Campfire

As I am writing this paper, I am transcended into memories of my childhood as I am climbing, for the second time already, the highest mountain of Albania; Mount Tomor. Now when I say climbing I mean mainly being in the back of a pick up truck with at least 5 other members of my family as we are covering us faces from the dirt of the unpaved roads. Why is an 8 year old going through all of this you may ask? This journey is part of a pilgrimage that occurs every year and it symbolizes the virtues…

Jake opened the window shutters and circled the inside of the barn. Dammit, did he have to do everything? He gave orders to store tools against the wall. His boots scrunched against loose straw as he marched past the wagon and the buggy. Red nickered. The horse moved its rump against the rail and swished its tail. Jake scooped a handful of grain from a bin and dropped it into Red’s feed trough. The horse, he could depend on. At last, he found a pitchfork behind the stairs leading to the loft. He…

past. Ahmeya' memories had faded with the years and when she spoke of her life as a pioneer girl she felt as if she were talking of someone else. Tamataunee was not bothered by her past at all, or the fact that she was white. He had lived by the lake all his life, and had not been affected as much by the settlers taking over the Indian Territory as Ahmeya had. They shared their secrets and laughed at foolish things they had done. Both of them had great respect for the nature around them and were…

Unit 1- Native Voices- “AH ZEBENYA!” The Native Voices unit was all about nature and how nature doesn’t depend on us and in fact nature can run us over and not be effected at all. In this unit we learned that although we would like to think that nature would have mercy on us but in reality nature stops for nothing. The natives truly understand that about nature so they immerse themselves into nature in order to further understand the dangers so they can avoid them. As we saw with the story of…

Real White Meat 5. “I don't eat meat,” Tim told me after I stretched my arm across the table and offered him a bite of my burger. The meat peeking out from under the bun, was moist, rare and topped with blue cheese. It was our second date. I put the burger back on my plate, trying to hide it behind our water and beer glasses. I looked at Tim’s meal. A whole-wheat wrap filled with chickpeas and lettuce. It began to make sense. He had suggested Life Alive, a vegetarian…

The quiet solitude of the godswood was interrupted by the arrival of a young man. Dressed in a black doublet and breeches and a fur cloak, Jon Targaryen made his way to the pool by which the weirwood tree stood. Why is he coming here? Here? Is there not one place I can find untainted by sour memories? He looked up at the sky, scowling. If he's coming, then that means the rest of them are coming as well. My dear sweet sister and my loving stepmother. My attentive and caring father. And it…

Maya sat up in her cot. The rising sun shown brightly through the walls of the tent leaving a blue glow. She looked over to Kennedy’s cot. Empty. Old country music played from outside the tent. The beat of the banjo sounded like a muffled lullaby. A chilly breeze flew through the tent walls rustling the outside leaves. She shivered rubbing her bare arms. Maya stood up and walked over to the makeshift table, which was actually just a large rubber bin. She grabbed her black hiking jacket and threw…

Short Story The Scion gazed from his secluded position, high above in a grove, watching as the puny humans went about their day in blissful ignorance of his presence. He liked it that way sometimes, just watching as time went on around him; it calmed him somewhat. To those, he looked like he was a part of the mountains and hills, blending in with the scenery. His earth green and dirt brown palette hid him to such a degree that travelers of all kinds who would walk about his scales were woefully…

Eventually he was given a name: the North Pond Hermit. At a homeowners’ meeting in 2002, the hundred people present were asked who had suffered break-ins. Seventy-five raised their hands. Campfire hermit stories were swapped. One kid recalled that when he was 10 years old, all his Halloween candy was stolen. That kid is now 34. Still the robberies persisted. The crimes, after so long, felt almost supernatural. "The legend of the hermit lived…