Antigone stood up for what she believed in when she sacrificed her life in order to bury her brother. There are few people who are willing to face certain consequences in order to defend their beliefs, especially in Antigone’s case where death was the punishment. However, situations like this occur quite often even when people are young. For instance, when I was in kindergarten I have a vivid memory of standing up to the class bully. He was huge; at least three times the size of even the taller kids in my grade, and was always pushing people around. I didn’t think it was right that he was always telling people what to do and ruining our fun so one day I decided to organize a miniature rebellion. Thus, I gathered my friends and gave them a speech about not letting the bully ruin our fun anymore. However, I had my back turned in order to give them my speech and didn’t realize the bully was right behind me. Needless to say, I was sent home by the nurse with two bloody knees as a result from being pushed down onto the woodchips.  Even though I was punished for standing up for what I thought was right, I would like to think I would still do the same thing today in a more serious situation. But to do so would take a tremendous amount of courage like that of Antigone.

                Another person who stood up for what they believed in was Martin Luther King Junior and everyone involved in the Civil Rights Movement. His tremendous effort to gain equality among races is an excellent example of what Antigone did. This especially relates to the play because like Creon’s Decree, segregation laws forbid black people from doing certain things.  Instead of tolerating such ignorant laws, Martin Luther King Jr. bluntly defied the laws and organized national protests to override them. His bold defiance of the law eventually resulted in his assassination but his protest s still proved successful. Rosa Parks is also a notable figure in the civil rights movement because according to the law she should have moved to the back of her bus to allow the Caucasians seats in the front. Yet, Parks knew this law was wrong because she was on the bus first and should not have had to move. Her refusal to get up and eventual arrest is a display of standing up for her beliefs. The freedom riders, a group of all races who rode a bus together across the country stood up for what they believed in as well by defying the segregation laws during that time period.

                Furthermore, such courage was demonstrated by Harvey Milk, an American politician who was possibly the first gay man to be elected into office. Although he was not openly gay at the onset of his career he eventually announced his sexuality and made efforts as a city supervisor to give homosexuals the rights they deserve. On November 27^th 1978, he was assassinated thus making him a martyr for gay rights. Today he still serves as inspiration for those striving to obtain equality for all. This case relates to Antigone as well because Harvey Milk was killed for what he believed in just like Antigone. Therefore, it goes to show that those people who do stand up for what they believe in manage to make a mark in history and sometimes even inspire people to share in their beliefs. I’m not advocating sacrificing one’s life, but I can see why some people are passionate about a certain topic would feel that the ends justify the mean.

Possibilities

Rain pounded against the windows relentlessly, soaking the recently blossoming tulips and covering the roads with a film of endless water struggling to funnel through the sewers. It had already begun to flood Wildflower Ridge and much of central New Jersey. Inside 47 Ridge Road Cassie curled up on her window seat, resting her head against the window to view the rain with a frown on her face, a worn out book lay forgotten in her lap. The rain had started early morning and lasted through the entire Saturday afternoon, ruining her plans of attending her younger brother’s soccer game and dampening her spirit. She bitterly recalled a time when she would have welcomed the rain with open arms and danced in the streets with her best friend Marissa. It was funny how something once so beautiful could now seem so desolate. From somewhere downstairs the grandfather clock chimed 7 times signaling the current hour and awakening Cassie from her stupor. With a faint yawn, she stretched out her arms before getting off her window seat and making her way out of her bedroom and down the stairs. Inside her kitchen her 8 year old brother Will was painting what appeared to be a drag car on top of a stack of newspapers he had so carefully arranged on the table.

                “Hey Wills,” she greeted cheerfully, ruffling his hair affectionately as she did so.

                He looked up at her with a smile of adoration reserved especially for her. “I was beginning to think you had forgotten about me,” he said simply.

                One corner of Cassie’s mouth turned downwards as she shook her head. “Of course not, I was just catching up with Elizabeth Bennet,” she explained, and upon seeing her brother’s confused expression she continued, “Elizabeth Bennet is a character in my favorite book, Pride and Prejudice.”

                Will rolled his eyes dramatically trying to appear annoyed, but his wide smile gave him away. “You’re always reading,” he complained.

                Cassie shrugged in response and began rifling through her refrigerator in search of tonight’s dinner. Usually on Saturdays her parents went out, leaving her in charge of Will in lieu of an irresponsible babysitter. She mostly cooked pasta because it was an easy meal to make, but sometimes she liked to change things up so that Will wouldn’t get too sick of it. Once she had scoured the entire refrigerator and deemed all the food inside inadequate, Cassie closed the door and opened the freezer instead. Upon seeing a carton of chocolate ice cream, she was struck with a sudden inspiration. “Hey Wills, how would you like to have Belgian waffles for dinner tonight?”

                Will looked at her incredulously, his big brown eyes widening considerably in his shock. “When have I ever turned down a chance to eat breakfast for dinner?” he asked once he had recovered.

                Cassie just laughed in response and retrieved the waffle mix and maker from her pantry. She ignored the pang in her heart as she assembled the ingredients, trying to push away all the memories of Marissa and her making waffles together on various summer nights. Sensing her sadness Will set aside his drag car and stood by Cassie’s side. “I’ll make the batter,” he announced, taking the measuring cup away from Cassie hastily and pouring the proper amount of water.

                As she rested against the counter to supervise, Cassie couldn’t help but remember her best friend doing the very same thing Will was now the previous summer. Familiar tears sprung to her eyes, but she quickly blinked them away not wanting to cry in front of her brother. It had been three long months since Marissa had gotten into a fatal car accident and Cassie was determined not to let her brother see how miserable she felt all the time. Just as she was about to suggest putting in a movie, Will spoke up, “It’s okay to miss her, you know.”

                A strangled sob caught in the back of her throat and her hazel eyes glistened with tears. Instead of answering Cassie just nodded, not trusting her voice to remain steady. Seeing her anguish, Will wrapped his small arms around her torso and buried his head into her stomach. For the first time in months, Cassie allowed herself to be comforted and returned the embrace. She rested one hand in Will’s short brown hair and the other on his back. “I miss her too,” Will murmured into her stomach, “We all do. But it’s like you said when my pet frog died two years ago; you can’t put your life on hold just because it feels like the world stopped moving. Carry the memories with you everywhere you go and live life the best you can.”

                Will’s intelligence never ceased to amaze Cassie despite the large amount of time they spent together. Although there was a 10 year age difference between them, Will always seemed to be able to remember everything she told him and regurgitate it in a more insightful way than she herself had intended. This particular piece of advice struck home hard, for Cassie realized the truth and sincerity in his words. It was true; she had postponed many decisions in her life since Marissa’s death. A pile of college acceptance letters lay forgotten on her bedside table, and her application to join the Peace Corps remained incomplete. Instead of hanging out with her normal group of friends, Cassie spent most weekends cooped up inside her room immersed in a book from her vast collection or scribbling furiously in her notebook.

                “You know something, Wills?” she said after a moment of silence.

                Her brother lifted his head up to look at her, his expression patient and curious. “I think you might be right. I put my life on hold instead of taking my own advice and moving on like Marissa would have wanted. So how about you keep mixing the batter and I’ll go get my college letters and Peace Corps application? Than we can decide what I am going to do with my life,” Cassie explained.

                A wide smile stretched across Will’s face and he nodded compliantly before returning his attention to the waffle batter. Once she was sure Will knew what he was doing, Cassie darted up the stairs and scooped up the pile of letters from her bedside table as well as her application. After making sure she had everything, she returned to the kitchen to find Will pouring some of the batter into the waffle maker and securing the lid. Then she took a seat at the kitchen table and began sifting through the pile of letters. “Where do you want to go most?” Will asked, taking a seat beside his sister.

                Cassie looked up from the stack of letters and directed her attention toward her brother. “I’m not really sure,” she answered, “There’s so many possibilities. Marissa and I had always dreamed of joining the Peace Corps and making a difference in the world. But if they accept my application it would be a little over two years of work, so mom and dad think it’s smarter to go to college first.”

                Will frowned and shook his head. “I didn’t ask what Marissa wanted or what mom and dad think. I asked what you want.”

                Once again Cassie was taken aback by how smart her brother seemed for someone so young and innocent. She scrutinized his serious expression for a minute before deeming him worthy of her trust. “Honestly I have my heart set on joining the Peace Corps. I don’t want to wait to graduate college first because it just means so much more to me to be out there in the world making a difference even if it seems insignificant to other people.”

                Her brother nodded his head in unison with the chiming of the waffle maker indicating that the first waffle was ready. He sprung up hastily to unlock the lid and remove the waffle from the confines of the machine. “Then I think you know what you have to do,” was all he said in response.

                Cassie looked at the pile of letters before her and then to the application that remained incomplete. She knew the deadline for submitting the application was rapidly approaching, and that there was a chance she might not even get accepted into the program. But she also knew that it was something she had to do, both for herself and for Marissa. Thus, as Will set down a waffle next to her and helped himself to one as well, she retrieved her laptop from upstairs and completed the online application. For the most part, she had filled everything out with the help of Marissa back in August; all that remained was the last couple of questions which she was able to complete within a half an hour. After hitting send she closed the laptop and scooped herself a large portion of ice cream which she deposited on her waffle. Despite the pain of eating Marissa’s favorite snack without her, Cassie was able to enjoy it for the first time knowing there was a sky of endless possibilities stretched out before her. All she had to do was make an effort and the sky was hers.

03 When I Look At Youvideo to be posted.    

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      While I do not have one particular hobby that I obsess over as Laura obsessed over her glass menagerie, I do have three hobbies that I enjoy; reading, writing, and playing field hockey. Some readers might view the way Laura completely immerses herself into her glass menagerie as strange, however, I can relate to that experience through reading. For me, reading is not just about getting an A in English or listening to what an author has to say. It’s also an escape from the problems and stress I am feeling at a certain time. The way successful authors write allows the reader to envision themselves jumping into the pages and participating in the journey of the characters as the story progresses. Thus, I sometimes lose my grasp on reality momentarily while I am enjoying a particularly well-written piece of fiction. This is how I imagine Laura feels about her glass menagerie, because to her they offer a better world where she is accepted and can forget about her leg. Some authors who I feel best simulate this alternate world include; Jodi Picoult, Sarah Dessen, Jane Austen, J.K. Rowling, and Stephanie Meyer.

                Perhaps my love of writing stemmed from my passion for reading because ever since I was in the third grade I have loved creative writing. It all started when my teacher, Mrs. Thorne, assigned us a project to emulate the writing style of one of her favorite authors, Allan Ahlberg. In The Jolly Postman he gives children a chance to read letters sent from one fairytale character to another. Thus, Mrs. Thorne assigned us to write a short story of letters taking place in another setting. Due to my immense obsession with Harry Potter, I obviously chose J.K. Rowling’s series as my setting. I had such a fun time writing that assignment that creative writing became one of my hobbies. Ever since then, whenever I’m bored or struck with a sudden idea for a short story, I write. This is another hobby similar to Laura’s because it also offers a chance to jump into another world. Except this time, I am the one creating it. Usually when I write I take real life experiences and exaggerate them to make a better story. This is because I feel like people can actually relate to what I am writing about and maybe it will even help them solve their real life conflicts. For instance, when my former best friend switched schools I wrote a story about how going to separate schools built a wall in our friendship, but all it took was one phone call to knock the wall down. I feel like this is a common issue for teenagers especially when they are transitioning from middle school to high school.

                My third hobby is one that does not relate to Laura’s because field hockey is more of a vent for my emotions than something I obsess over. I have been playing field hockey ever since fifth grade when I started Mrs. Atkin’s field hockey and lacrosse summer camp. We would play field hockey for about two hours every day for a week at Riverside Park, eat lunch, and then play lacrosse for another two hours. My inspiration for joining the camp was my older sister Kayla who started when she was in fifth grade and loved it. Immediately, I saw why she had such passion for the sport, although I did not maintain the same passion for lacrosse. What I love about field hockey is the feeling of belonging and being part of a team. Also, I love how if we lose no one is blamed solely for the loss of the game. For example, one of the reasons no one wanted to be goalie was that they were worried if they let a goal in they would be letting the team down. However, my coach pointed out that in order for them to have let a goal in our opponent would have had to pass all 10 people on our team to score that goal. Therefore, all of the team carries the weight of that goal not just the goalie.

                Overall, I do not have one favorite hobby that I enjoy more than the others, but I do feel as if reading will stay with me the longest because even when I have lost all inspiration as a writer and all skill as a field hockey player I can always read.

When I first read this story I was convinced that it had to be fiction. To me, it was inconceivable that a mother could neglect her daughter for so long to the point that she was enviromentally autistic and then claim she still loved her. In order to understand the story better I read it a second time yet the story did not become any less heartbreaking. The condition of the house Danielle was found in is absolutely disgusting. I cannot even imagine living in a house with urine and feces smeared on the walls and mashed into the carpet for six years without any love and affection of any kind. Furthermore, the way the detective found Danielle was even more disturbing. How could a mother claim she cared for her child when she put her in a room barely big enough to be a closet without any clothes with the exception of a diaper? Danielle must have been pretty strong-willed to survive for six years with a bare minimum of food and enclosed in her own excrement and bugs. I was immensely relieved that the detectives came when they did because it seemed to me that if they had not she surely would have died in under a year.

Another shocking thing in the article is that the child abuse hotline had been called twice on Michelle for abusing her daughter and leaving her at home with just a retarded older brother for supervision. Yet when the investigators came they left Danielle with Michelle. I sincerely hope that since then child abuse investigators have improved because the fact that they came not once but twice prior to taking Danielle away is a disgrace. If they had taken her away during one of those two visits Danielle might have been able to reach full mental growth. Now, instead, she can barely speak and struggles to interact with people. This is the most heartbreaking of all of it because its not fair that mother’s terrible judgement has basically ruined her daughter’s mental growth. Danielle never had a chance to reach her fullest potential all because of her mother’s neglect. Thus, it angered me when Michelle was interviewed and did not feel any remorse for her behavior. Instead she insisted she was the one who had been wronged and that she had been carrying for Danielle to the best of her ability. True, her IQ of 77 does say she might not be intelligent enough to care for a child, but to me it’s no excuse. I hate that the mother got away without any jailtime.

The only people in this article that I truly appreciated are the ones who took her in and cared for her. That includes Bernie and Diane Lierow as well as the speach teacher Goldenberg and the officers who finally brought Danielle in. I’m not sure I would have been able to do what Bernie and Diane did by taking in a 7 year old who could not speak and dd not interact with people but I’m glad they did.  I especially liked that they started calling her Dani instead  of Danielle. This, to me, represents a clean slate and as close to a fresh start as possible for a better life.

Though immensely overlooked and not as well known as some of the people Hally and Sam suggested during their debate, to me, Nicholas Winton is a man of magnitude. This is because he saved the lives of hundreds of children without having any personal relation in the Holocaust and asked for nothing in return. It all started in the year of 1938 when Winton was just 29 years old. He was a stockbroker planning a short vacation to Switzerland in December at the time he received a call from his friend Martin Blake. Blake asked him to come to Prague immediately, a plea that Winton answered as quickly as he could. When he arrived Blake asked him for help with thousands of refugees living in dismal camps. Prior to this, Winton had already been convinced Hitler’s Nazi Regime in Germany would spread through the rest of the world, and these awful conditions only seemed to him as mounting evidence of inevitable war. Thus, Winton knew he should act immediately to prevent the death of thousands. He decided the best way to save lives was to transport as many children as possible to Britain, but to do so they needed to have family living there already and a deposit of 50 Euros to give to the Home Office. Many of the children living in camps did not have the money to give nor a family to care for them. Though he was already involved in Kindertransport, an organization working to raise money to evacuate the children Winton began independent work in order to save more people.

                He set up office on Vorsilska Street where hundreds of concerned parents sought him out and answered questionnaires in order to secure the safety of their children. Most of these requests for help came from Prague as well as Slovakia to the east of the region, thus, Winton bestowed the help of Trevor Chadwick and Bill Barazetti so that he could return to England. Once back in England, he contacted governments he thought might take the children, though only Switzerland and Britain said yes. The latter only guaranteed passage to children under 18 years old who could find a family willing to pay 50 Euros to send them back home when it was over. While still working the Stock Market to provide for his own income, Winton dedicated his nights to working his newly founded “British Committee for Refugees from Czechoslovakia, Children’s Section” along with his mother, secretary, and a couple of volunteers. This organization worked not only to raise money for the funds of transport and up keeping of the children, but also to find families willing to take them into their homes. Then, he had to acquire the many necessary documents for transport which was hard because of the slow pace in which the government worked, making it necessary for forgeries. Finally, on March 14, 1939 the first transport left via airplane followed by seven more from the Prague Wilson Railway Station. The final destination was Liverpool, England where it was up to Winton to match each child to their respective foster parent. Overall, he managed to save 669 children throughout the seven transports. What makes this number even more amazing is the fact that the parents of almost all of these children died during the war, making it clear evacuation was indeed necessary. Even after the war had ended, Winton did not reveal his involvement in his rescue missions. It wasn’t until 1988 that his wife discovered a scrapbook proving his involvement that anyone even found out about his amazing efforts. Perhaps, one might say he only impacted this small area of the world, but to me it serves as inspiration for everyone else to take a stand when something of this nature occurs in the future. Furthermore, he received many awards for his deeds so other people must agree he is a man of magnitude. This includes; a letter of thanks from the former president of Israel, Honorary Citizenship of Prague, direct acceptance as an MBE by Queen Elizabeth II, and the Order of T.G.  Masaryk. The impact of his achievements is best represented by the inscription on a ring some of the rescued children gave him reading: “Save one life, Save the World.”

Okay so I’m not very good at poetry and my pattern ends towards the bottom but here’s my attempt.

Dreams

Dreams light up the sky like a starry night,

Filled with hope and anticipation,

Just waiting to take flight.

Everyone has one either big or small,

Its whether they chose to act on it,

That determines if it will come true at all.

If a person is too afraid to make a move,

They’ll find their dream starts to fade,

Until its too hard to prove,

That they ever even dreamt at all,

So take a step in the direction of your dream,

And don’t be afraid to fall.

Because if you’re dream comes true,

You’ll find out someday,

The falls you took to get there,

Were worth the pain.

Stereotypes

                Stereotypes are used every day, sometimes by people who do not even realize what they are doing. This is because some people are raised to believe certain things about a race, gender, religion, or any other type of classification of people. Perhaps, they grew up hearing their parents say negative things about homosexuals and how it’s a sin to be gay. If this occurred continuously the child may grow up holding a prejudice against homosexuals and even thinking it is okay to say inflammatory comments about them. Thus, stereotypes can be harmful because they may be etched so deeply into a person’s mind that they are ignorant of the group of people that they are hurting. Not only does this affect the prejudiced person in terms of feeling inclined to say politically incorrect things, but it also affects the group of people they are insulting. This is because if people hear negative comments about them it hurts and might make them ashamed of who they are. Take for instance, a homosexual who always hears on the radio, news, or even in school that gay people always have high pitched voices, exaggerated hand gestures, and other feminine qualities. Most likely, this person does not fit this stereotype and would be insulted to hear that other people think of gays the way they are usually portrayed on television. Furthermore, someone who is not gay, but perhaps has a higher voice or enjoys dancing might be picked on and called gay just because of the stereotype. This leads the person to feel bullied which can have immense psychological effects on them and break their faith in the human race. Therefore, stereotypes are harmful because they hurt the feelings of people being stereotyped as well as those around them and implant ignorant ideas in future generation. In some cases, it could even lead to genocide.

                Some crucial examples of stereotypes in our society are seen throughout the world. In the United States especially, there is a stereotype that all Muslims are terrorists. Surveys have been conducted and found that a person in line at an airport is more likely to be suspicious of a Muslim also boarding their flight than a Caucasian. Maybe this is because of the September 11^th attacks, and while I understand it was a tragic and frightening catastrophe, it is still no reason to suspect all Muslims whose paths we cross. Even if a Muslim is not outright accused of being a terrorist there is still a negative attitude emitted by many Americans. Other stereotypes are everywhere, even in High Schools like Watchung Hills. For instance, it’s often said that all Asians are smart nerds. Additionally, people say offensive and rude comments that Indians permanently smell like curry, all the cheerleaders are mindless and self-absorbed, and the football players only do well in school because they are favored. The former stereotypes are not only incredibly wrong, but also hurtful.

                To overcome stereotyping there are several key things that would need to take place. First, television programs and movies would need to stop depicting stereotypical characters such as the “dumb blonde cheerleader” and the “airhead football jock”. This is because the target audience is usually kids or teens who then take away this stereotype and apply it to their lives. If TV and movies started demonstrating how life really is, perhaps these stereotypes would not spread. In addition, it would be helpful if forms of the media such as newspapers, magazines, or news shows, started writing articles on what stereotyping is and why people should not do it. For instance, I once read an article in the “New York Times” about Muslims being stereotyped and bullied increasingly since September 11, 2001. After reading that article I formed a resolve to do what I could to stop the stereotype of all Muslims being terrorists from spreading and wrote a story about it in the 2006 “What Prejudice Means to Me” contest. Thus, if I can read an article and understand that stereotypes are wrong it is possible that more articles about similar topics will encourage other people to disband stereotypes. Furthermore, another way to overcome stereotypes would be to have meetings in either school, or other outside organizations where people of all different races, religions, etc gather in one room and talk about everyday life. Seeing how similar people actually are under their skin and away from the many stereotypes might disprove the stereotypes that have been floating around for ages. Though they are harmful and contaminate society everywhere, if everyone works together stereotypes can eventually be overcome.

Though all the websites Mr. Kanach provided were detailed and had an impact on me as I viewed them, the one that stood out the most was the Holocaust Personal Stories website(http://www.ushmm.org/museum/exhibit/online/phistories/). Ever since seventh grade when my Social Studies teacher assigned me a ten page paper on genocide I have felt emotionally connected to the topic. This is because my thesis for that paper was that diplomats always say “Never Again” but genocide is a reoccuring theme. Although we had learned about the Holocaust before, this really hit me deep because I studied the information more thoroughly in order to prove that although genocide was evident no one did anything to help until the later stages everytime it occured. The fact that people can stand by and allow the deaths of fellow humans astounds me. Thus, since genocide is a topic I already felt strongly about, I was easily able to feel moved by the personal stories of the Holocaust. This is because a person can study genocide for their whole life, but never truly know what it feels like to be the victim. However, first hand accounts provide insight and help to describe what it feels like to be victimized.

One of the stories I felt most impacted by was that of Dora Rivkina who was shot and drowned by the Germans when she was just nineteen. Perhaps, I was impacted by this one more than others because the site provides details about Dora such as her hobbies of dancing and swimming. These are two hobbies that I also enjoy so it was easier to picture this kind of tragedy happening to someone I know and realize it is real. Furthermore, the reason Dora was killed was because the Nazis stopped the group she was travelling with and asked them to identify any Jews. One of them indentified Dora, inevitably leading to her painful murder. For me, this is unimaginable and unforgivable because I personally would never be able to live with the guilt of having someone killed.

Another story that I found compelling was the one Agnes Adachi recounts about a Hungarian man named Raoul. Raoul followed the Germans and the captured Jews all the way to Austrian border and proceeded to read off a fake name of lists that were supposedly protected by his country. He managed to save one thousand people that day. This is inspirational because in a time when millions of people stood idly by, one man had the courage to save people he didn’t even know. Therefore, it gives me hope that if a situation like the Holocaust ever were to occur again that people like Raoul will take a stand.

When I woke up that day the first thing i saw was a blinding yellow. The bright color was too vibrant for my tired eyes and I shut them immediately upon contact. However, a slight vibration underneath my pillow urged me to open my eyes again. I quickly identified the source of the vibration as my cell phone alerting me to a new text from my friend Elen. “JONAS CONCERT TODAY =]” read the text. Ignoring the effect of the blinding yellow on my eyes I quickly sprung out of bed and flew out of my room. The mood in my mother’s room was much different. Instead of being greeted by the warm yellow that had awoken me it was a much duller blue, the sunlight was blocked by the blinds drawn shut over her window. With a quick yank I urged the curtains to open and this time welcomed the yellow that had previously irritated me. It took five minutes of coaxing, but finally my mom was up and getting ready for the long day ahead. It seemed as if for the next three hours of my day was filled with a bright pink as I put on our custom made concert t-shirts, and straightened my hair to perfection. Finally, at four I deemed myself ready and just in time too, as Elen had just rung my doorbell. The aura outside was a bright yellow just as it had been when I awoke as we giddily greeted each other and piled into my mother’s car. Five minutes later, our friends Gabriella and Sarah had arrived and we were on our way to Panara for a road snack. Unfortunately, that’s when the yellow was eclipsed by a gray. It took twenty minutes longer than planned to order our food, and my mom had to go back to the house because she forget her cell phone. When we finally set out again the gray deepened into a charcoal. Stupidly, I had ordered my usual chicken noodle soup which spilled all over me when my mother made a sudden turn. The scalding liquid burned my legs and left a stain on the fabric of my denim shorts. However, there was no time to turn back and for the duration of the ride I was uncomfortable and fidgety. One hour later, the charcoal was black. It seemed as if we would not make it in time for the concert since the traffic to get to the concert was more than we had anticipated. “Don’t worry,” Elen assured us, “There is still the two opening acts, we’ll make it on time.” Sure enough, the yellow light I had recently grown fond of peaked through and we made it to the concert with ten minutes to spare. When we finally entered the room it was filled with the most vibrant combination of red and yellow (conveniently jonas brothers colors) I had ever seen. Our seats were only 10 rows from the stage and we were so close we could almost touch them. Overall, it was a very bright day.

Dear Lea,

                It has been a year since my last leave, since the last time I saw you. My heart aches to be home with you. Not a single day passes by when I don’t see your face as I wake up. Yet I feel as though part of me will never be the same. I don’t know how else to tell you this, but I’ve changed. I’m no longer the same young schoolboy you knew two years ago. Nor the same injured soldier returning home briefly to visit his sick mother that you loved a year ago. The war has changed me for the worse, and I feel that my passion for life has ceased. You are the only thing that comforts me about returning home when the war is over and for all I know you have fallen in love with another man who can actually be home with you. Then what would I do without you? I no longer feel as if schooling is essential to life. Why should I return to finish school when there are men dying here daily to defend a war that politicians started? It’s not our fight and yet we die for it. We die and life goes on. Surely, knowing proper arithmetic cannot make this any better. I could be the most learned man in Germany, but with a simple uttering of the Kaiser I would be forced to return to the western front, forced to die for what he believes is right. How can the Kaiser be right, and the other side be right at the same time? What if they are both wrong and my fellow soldiers are dying for nothing? Will anyone mourn our deaths past a couple of months? Will we even be remembered? No, we are nothing but a pawn in our leaders’ game as they struggle to do something memorable. While they may be remembered we will not be. Yes, maybe they will remember regiment 7 who fought bravely, but certainly not John Himmel one of the men in the regiment.

Today my comrade Michael died. There was a bombardment and he took a shell to the stomach. He did not even have time to be rushed to the surgeons; instead he died in my arms. He is the third of my comrades to die thus far, and I fear he is not the last. I know it’s essential here to not let your emotions get the best of you, to remain stoic and impassive or you will certainly die of despair. However, I cannot pretend his death has not shaken me. Michael and I were together since before even training. He was with me when our schoolmaster persuaded me to enlist. I can only hope my other comrades do not die before me, if they do I’m not sure I can go on. My comrades are my only comfort here at the front where everyday there is an imminent chance of attack. In fact, just one day ago they saved my life. We had been taken by surprise when the French force let loose incessant fire and could do nothing but lay still and hope a shell did not cross our paths. It’s these moments, when an attack is unexpected that I lose my head. For a moment I was paralyzed by fear, certain I would be struck dead where I stood. But then, Al was there, pulling me down to the ground to take cover. If it had not been for him surely I would have gone insane.

Reflecting on what I have just written, perhaps it may be too much to tell you. When I first enlisted I vowed to never let you and my family know of the horrors we encounter while on the front. However, it was too much to keep bottled up inside me and while it may be overwhelming, I know you are strong enough to hear it. Furthermore, here at the front you can only hope to survive through chance and luck. I could die this very moment by a shell striking this dugout. I would not want to die withholding any information from you. This being said, I must return to my comrades since it is our turn to patrol and lookout for the enemy. I hope this letter finds you well, and if it is not too much of a bother, maybe you could stop by my mother to ensure that she is recovering.

                                                                                                                Love always,

                                                                                                                John Himmel