The Three Unicorns

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There was once two gods who looked over the world. One was sweet, gentle, and kind. Her name was  Alyssa. She grew crops every spring and made people fall in love with each other. She sent rainbows as a message to the people, telling them she was happy for them. The other was rotten, sly, and full of bad luck. He did not have a name, for he was too mysterious but the people called him Sorte which means “bad luck” or “misfortune” in Latin. He pulled spirits out of people when they died so they could move freely out of their lifeless bodies. He loved warfare and sent storms and other catastrophes when people were being cruel or lazy.

One day, Destiny decided to change the world a bit. The gods were all immortals and the world was always terribly dull for them as they lived on and on. So destiny gave Sorte and Alyssa creatures to help do their jobs. Sorte got lions; brutal  creatures that prowled the villages, growling at anyone who was doing what they weren’t supposed to do. Alyssa got horses with gleaming coats who came in times of hopelessness and danger to help. Horses seemed to be magical creatures for the villagers who were always treating them with absolute care whenever they came, giving them stables and juicy apples to eat when they stopped by. Sorte’s lions were also treated well, though the treatments stopped when the lions started attacking other animals within their stables. Soon, however, the humans got angry with the lions. They decided to hunt them down for they came so frequent that the mothers were afraid they would steal their children, the fathers protective of their livestock which always decreased in number every year. Soon people were sending out hunters to capture and kill the vicious beasts.

As for the horses, they soon became reliant on them. When there was trouble, the horses’ presence seemed to clear them away. So the villagers eagerly sought out to capture wild horses, forcing them to drain their power within the village. There was no sicknesses in the village anymore to remind children to wash their hands or lions to scare away thieves. Destiny was starting to become furious at the other gods, warning them that, if he must, he would remove their helpers and they would have to do their jobs themselves. The two gods, alarmed, begged mercy and Destiny reluctantly gave them another chance. Then the two gods decided to make their animals more powerful so that the villagers would not capture them. Sorte mixed his lions with eagles, giving them the head of a bird and the body of a lion. They escaped out of their stables with roars and soared into the sky where they circled, their acute eyes searching for any bad behavior; if any happened they would dive, beaks snapping, and rip the person with powerful, brutal claws. He called them griffins. As a goddess of kindness, Alyssa decided her creatures would not escape with force but with magic. She gave them horns. People watched, their mouths gaping, as their fortunes vanished before their very own eyes.

There were three particular unicorns who lived in three particular stables for a very long time. As soon as they were given the power, they vanished into the woods. One, a male, was named Thunder. He had been a transportation vehicle for the villagers and loved the freedom of galloping, sending goods from one place to another for trade, within minutes. He hated the weight he had to drag, however, so his escape was a good one. As soon as he was out, he knew his passion was running. So he transformed into a great stallion and galloped away. The second unicorn, Cloud,  had had a stable stationed next to where the Griffins patrolled the sky. She loathed the horrible creatures but secretly marveled at how they could stay aloft with their majestic wings. So once she was out of her horrid prison, she grew wings and flew herself across the sky, laughing with pure joy.

The last unicorn, unlike the other two, was satisfied with who he was. He just wanted to be wild and free and away, like Cloud, but did not want to change his form. He had a name, Rusty, but quickly disposed of it. Rusty was a name given by humans and he wanted to forget them. So he became nameless.

One day, while soaring beautifully across her favorite river, Cloud spotted Thunder sipping some water quietly. As soon as she saw his handsome form, something made her glide down. Perhaps it was because of loneliness, but the two instantly fell in love and mated, having lots of children. Happier than ever, Thunder and Cloud settled in a comfortable cave with a perfect view of the sunrises and sunsets. The third unicorn decided to visit his fellow companions a few days after. Seeing them so in love reminded him of his own loneliness so he became their children’s uncle, living in the cave with his friends.

The griffins meanwhile, were bored with coming every year or so to the village to chase away a couple of rowdy kids. So they took to hunting in their spare time, seeking the best meats for themselves. They hunted in packs, glaring at any poor creature before lounging for the first bite then attacking each other for the leftovers. It happened that one day, they smelled the blood of Lily, a fair unicorn and the daughter of Thunder and Cloud. As soon as they lumbered into the unicorns’ cave, the parents neighed an alarm and Lily and the others ran for their lives.

But the griffins weren’t interested in the children. They were more or less hungry for the parents. Cloud screeched a warning to her mate and flew out of the cave, zooming out of sight. Some griffins took off to chase her but failed to catch her fleeting form as she raced below the open sky, a master of air. The last unicorn simply vanished on the spot, confusing the griffins as they looked around stupidly. Poor Thunder, however, was a powerless pony against a pack of ravenous griffens. He could run but not nearly enough and the griffins soon caught up with him, tearing him into bloodied flesh. After a minute or so of scrambling to get a bite from the griffins, he was no more.

Sorte found the whole event quite amusing. He decided to play with his griffins, sending them after the unicorns’ foals and placing a curse on them saying that they could not eat any other prey. Cloud and Thunder had many arguments about weather or not to mate for their species’ sake. Cloud, anguished by her terrible loss, refused to even look at her companion who, despite his grief, knew the job must be done. So they finally mated for their species and unicorns lived on.

 

The Lesson Learned

The Three Unicorns, by me, was written not only for your entertainment but for us to realize how lazy we’ve become. Sorte represents the majority of the population; the ones who are never bothering to recycle or even work. Cloud represents my mom and Thunder represents my grandfather who, as he grew older, also grew less in strength. My grandfather was hit with cancer and we do not know if he is going to even survive. The majority of cancer can not be helped, like Thunder’s epic death. Thunder wanted to be a horse because he couldn’t help it: He loved running. I hope this story makes you realize how deadly things can be.

Give Me A Reason

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Give Me A Reason

By Ariana Eshraghi

The stars twinkle merrily, sending the city a spotlight,

Billions of golden, shining beams giving me a reason to smile.

The moon glows quietly, covering the sun in silvery smoothness,

One, shining, silver coin giving me a reason to cry.

The sun rises past the mountains, bathing them in a fierce light,

A fiery ball of blinding, burning gold giving me a reason to hope.

The sky, so vast it reflects the land, a peaceful tranquil blue,

A shadow of love, so pure and sweet,

It gives me a reason to love.

Wild Survivors

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Sally and Max ran from home to live in the wild. They built their home on a quiet meadow, far away from the city. They dug up some dirt and mixed it up with clay from a nearby river, sun baking it into blocks. These were called adobe, invented by native Americans long ago. The two friends had learned that in social studies class before they decided to leave. “It will be useful for the wild,” Sally said to Max at the beginning of the Indian unit. Max had been eager to get going. But Sally wanted to learn about how the Indians survived in the wild. Maybe, she thought, they could make a tribe of their own using a combination of all the past tribes’ cultures. Max liked the idea so they started out with adobe-brick houses. They also grew a garden of good vegetables and gathered wood from the nearby forest in case they would have to travel fast from predators or other hostile creatures. Then they made a schedule on huge bush leaves, scratching in the words with Max’s sharp stone, found at the river. Sally woke up early to smear mud on herself to look Indian-y and repel the bugs  before gathering firewood and herbs. All day after that, she would  weave their clothing from other huge leaves and the long, wavy grass that grew in the meadow. Her old cloths from her house were used as wash cloths and were far too dirty to be worn again.

Max woke up at exactly the same time as his friend and set out to hunt. While looking for game, and possibly some fresh, tasty, wild berries, he would gather freshwater from the river and gather huge tree branches in case he and Sally would ever face the prospect of running away. He also sharpened his rock on other rocks and carried huge, jagged boulders back to Camp. He and his friend were currently working on building a big stone wall around their space. It would mark their territory and, if it came to fighting predators such as wild wolves, they could simply hurl rocks while being protected by their structure. Today, Max found the perfect boulder. He dutifully picked it up along with today’s hunt-three squirrels, a couple of defense stones, and his own sharp rock.

Max had found his rock when he first explored the area with Sally. He had tripped near the river and fallen. He hadn’t been seriously injured but he had a deep wound from the rock. Amazed more than in pain, he had picked up the rock and called it his own. With enough patience and good enough stones for sharpening, he now had an even sharper, even more dangerous rock for defense.

Sally pulled out weeds. Instead of throwing them out, she took the greenest stalks and blew on them. The weeds made a sound kind of like a duck, but an animal responded. The animal was a sheep named Snowstorm. Her coat was grey and her kind was rare. Sally began clipping her fur with wooden sheers, tipped with stone. The sheep responded by baying and walking away. Sally let her go. Snowstorm was a free spirit, and was not meant to be cooped up in some kind of farm.

Sally started sawing at a tree, using a stone ax Max had stolen from his father when they escaped, until she found a piece of rope buried in the ground. Confused, she stuffed it in her pocket. Then she wandered a little farther into the wood. Sure, why not? The more you explore, the more you discover, right? She passed through the dense greenery and emerged on the other side, which was packed with snow. She couldn’t believe her eyes.

   Rearing on its muscular hind legs was a brilliant white horse. Its coat gleamed in the sunlight and its eyes were glassy, black pearls of intelligence. The horse snorted, and Sally knew he was getting ready to bolt. She had to act fast if he were to be hers. How amazed Max would be! Even if the occasional stallion trotted around their house, they never managed to capture it. It wasn’t worth it anyway.

Sally had no idea how to capture such a beauty, though. All she had was a flimsy piece of twine and an ax, which she doubted the stallion would take kindly to. She used the weeds she picked up earlier and threw them at the horse. He snorted suspiciously, pawing the snow, sending ice flying in every direction.

Smiles

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The world is like a mirror. If you face it smiling, it smiles right back.☺

I wanted to start my post with that quote from Poem Graphic #66

www.desicomments.com | this website.

I would like to teach you something about computer graphics, today. I learned this from my friend, Rachel. If you are wondering what computer graphics have to do with smiling, I will get to that in a moment.

There may not be one on every keyboard, but if you look closely, you may see a number keypad on yours. On the keyboard below, the keypad is to the right, with big numbers, next to the vertical ENTER key. Have you noticed all my recent posts have smiley faces? Not regular ones like “;)” but ones like “☺”? If not, click on the RECENT POSTS tab. If so, you have just seen a glimpse of what I will teach you.

 

 

The keyboard picture source is: http://www.foreignlanguagekeyboard.com/images/Large%20Print%20Keyboard%20White%20on%20Black.jpg

 

If you press and hold the ALT key, in this case to the left of the space bar (long bar in the middle) and then press any key on the keypad, you will come up with little images such as:

•

◘

○

♦

♣

♠

☺

☻

♥

You can even type double-digits (to create letters) and triple-digits:

§

╚

{

±

╩

^

█

┌

Try some combinations of your own in the comments below!☺☻☺☻☺☻☺☻☺☻☺

 

Note: I do not think this works with macs for all you mac people.

 

 

 

My Stories

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Here are some feedback questions for my pieces. When you comment, consider answering the questions that follow based on each story I have posted on this blog. Refer to the stories if you need to.

This feedback paper refers to Moonlight at the Beach, The Three Unicorns, and Burning ice. Pick letter choices for each individual story.

1. What do you think of the title of each of the stories?

a) The titles do not match the writing at all. What I expected from [this] piece is not what was shown. The title was not well-thought and the author did not spend enough time thinking of an appropriate choice.

b) The title was O.K and fit the story, but it could have been better. It is appropriate for the piece but poorly chosen. I think the author should at least rethink of a better title suited for this piece.

c) The title is perfect for this writing. It brings out the tone and mood of the piece. It was well-thought out and cleverly chosen. I recommend the author not change the title.

d) None of the above. I have my own opinion:_________________________________________________________________________________________________.

2. What do you think of the ending of this piece? Does it really leave you yearning for more or is it brief and boring?

a) The ending was not very cleverly written. When it ended, I did not wonder about the cliffhanger, if there was any. It was a bad way to end a piece like that. I strongly advise the author to revise the whole ending from paragraph number ___ to paragraph number ___.

b) The ending left me thinking about it, but did not affect me as much as it could. Weak ending and minimum signs of making the reader think about what she or he just read. I suggest the author think about editing some sections.

c) FANTASTIC! The cliffhanger, if there was one, left me wondering about what happened. If there wasn’t one, the end paragraph(s) is beautifully written and I wouldn’t tire if asked to read the last section again.

d) None of the above. I have my own opinion:_________________________________________________________________________________________________.

3. How good is the story itself?

a)  Poorly written and very bad. The hook did not capture my attention and the story did not make sense. The cliffhanger, if there was any, was weak and I strongly advise you revise the whole piece.

b) There are very few grammatical mistakes and I do not like some of the writing, but overall, it was good.

c) Everything is nearly perfect or very perfect. The words are carefully chosen and very colorful. Wouldn’t change anything.

4. Check every dot that is true in your opinion.

  • I love this story.
  • I dislike this story.
  • This story affects me
  • This story brings me to tears.
  • This story teaches a lesson.

Thanks for giving me your opinion!!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

Eragon

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I was looking at my posts the other day and was absolutely delighted when I found my I Am Number Four book review had gotten many comments, all of them compliments, and some of them saying how the person had read the book and loved it. Thank you to all my viewers who commented! You have inspired me to make another post on another of my favorites. This series is one I am currently reading, so please don’t spoil if you have already read it!

But first thing’s first. To all of you I Am Number Four fans, the new book, Fall of Five, has just come out! I haven’t read it yet because it has been checked out at the library and there are no copies left, but I know someone who has and I know it’s very good! Again if you are one of those early-readers who buy new books the day they come out, please don’t spoil anything!

Now for my recommendation. The Eragon series is very good. It is about dragons and dragon riders who fight Shades, who are people who have summoned spirits that have consumed them. I don’t recommend this book to anyone who does not like deaths in books. There is a couple within the whole series, and I have already read a few, even though I’m only on the second book! For those of you who love action however, this book is not some fairy-fantasy tale. The books are around 400 pages long, but they are so good, anyone who doesn’t like reading would get pulled through them. Also, if you have read the I Am Number Four series, you would probably like

Burning Ice

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In my other post, Moonlight at the Beach, I described the exuberant sensation of soothing water at the beach, on a full-moon night. I described the senses of the waves. I was not expecting it, but I did receive a comment! I, as a writer, love writing. Last time I was itching to write about short stories like The Three Unicorns. Then, after that, I had a deep interest in sensations like in Moonlight at the Beach. Now I will continue that route by describing to you the horrible feeling of being freezing, and end on a happier note. I highly encourage you to get cozy and warm before reading this and please don’t drink or eat anything cold.

Imagine…

A dark figure looms above you. Darkness rolls off of its billowing cloak and you can not see any features of its face except for its golden cruel eyes. “Youuuuu,” it hisses with acid. “You…will…pay…” You squeak in alarm and try to move but shadowy tendrils seep out and hold you fast. Their grip is solid iron and very strong for shadows. You are immobilized in fear.

The figure laughs quietly. Its shape is a mass of swirling gloom, changing and molding and overlapping each other. The dark creature narrows its eyes and they start pulsing red. Shadowy tendrils dart from its body.Your heart quickens but you are transfixed in the monsters burning glare. The eyes slowly grow bigger until all you can see is two burning coals that seem to roll off fury in waves so strong, you can barely save yourself from toppling over.

You wake up in a winter misery land. The lush snow behind you fall in clumps. Your clothing is damp, thin , and cold. Your shoes are already sinking in snow. You breathe raggedly and they puff out like miniature clouds. You stagger to a hump and scoop it up, sucking meekly at the ice. It only seems to make your throat drier than it already is.  You clutch at your neck now as night falls. You look up at the twilight sky, gazing at the stars. There is a supernatural silence in the air that makes your breathing sound like blizzards. Things hiss, snarl, and grow around you. Something thumps near. But when you look at the stars, tiny glowing orbs, your fear goes away.

It seems like minutes even though it is actually hours going by when you stare at the dark sky. Everything around you goes quiet, even the heavy breathing of darkness. It is a calming quiet, the peaceful one of sleep. Suddenly, there is a breeze, and you hear whispers on the air. You tense, ready to run if needed, but there are no creatures out there.

You hear it again, louder, sweet murmurings that float past your ears, barely out of reach. You notice warmth spreading throughout your body. The claws of hunger and thirst have stopped scratching.

Then, silence.

You hear it softly at first, three pure notes in usion. They are the sweetest sounds you have heard. The melody continues, the hum filling the air around you with joy. Monsters scuffle away, growling. One of the floating voices laugh, a tinkling sound, like tiny bells. The air all around you is so light and happy, you can almost see the light. The melody continues to drift all around you and the darkness darts away, as if allergic.

The song ends with flourish, one high note sounding before they vanish. The sun comes up, and the scene begins to change. The hump you attempted to drink from brightens into the color of your bed covers and the snow surrounding you gets revived of color. The sun leaks through your window, bathing you in gold. But you can still listen to that ending pitch of the beautiful song, almost recognize it. Then you do recognize it.

It was hope.

Moonlight at the Beach

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The following is a required assignment from my English teacher however it can also be used to calm stressed minds. Enjoy!

Imagine…

You walk along the beach in the soft moonlight, the sand making no sound under your gritty feet. You sniff the sharp smell of sea salt. You stop and take a deep breath, drinking in your surroundings; the swish of rolling waves, the quiet whisper of the breeze, the shining moonlight on your back. It feels great. You roll your shoulders and keep walking.

The water suddenly beckons to you, gravitating you closer. It looks so gentle, so tranquil, like a smooth jade surface. The soft roll of the waves lures you in, spotlighting their brilliant blue-green sheen in the gleaming moonlight. You step a little closer and the water does not hesitate to wrap around your ankles, dragging you in. You laugh as you stumble forward into the sea, splashing with the glistening water. It swirls around you and you finally recognize a new emotion you have not had ever since your troubled days had begun.

It is pure, exuberant joy.

The water pulls away, retreating into the sea’s deep depths, pleading you to join it. It slides away leaving velvety sand in its wake, dragging your worries away. You do not notice the time racing by as you stare into the voluminous green mass before you. You are transfixed to the water, and can’t help but gaze into the brilliantly white foaming waves as they gracefully dance around you.

For a moment, there are no thoughts in your mind. In fact you are feeling nothing but the shallow rush of the sea’s soothing fingers, massaging your stress until it is no more before slipping back upon itself. Its churning rush relaxes your tense muscles and just the relieving aroma of sea water puts you into a deep sleep, your heart pounding to the rhythm of the rolling waves.

In, out.

In, out.

             In, out.

     In, out…

 

Drowning in Madness, Draft One

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The following is an English project of an essay from my personal experience. To answer any questions about if this story is true, yes it is, to a certain extent. Some things are a bit over exaggerated, but I really did go through everything on there. Please comment on thoughts and suggestions on this story. It is my first draft, after all, and will be edited. I will highly consider your suggestions and may use them on my next draft, which I will post as soon as I’m done.☻

Drowning in Madness

   I was being strangled and choked until my eyes bulged and my nose filled with jagged stones and sand.  I was being slapped on concrete-like water over and over again until my vision went dark and red spots danced in front of my eyes. I was being pounded into the rough rocks on the shore until I thought I was going to pass out from all the pain. My vision blurred and I became certain I was going to die.

Immobilized from the icy water, I attempted to claw my way to the sweet, delicious air above. I was unsure if I was even going in the right direction. By now, my head was throbbing and my lungs were screaming for air. I decided the only way up was to float so I clutched my rigid, trembling body and hoped I was going to survive.

Suddenly, I started to rise. My heart leapt and I dared to open my eyes to a squint. I gasped and immediately salty water scratched my throat and derived my lungs of the only breath it had to keep me going. I felt a burning urge to breathe, a torturing scream erupting from my whole body and draining the last drop of energy I had. Still, I went higher, the thought of air being my only bridge to consciousness.

Soon I felt a sixth sense; one that was barely out of reach, tell me that I was breaking the surface. I plunged out of the water and welcomed the brilliant light. I gulped in air, breathing deeply in the warm sun. For a moment, everything was just as I imagined it; the sun fingering my face with its golden rays; the clear, fresh, ocean breeze; and the small splashes of rolling waves. I breathed it all in before I heard the roar of angry waves crash down on me, yanking me away from the heavenly senses, dragging me to reality. Despair filled me as I was once again dunked underwater. But this time, the water didn’t give me the freedom to move; it swirled around me, holding me in place while its waves whipped me repeatedly.  It was so anguishing that by the time I was being pulled up again, I was unconscious.

I’m in a vast space that seems to be filled with blue. There is nothing in the room but a moldy old unfinished dragon statue, a lot taller than myself.  Its tail is a stump, cracked with age and it has no texture, as if the artist could not finish it; its skin is smooth stone and provides a faint glow of its own, as if somewhere in the old carving, there is a real dragon, yearning to come out.

   I cannot speak at all though I try. Losing interest in the massive sculpture, I walk around the room. It is a plain one and there are no doors or windows. The intense blueness of this place is scary. I turn around and walk back to the dragon and touch its cold skin. It sends tingles through my arms and I can feel the power in it, moving like electricity. Then I walk around to its broad snout and look into its eyes. This time I shiver; the marble pearls look pleading for life, as if the dragon had been trapped in there for eternity. The dragon looks tortured, like there are thousands of invisible weights on its back and I feel sorry for it. It seems to send out pain in waves and when I step away, I swear the eyes of the beast twitch towards my direction.

I whirl back to look at the room again and wonder when this would end. I f I am stuck here, surely there is a purpose. Suddenly, I hear a roar and there is a blinding flash of light. I turn around to look at the dragon sculpture again, but it isn’t an ordinary statue any more. The mouth of the dragon glows orange then a brilliant golden color, and so does the rest of the dragon, the golden gleam creeping slowly down the dull, grey body. The dragon stretches, flexing each muscle as they start to gleam. The only part that doesn’t change is its intelligent eyes which dart around before settling on me.

“Do not be afraid,” the dragon rumbles. “I am simply here to let you go.” I still cannot speak. It is as though my mouth has gone dry. “You are unconscious dear,” the dragon booms. “I am sorry you had to go through such terrifying pain to see me.” She lies down on the floor and sighs. She looks exhausted.

“Why am I unconscious?” I manage to rasp. The room suspiciously smells of salt. “Because you are cold,” the dragon says gently and sweeps an immense wing around me, scooting me closer, “and because you gave up.” Immediately, I feel warmth seeping into my body which, I realize, was icy cold. “What do I have to do to come out of this dream then?” I ask, my voice suddenly clearing. It is as though the dragon’s kindness is feeding me energy, giving me strength. “Nothing, dear,” soothes the dragon. She swings her enormous head to gently lick my cheek. The spot her tongue touches suddenly feels fresh, like skin on a newborn baby. I suddenly feel tired, the warmth luring me to sleep..“Just look deep into my eyes and swear to me that no matter what, you will never give up on your goal; that no matter what, you will try and try again. All you have to do is nod, dear; all you have to do is nod.”

  “Will I ever see you again?” I plead. I am starting to like the dragon and the simple room. The dragon sweeps me a little closer and her flank is surprisingly warm in the icy place. “Hopefully no, you will not have to see me again. I am only here to those who give up easily. But if you swear and keep your word, you will always remember me. Please dear, please.” Her liquid eyes quivers and I can see a tear slide down her shiny cheeks, turning into a solid crystal before clinking to the floor. I could already hear the gentle swoosh of waves, luring me back to the ocean, and the foaming white of waves. She looks beautiful but tired and sad she has to leave me.

I nod, and she goes rigid, still as death itself. Then she begins to transform into her statue self again, her stump of a tail transposing into its original dull shade of grey, her polished scales smoothing into cold stone.  All that remains of her sleek self is her eyes, two orbs that seemed to droop with the peacefulness of one more weight lifted off her back and look at me with an intensity of love. The roar of waves is louder now, a deafening challenge. But this time I don’t even flinch; I will keep my word to the dragon. I pick up the crystal on the floor. It still shines. Then I close my eyes. “I swear”, I say, my voice strong.

   “Thank you dear,” I hear a soft whisper, quavering with relief.

  “Thank you.”

I wake up to the icy touch of water and begin peddling back to shore, ignoring the hopelessness that is still tugging at my brain. I notice I am still clutching the crystal in a tight grip. Despite the dragging waves, I manage to make it back on shore. When I arrive, my family swarms around me with a staggering amount of questions but I do not tell them about the dragon. I am not ready yet.

The trip to the beach was supposed to be a vacation. After playing in the sand, my mother had scolded me, telling me that I would have to go for a swim in the wild water and wash off all the sand before I could step back in the car. Overall, I learned from the dragon that giving up was nearly another word for dying and that I shouldn’t do that. It was a strange and terrifying experience but if I had not gone through it, I would have not met the dragon and learned the lesson for years to come. Although I do not say it, whenever someone tells me that very lesson I think it’s the Dragon’s lesson. As for the crystal, I still have it, to this day.