What I learned in language arts

In language arts I learned about Ethos. Ethos is about using the other person’s emotions to help your cause; whether it is a charity event or a murder trial. Like instead of writing 1 million people died of starvation, you would write something like this: The boy fell to the ground again. This time he could not get up. Tears streaming down his face he crawled to the bodies of his parents as his legs dragged uselessly behind him. He reached out his hand to touch his mothers arm. As soon as his finger brushed her too loose sleeve he collapsed. Gasping in pain he struggled to get up. His hands scraped against the rotting wood floor leaving splinters in his palm. "Mom..." he croaked his dry throat like sand paper. “Not you too. Don't leave me..." The boy pushed forward. As he grasped her hand he let go in shock. Her hand slapped against the floor with a thud. She was like ice. She was cold like death. She had left him too." Noo..." Croaked the boy, his throat to torn to wail like he wanted. "No..." The boy's head hit the floor. His shoulders drooped and he too would soon be ice cold. Such are the effects of starvation. Almost 1 Million people, 400,000 children, died this same way.
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In language arts I also learned about Mythology. Before I used to think that it was a fairy tale from the past, but now I know it's much different. Myths are stories from the past yes, but they're stories to represent what cannot be explained (usually involving gods). Questions like: Why am I here? What is my purpose in life?What happens when I die? A myth is used to explain all of those questions. Usually they used to believe that the sun and stars were some kind of god (Native Americans). They also used to make myths about gods that made the earth, stars, and us (Greek).There myths that you wouldn't have an after life unless your body was preserved (Egyptians). There were myths about everything. But the thing I learned was that a myth is not an old fairy tale, but an old story used to explain the mysteries of nature. The things that every human worries, wonders, and fantasizes about.
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I also learned how to be concise in my writing. Being concise meant that I would cut down on everything, and anything I didn't need in my writing. I didn't always need to be concise, but I now know how to much better than before. Like instead of writing a 16 word sentence I would write an 8 word sentence. For example: Instead of writing I went to the park with lots of pretty flowers to ride my bike, and play with my friends, and go on the swings, and smell the flowers, and play tag with my mom and brother; I would write I went to the park with my family to play and smell the flowers. That sentence was a lot better right? My teacher taught me to be short and sweet. It really helped me a lot. Thank you Mr. Fielder

Sand Dunes!

My family and I went to the sand dunes last summer. We had a great trip. We junked out. We played at the beach and each of us got buried. We climbed the dunes and rolled from the top. We stayed up all night in hotels and motels. We had a blast!

Prologue
Most babies are born crying but I was born silent. It’s not that I couldn’t talk, or scream, or cry, but more that I knew not to. From the time I was born I’ve known things. Most people called it a wix (That’s how they defined powers) but I’ve always thought of it as something else, something special; it was definitely not something to die over. Too bad I was the only one who thought that way.
~~***~~
Scotland
April, 6, 6881 Arana screamed. "Push ye slow woman!" a hard voice commanded. "Ye are taking too long. The babe will die! You will not kill my heir."
""Ah! Help me I'm t...tearin'...aparahhh!"
"Ye daft woman I waited nigh on ten years for this babe. Ye will deliver me my heir safe and whole!"
"Ayhh help!!!"
“Deliver the babe now.”
“P…pp…please!!”
“Now!!”
~~***~~
My mother died on the day of my birth. My father used to tell me, pride saturating his voice, that it was as if I was a bloody demon tearing through my own mother to reach the clean fresh air. Every year on my birthday he tells me the wonder of it. About how I rid him of a horrid woman who refused to bear children who inherited the Drameir, a power that took various forms in his line. I hate my father when he talks about such things. I've always wanted a mother, a family, and friends. But I'm his heir and I have to learn my ancestors’ ways. To destroy the government. To kill all the normal humans; everyone who has ever ridiculed, and laughed at us will now live in fear. Tomorrow is the first day of a new era, the day that my powers will manifest-my 15th birthday. My name is Ares, and like the Greek god of war my birthright is destruction.
Ch: 1
15 years later…
As I broke out in a sweat, the autumn leaves twirled and spun around me; the red and gold colors mixed and shone like bright stars in the morning sun. How wondrous I thought, that the great leaves of the earth welcome me on this day. To begin the war to kill the bloodthirsty humans. They who have been draining her life force for thousands of years. Today, my fifteenth birthday, I’m inheriting my powers along with the memories of all the other Axdars. I will become the ruler of my people and I alone will start the war for us and our new beginning.
I walked deeper into the forest, my feet bare, the dirt curling around my toes, and I breathed in the fresh damp air. My first rite of passage, to walk to the curve of the mountain and into the Spine—a holy place where my people go to receive their position, in accordance to their power. Being one of the last of a half-breed kind has made my blood weaker. If my powers are not strong then I am afraid the Drameir line will die out completely. I am the last chance to redeem my dyeing and scattered tribe.
When I was finally in front of the Spine I started to disrobe. It was sacred land. Everyone who has ever lived in my tribe was born in the Spine, and so came back into it as they did since their very first breath—naked. Taking the time to catch water from a nearby stream I bathed my body. I then placed my clothes in the shade of a mother oak tree. The only thing that I took with me was my Axdars pack; it was the one thing my people allowed within the shade of the Spine. I was cleansed and I was ready.
I walked into the spine, my feet firm upon the ground, my head held high. Anxiety forced my heart to pound a drum beat against my chest. “Bum, bum, bum!” It grew louder and harder with each step. The wind swirled around me; it yanked and pulled my hair hard-bloodying the roots.
The Spine was a clear meadow surrounded by ancient oaks and firs. Inside it had seven thin long rocks pointed toward the seven great stars, Mard, Leo, Rold, Tera, Forn, Meta, and Crus—the givers of Drameir. I took my sky blue pack and let it fall to the ground. “Plop…” I went to my knees and grabbed the Creia, a ceremonial dagger used on the Axdar blood leaders. I grabbed my long white braid and cut it off midpoint. The braid toppled to the ground, almost as long as I was—we weren’t allowed to cut our hair until we turned fifteen. My dark violet eyes, the tell tale sign of my race, narrowed in pain as I sliced my forearms, then my shins, my lower back, my cheeks, and along my forehead to the bridge of my nose. Blood formed a thick puddle at my feet. Pain laced my body and I wanted to drown in it. I took out a bottle, unlaced the stopper and dipped my head back. My body was on fire. My limbs burned. Soon all there would be of Ares was a pile of ash. Legs trembling I stood up. Gong to each star rock I gave the gods a sacrifice of blood. “Abmallin!” I breathed through gritted teeth. Give me life. “Abmallin!” I cried. I went to the center of the Spine. My Father watched me from the shadows, pride enveloping his features. Pride again I thought viciously. I hate his blasted pride! As I fell to my knees, dropping to the bloody grass like a stone, about to finally receive my powers, a single idiotic thought occurred to me, my father was a mad man; and then I fainted.


Chapter 2
To be continued…

A Fighters Life

The power of one changes everything

1/4/2010

Tatiana Rodriguez



A Tale depicting a young girl’s path to save the world

Prologue
Boom! He was coming and she had to get away. She ran as fast as her feet would carry her, cursing her pure blonde hair that called out like a beacon. “Come. Come to me. I’m right here.” it said. She knew that to be caught would mean death. It was why she’d run in the first place.
As she sloshed through the mud, feet heavy, chest heaving, she swiftly thought out a plan. She had to get to the pipe hidden in the waterhole. She understood that it was possible that he would find her on the way. But even so she thought, determination hardening her features, it was the only choice that she had. It was the only chance she had to get him off her trail. She had to take it.
Ayah suddenly veered off course. Before she had been following some old trails while trying to keep low. Now she was going through completely untamed land. As she ran the tree branches whipped across her face causing splotches of blood to splatter onto her rain soaked sweater. The only sign that she felt the pain were her narrowed her eyes as she drove forward. The under growth scratched and sliced her legs leaving rips of flesh and cloth in her wake like a trail of death.
“Boom!!” He was closer. She knelt into the mud, and sniffed the air. It smelled like them, heavy and rotten. He had gotten much closer- too close. She had to get away. She started off again, her feet slipping and pushing into the mud. She was starting to lose feeling in her left leg, and she panicked. Her sheer dread only added to her already frenzied pace as she scraped through the brambles. If she did not get there soon then all would be lost.
Then up ahead, like a long awaited dawn, she saw it. She was almost there. Relief washed over her. She could have laughed. But it was short lived. As she breathed in a sigh of relief she detected it, heavy, rotten, sharp, and bitter. He was almost upon her.
She zoomed under the bushes, and dove through the old dirt mound down the water tunnel that should cover her tracks. She shimmied down an old pipe and waited. It was cramped and that brought her torn legs into view. As she ignored them she tried to console herself with the thought that she would not be caught. She could not fool herself. She had a 50/50 chance of getting out of there at best.
“Boom, boom, crash!” She froze in mid breath. He was right above her. In the seconds that she waited her heart thumped as though it was determined to get an entire life time of beats. Her blood seared through her veins. Still she did not breathe. She heard his footsteps echo in the distance and she let herself relax. He was leaving. There was no other explanation for it. She suddenly felt giddy as her heart beat slowed. She would live!
As the adrenaline rush subsided she felt the full effects of the forest’s malice. Her abrasions screamed out in pain. So shocked by this sudden onslaught she moaned. Her hands covered her mouth and a lump grew in her throat. Too afraid to make a sound she waited and wondered. Would he find...
“Crashoom!!!” Even before finishing her thought, the world collapsed. She felt the old metal pipe tear and burst as a wave of pain shattered her leg. She saw the world explode around her as dirt and water sprayed the earth black. She felt a hand grab her collar and pull her out of the pipe’s broken remains. Her mind went blank as minds often do when under so much pain and terror. He was the hunter, she the hunted, and she had just been caught.


Two months earlier…

This is just the prologue! Please tell me what you think!