing my soul
Forcing myself slowly to be free and let go

Filtering my thoughts, my emotions, my mind
A dual personality, no more; I’m alive
Reaching for the key, to unlock my soul
Breaking free from the door, I am able to let go.

Dual Personalities - The Sinners Within

Author’s Note: After reading the first three chapters of Jekyll and Hyde, I’ve come to the assumption, although it may be incorrect, that Jekyll and Hyde are indeed the same person, living in the same body; created to express the unknown demons that lie underneath an innocent human’s heart. I’ve created this piece to illustrate the evil’s that lie within us, even if we fail to acknowledge their existence. We want to believe that we are wholly good; however, even the seemingly flawless, have an underlying sin. When we see a car accident, surrounded by ambulances and paramedics, we all fight the urge to look because we are intrigued by the evilness of it. Although it seems to be a small act, the evil and curiosity within, project themselves and create a dual human being. My goal in this piece was to demonstrate the difficulties that may tie into the effects of a dual human being; one who does one thing, but acts as another.

Awakening to the mind penetrating annoyance, rising recklessly from my forgiving sheets; wrapping myself in its warm embrace, I prepare for what has yet to come. Carelessly washing the sins, the sins of the night before, down the drain with the filth of my actions - the filth of my being - towards its unending descent in a suburban shower drain. Partially cleansed of my insecure state of mind, I step forth from the shower doors and glance at the mirrors ahead. The lights begin to flicker, I may have forgotten to pay the electric bill, but it was either that or groceries this month.

Rushing effortlessly through my morning routine, struggling to release myself from the comfort of my home – my sanctuary. Becoming the mold of the perfect human being I am expected to be. Too tight of clothes, caressing my thickening waist, faux tan, faux nails, faux lashes – I’m fake. Acceptance from those whom I can’t even trust, they know my name, not my story, not the things that I’ve done. Portraying myself as a confident, happy being, coming home to a barren apartment, no father, no mother, no siblings to care for, or love me. I work various jobs, here and there, forcing myself through the struggles, hardships, and uncertainty of life. No one knows what I go through, the things that I face. So I pretend that I’m alright, pretend that I can solve life’s problems on my own.

But as I get ready for the day to come, basking in the fakeness of my beauty, the fakeness of my smile, I remind myself to be kind, for everyone we meet may be fighting a hard battle.

An Occurrence in Huntsville, Alabama

**Author's Note: This is the story about a boy named Luke, a senior in high school, who's biggest struggle in life, was himself. With an alcoholic mother, and a father who was killed in Iraq, Luke separated himself from the rest of society, reliving the moments of his everlasting childhood. While sitting in class one afternoon, Luke's school goes into lock down mode, into what seems to be an over practiced drill, but turns into a moment that ends up changing his life, forever.**

I
A boy sat cross legged underneath his desk at his school in northern Alabama, looking out at the frightened students surrounding him. The boy’s back was slouched, his knees pressed against his face. The dog tags around his neck jingled with the warmth of his father's last remaining aura that comforted him like his father was still there beside him. Some students found comfort laying against the cold stone tiles that created the structure that they, their desks, their teacher and the rest of their school’s population utilized daily, yet a floor that created a footing for their executioner – a recent escapee of the Federal prison, directed by his own thoughts and crazed state of mind, which in civil life may have been dreamt in a nightmare, yet never drawn out in reality. At a short remove in the doorway of which he stood was a man dressed in the same attire, armed. He was a killer.

II
Luke Schultz was a slightly skewed boy, of a broken apart Alabama family. His father was brought to death by a pistol in the hands of the enemy, dropping instantly on the Iraqi grounds. He knew firsthand how painful death could be, not only for the victim but the family as well and the impact on life afterwards. His mother found relief from it all at the bottom of a vodka bottle, the circumstances of this nature, prevented him from taking place in any activity that caused him to remove himself from his bedroom and everlasting childhood.

One evening while Luke and his mother were sitting on a rustic bench near the entrance to his rundown home, a crackling voice came through the speakers on the radio and spoke of an escape from the Federal Prison. Luke’s mother was only too happy to elaborate on the subject, with the news she had heard that day at work. While she was rattling on, her son listened in to the radio announcer and inquired eagerly the news from the town.

III
As Luke Shultz dropped out the window he lost consciousness and was as one already dead. In this disposition he was awakened by a stabbing pain in his shoulder. Racing turmoil’s shot through every nerve in his body, triggering even the smallest of muscles; he is alive. Excruciating streams of fire spread from the point of impact, throughout his veins, filling his heart, his lungs, his soul. Subconsciously a feeling of lonesomeness filled his mind, leaving him only to think of himself, his actions, and to feel the feeling of torment. All at once, with terrible suddenness the light of the vast sun overtook him, pushing him further from the gates of heaven into the hands of Satan. He was mindful of his actions. Captured in an insightful dream, in which he was now merely a string puppet, without physical control, he meandered through unknown obstacles, like a child in a corn maze. Then all at once, with complete uncertainty the world around him flashed outward with the brightness of a million stars; a painful surge was in his eyes, and all was warm and bright. The mobility of his body was renewed; and he knew that the window was opened and he had wandered into the forest. He felt a presence beside him; he heard sounds surrounding him, urging him to keep running further and further into the unknown. “To be shot by a known murderer,” he thought, “that is not so bad; but I do not wish to be hunted. No; I will not be hunted by the powers of the unknown.”

His shoulder was throbbing and he found it horribly swollen. He saw his father –sitting upon a cloud, looking down on those below him. He looked the same as Luke had remembered. The same dark hair, dark brown eyes – features that could be found not only on his father, but on himself. “Hello father,” Luke called out, “I have been waiting for years to see you again. Why can I now?” His father looked in his direction, but gave no response, almost as if he couldn’t hear him. The vividness of the picture slowly began to fade away. His father disappeared as quickly as he had come. “Goodbye father. I’ll see you soon.” A surging pain strikes once again at his shoulder, outbursts of light and sound send him crashing down, his head spinning with uncontrollable might – then all is darkness and silence.

Luke Schultz was dead; his body with a penetrating bullet, lay lifeless from end to end, below a desk in the Huntsville Science Lab.

Mimic Lines:
•"He was conscious of motion. Encompassed in a luminous cloud, of which he was now merely the fiery heart, without material substance, he swung through unthinkable arcs of oscillation, like a vast pendulum. Then all at once, with terrible suddenness, the light about him shot upward with the noise of a loud splash; a frightful roaring was in his ears, and all was cold and dark. The power of thought was restored; he knew that the rope had broken and he had fallen into the stream."
•"To be hanged and drowned," he thought, "that is not so bad; but I do not wish to be shot. No; I will not be shot; that is not fair."
•"Peyton Fahrquhar was dead; his body, with a broken neck, swung gently from side to side beneath the timbers of the Owl Creek bridge."