Comparing Two Themes

The White Uniform - The theme of The "White Uniform" is that people only judge based on what they see, not what they know. The Lady says that people will be able to distinguish her from everyone else because she has "class", but when she decides to switch clothes with the Maid no one can tell that she is the actual Lady. The people who come up to stop them from fighting only see a woman wearing a maid's uniform and one wearing a terry cloth. They don't see the people, they see what they are wearing. Most people only look at the surface and see only what they want to see. If they happen to wear a maid's uniform, then they must be a maid, no doubt about it. No matter what we think of people, they will most likely base all of our actions on how we look instead of the logical choice of waiting to see how we act. The reason people dress fancy (suits mostly) is because they know that first impressions are everything, and first impressions are born from what we wear.

Trifles - The theme of "Trifles" is to not assume what we do not know and not to overlook anything. In "Trifles" the Sheriff and County Attorney both assume that Mrs. Wright killed her husband, and so does Mr. Hale. The women, on the other hand, both think that she is innocent, and they unwittingly search for clues to prove that their thoughts are correct. When they do happen to find something that the men fail to notice, they look for a way to link it to Mrs. Wright's innocence. In most cases this works, but sometimes they inadvertently find a possibility that proves that she is guilty, such as the dead bird they find stashed in the box, which holds many possibilities for both sides. On one end, John could have killed the bird and she just wanted to bury it out of sadness. Or, she could have killed it out of anger at the way John has been bringing her down all these years, and then after, she could have snapped and killed John outright. Or perhaps there is a third or fourth reason that I haven't listed.

The difference between "The White Uniform" and "Trifles" is that one story deals with the phrase "judging a book by its cover", and the other story deals more with the differences between men and women. The two stories aren't very similar, with two very diverse themes.

Stream of Consciousness

There's not much on my mind. I saw the title "Stream of Consciousness" and immediately thought of the song "Stream of Consciousness" by my favorite band of all time, Dream Theater. It's a very good song, even if it is an instrumental. But other than that, there's not much else making residence in my head. Just the usual stuff, like school and whatnot.

Actually, I do have movies on my mind. This Sunday is the Oscars. In and of itself, there's not much to be ecstatic about, but this year is different than all of the others because this year: 10 movies are battling it out for Best Picture. That's about 6 more movies than any other year that have been nominated for the prestigious award. It's also the first time that an animated movie has been nominated for Best Picture (Pixar's UP, of course) since Beauty and the Beast back in 1991. Even though I really want UP to win, it might be difficult seeing as how so many other great movies were nominated as well. I'm not going to worry about Avatar, The Blind Side, Inglorious Basterds, and Precious, but The Hurt Locker, An Education, Up in the Air, A Serious Man, and District 9 are all serious contenders. UP will of course win Best Animated Picture (it is Pixar after all), but to me that's not enough.

While this year's Oscars will be certainly be entertaining, there are some nominations that leave me wondering: why? Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen already became the secong highest grossing film of the year (right after Avatar), but from what I've heard, it is also one the worst. And yet, it has been nominated for an Academy Award. Even though it is just Sound Mixing, it still pisses me off that such a horrible movie is even getting a nomination. Also, the recent Harry Potter film, The Half-Blood Prince, received a nomination for Best Cinematography, which I think is going a little overboard. While I do enjoy the movies (the books on the other hand, I absolutely love), I don't think this year's iteration was deserving of any awards. But I bet the MTV Movie Awards will say differently. I don't know how I feel about the 4 nominations for Star Trek though. I haven't seen the movie, but from what I've heard, it's actually pretty damn good. But I have to see it to believe it.

From what I've seen, this year's Oscars look to be a fight between Up in the Air, UP, Inglorious Basterds, Avatar, Precious, and The Hurt Locker for most nominations. I can't wait until this Sunday.

Movies are the thing mostly on my mind. With that said, I guess my opening sentence is a lie. There are many a things on my mind, and most of that involve that long American fixation on cinema.

Literary Treasure

"You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust,
I'll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I'll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops.
Weakened by my soulful cries.

Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don't you take it awful hard
'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines
Diggin' in my own back yard.

You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air,
I'll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I've got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history's shame
I rise
Up from a past that's rooted in pain
I rise
I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise."


The reason why I chose this poem over all of the other great pieces of poetry is because I actually did an essay on "Still I Rise" by Maya Angelou back in 6th grade. I remember it as clear as day because it was the first time I used my newfound writing ability. Before, I did an essay on why uniforms were useless back in one of my old schools and was praised for having an amount of writing skill I didn't even know I had. Writing was never my favorite task in school, not because it was hard, but because I didn't enjoy having to write everything by hand. After that essay though, writing became one of my favorite things to do, even more so after I learned to type and writing became a lot less of a strain on my most precious of utensils. My teacher loved my "Still I Rise" essay so much that she kept my last line on the classroom board for about a month and even told other classes about it (I confirmed this, my friends who had her for other classes told me). In fact, I think I still have a copy of it.
"Still I Rise" is not a complicated poem, but it resonates with everyone. It could stand for woman's suffrage, standing up to people, or anything else someone could pick from this twig of themes. I, however, know that it is a poem about Angelou and her fight against the oppressors of her ancestors, her slave ancestors. It's actually more about having a possitive attitude about even the most bleak occasions, as evidenced by the second and fifth stanza. Please excuse me if I don't seem very ecstatic about writing this. It was hard back then, and now it's just uninteresting because I have already written about it. Every single line is about her attitude about all of these malicious lies. The first few lines deal with her attitude about the history that "they" have written about her and her ancestors. The next few stanzas deal with her act about everything in general, how her oppressors had wanted her defeated, destroyed, broken, but she keeps a positive mind throughout all of the hardships. These stanzas have more of a pschological warfare feel to them. She turns the tides on her foes by not bowing to their abuse, and instead keeps them paranoid by not reacting in the way they want her to. Erratic behavior is the most terrifying thing to face, and she knows this. There's even one stanza where she describes that even though "You may shoot me with your words, You may cut me with your eyes, You may kill me with your hatefullness", she still, like air, manages to rise.
The last stanzas deal directly with her past, the lives of her ancestors. "Out of the huts of history's shame...Up from a past that's rooted in pain". She's describing their lives, and how they affect her and the rest of the African-Americans seeking freedom. "I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide, Welling and swelling I bear in the tide, Leaving behind nights of terror and fear...Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear...Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave, I am the dream and the hope of the slave". She depicts a future where her people can live freely and without fear of the past, of the things her enemies have accused them of.
Overall, it really is a simple poem, but a powerful one nonetheless. After reading this back in 6th grade, I finally realized why Maya Angelou truly is one of the best poets out there. Simple, but with a force that rocks the world. That is Maya Angelou.

Vocabulary Narrative

Anomalous

I was looking for a word to use in my Vocabulary Narritive, and I found anomalous in a list of synonyms for the word unique. Anomalous means "deviating from normal, usual", but I think individuality doesn't exist. Individuality is like that saying "monkey see, monkey do", you only copy what you see. I see it all the time, teenagers thinking they're different, except they look exactly the same as the monkey next to them. That's essentially what the world is filled with: monkeys. We do what we see, with no rational thought other than the fact that someone else is doing it. We are a planet of apes copying other apes that have most likely copied even more apes. We are a planet of mirrors, mimicing those around us, reflecting someone else's ideas, look, sound, and thoughts. We are rain, falling towards one goal. Though we think we will land in different areas, we change our thoughts after we crash with another drop, another mirror, another monkey, another human, another mime. We are a world of plagiarists, writing what other plagiarists have written, and calling it our own. "Monkey see, monkey do", the phrase that guides humanity, and you know what? It's completely fine, because sometimes, when we are tired of copying, we improve on our lines, and something new is finally created. Which is then quickly copied. We are mirrors, and one day we will crack, and when that day comes, our reflection will become distorted. Do you know what happens when our reflection is changed? We give other mirrors false information, and the original will stay that way forever.

Wildcard Essay

“Why did you do it?”
“Simple: humanity deserved it.”
The prison cell was cold and dark; fitting for a man like him. His face was half hidden in shadow, the other half illuminated by the light of the sun seeping between the bars of his only window, intensely magnified in contrast to the darkness. It was 10 am; it took me 2 hours to obtain clearance to interrogate him. I was tired and hungry, having gained no sleep in excitement for this day; and being in such a hurry to get here, I was unable to enjoy some coffee and my usual breakfast consisting of a nice omelet and some sausage. However, food could not distract me from one of the most important days of my career. After one long year, the government decided to allow a few journalists to interview Erik Farran, and fortunately I was the perfect candidate for first pickings. It was a long morning, and I knew it was going to be a long interview. My recorder stood by, gulping down every syllable. This man was its sustenance.
“What do you mean by ‘humanity deserved it’?”
He gave a slight chuckle, as if amused by my question. Then he said, “You vultures are all the same, aren’t you? You continue to dig, deeper and deeper into the rotting carcass of life, overjoyed by your delectable meal; but you never realize that you were never a part of this ‘success’. You swooped in after the deed was done. It was someone else’s meal, not yours.”
His words were confusing. They were delivered with a deep voice, calm, yet terrifying nonetheless. Even in shackles and filthy clothes, this man was still emanating strength and respect. It was amazing. I remained sitting, still, and he took it as a sign of understanding, because then he said, “This story was meant to be left alone, but you…journalists,” he said the word with such disgust, I wouldn’t have been surprised if he had spit on me right after, “had to go sniffing it out anyway. You can’t change what happened to those people. No one can.”
At his last words, I could’ve sworn I heard a hint of remorse. Or it could’ve been my mind playing tricks on me, or, it could’ve been his mind playing tricks on me. He was giving off a strange vibe, I couldn’t explain it. It overwhelmed me for a moment; but I had to get back to the interview, readers at home were counting on me.
“So you say we journalists are simply the discarders of the human being’s past?”
He stared for a moment, emotionless. The sun was starting to come up now, more of his face appeared: he looked to have been at least 20 years older than he actually is – which is 22 years according to my sources – his face had numerous scars etched all over it, thrown into greater relief because of the low hanging sun. There were spots under his eyes, as if he hadn’t slept since that fateful day on September 11, 2001. Though, while he did look frail and about to fall over, he was still sitting straight and speaking without error. He was well built, probably not able to fight an army, but able to hold his own in a scuffle. Apparently, being chained in a cell only 3 times bigger than himself didn’t detract him from maintaining his physique.
“No, I’m saying that you journalists are the fungus of humans. You take something dead, and use it to make something new. You may think you’re doing something good for the world - and most times you are - but there are times you just have to stop.”
I thought about these words for a while. I still didn’t know what he was going at.
“What are you going at? Do you have a hatred for news, or journalists? Or perhaps it’s a hatred of something deeper?”
I could tell he was getting annoyed. By my supposed idiocy or by something else I didn’t know, but he was getting angry, that much was obvious.
“Forget about that, that story is for another day. For now let us continue on what your readers are craving the most: why I destroyed the Twin Towers.”
I wanted to question him more on why he hates the news media, but there was such finality to his tone that I dared not pester him anymore. I had to remember that the interview would continue so long as he decides to.
“Agreed; so can you tell me why humanity deserved such a horrible attack?”
He seemed to be contemplating an answer to my question before he actually answered it, and what he said first was not what I wanted to hear. “Whether or not my action was a ‘horrible attack’ is a matter of perspective. You believe it was ‘bad’, I believe it was just.” His words on ethics was not the answer I was looking for, however, he did give me a response. “Humanity deserved it because they brought it on themselves. From a young age I understood more about life than anybody else, even people who were older than me, which was everybody. I had to endure pain and suffering as a young child, and I regret none of it. From that pain emerged knowledge, and from that knowledge emerged understanding. I’ve used that understanding to this day, from small debates with my friends at school, to arguments about, well anything, with my colleagues. Understanding is the key to figuring out everything in the universe, and I have used it well. I have travelled farther in space than anybody else in existence, I have conquered more than anybody ever dreamt of, and I have created more than God supposedly ever could. I am the greatest being in existence, because I understand more than anyone else. The rest of humanity could join me and my reign of enlightenment, but instead they choose to ignore the cries of the dying, the laughter of the free, and the roar of the powerful.” He sat back, looking out of the window and into the blue sky. It was 11:00. “Actually, the real problem is that they focus more on one thing than the others. Those who focus on the dying forget about themselves and try to help them, and in turn become one of them. Those who focus on the free wish to be one as well, but in turn they lose common sense. Those who focus on the powerful fear their immensity and succumb to their strength, which in turn transforms them into a slave to those who do not deserve it.”
He spoke with passion and ferocity. I could tell he had thought of this - and rehearsed it – before I had gotten here. Or maybe it was just what he had wanted to say for so long.
“So you think we should do…all that stuff you just said?”
“No, not exactly. What I am saying is that humanity learns from these words. Listen to what the dying scream: it will help you to survive. Listen to the jubilation of the free: it will help you figure out how far you can walk past the line dividing the safe, and the endangered. Listen to what the powerful roar: for then you will ensure that you will never become one of them.”
I followed everything he said, gulping each word as if it was my last; then I started to think about them. It all made perfect sense. Who better to learn how to survive than by the people who failed? After all, you learn more from failure than from success. The carefree may be happy, but it’s true that they are in constant danger. Rules keep the world fair and safe, though too much restriction will ultimately pull down anybody who tries to rise up through the ashes of society. Bowing down to the strong is essentially surrendering to them, making you another marionette to the overcrowded puppeteer. Learning from them could make you a force against their tyranny, but learning too much could turn you into what you sought to stop.
He was watching me with intense focus; apparently my face told more than my thoughts could. “I see you have now understood. Good. The more the merrier!”
I looked up at his words, “Wait, you want to share this…understanding?”
He looked puzzled, “Why of course I do! Didn’t you listen to what I said earlier? ‘The rest of humanity could join me and my reign of enlightenment’. That was actually exactly how I said it, too. Go on, reread it, it’s somewhere up there. I’ll wait…. I want the world to join me, to move past the safe, dank cave it has been living in for so long, but you people choose to ignore my invitation and chuck me in a cell. That’s why I had to take, ‘drastic’, measures.”
“You mean the attack on the Twin Towers?”
“Precisely. That was my message to the world. That was proof that my strength wasn’t vain. It was true. As a matter of fact, it still is true.”
So his attack was simply evidence of his strength. Well, I guess people got the message now.
“But, that attack didn’t just destroy the Twin Towers; it set the entirety of New York on fire. Hell, the city is still battling the fire today!”
He didn’t look to have any concern, but he did seem surprised, “Really? The fire still rages on?” He was clearly ecstatic at the news that the worst attack in human history had created the worst fire in human history. “I mean, I thought the fire would last maybe a few weeks, but a whole, damn year!? My plan is going better than I thought…”
He was walking around the cell now, apparently too happy of his plan to sit down. As he walked I got a better look at him. He was about…5’5”; and from what I could tell from his long pants, he also had long, muscular legs. I couldn’t look at his feet; I’m assuming the guards had given him those shoes. His arms were almost bulging out from his dirty shirt; he was better built than I thought. His hands were huge; if he made a fist, it would probably be bigger than my head, or about the same size. He also had black hair, dry and starting to gray in most spots.
His words finally hit me; I looked up with an apparently quizzical look. “Wait, what plan?”
Erik stopped, dead in his tracks, looking solemn. Then he turned around, and sat down. He put his fingers together, looking as if in deep thought. Finally, parting his fingers, he said, “Well, now that you have been, accidentally, hinted to my plan, I might as well tell you all of it.”
I was confused, excited, and afraid. Who knew what this demented maniac could’ve planned? I was just scared I could’ve become a participant.
Erik now had a gleeful look about him; I get the feeling he would’ve shouted his plans from the prison rooftop if he could. “My plan began as a way to prove to the world that I am indeed all powerful, and for them to join me in my reign of joy and happiness. By this time you know nobody had believed me when I ‘boasted’ of my clout. So, yes, I was pretty, for lack of a better word, pissed that no one would take my offer of immortality. So I devised a series of ‘events’ to show the world how wrong they were.”
This man was truly deranged. Nonetheless, he continued. “I came up with 3 sure fire events. I named my plan ‘The Bermuda Triangle’.”
“Why ‘The Bermuda Triangle’?”
At this question, a big grin splashed across his face. “Because, while it is a feared place, nobody truly knows what wonderful things might be in it.” I pondered his response for about 2 seconds before he started off again. “The first ‘corner’ would be to destroy the Twin Towers with my homemade incendiary bomb. I had hoped to kill thousands of people and kill a few hundred more with the spreading fire.”
This man really had no soul. How could he let those people die? At this, I had to query him. “But why would you kill those people, those innocent people?”
“I had to do what needed to be done. ‘The end justifies the needs’.”
At this, I had to interject. “But I have it on reliable sources that of the 3,000 who died in the 9/11 attack, few were classified as your relatives. Are you saying that you wanted that to happen?”
The cold-hearted grin vanished from his face as he bowed his head, most likely in remembrance of those he killed. “That had to be done as well.” A tear glimmered down his cheek, reflected by the sun poking through the window. It was 11:45.
I almost felt a weakness for him, to set him free. But that weakness turned to reasoning. He doesn’t deserve to be free; he knowingly killed his own family!
But can’t you see he feels sorry for that attack? Even murderers feel remorse.
He’s not a murderer, he’s a terrorist! He can’t be left alive after such a horrendous event! I say they kill him. I hear the electric chair is back in.
No! He has to be given another chance. People change, it happens all the time. Good people turning bad, and vice versa.
My mind waged a war against itself, split between logic and human sympathy. It hurt.
Erik looked up a mere half second after I did. He wiped the tears away, acknowledging the fact that he had just cried in a prison cell. “Even the strong feel sad. No matter how high a human being may rise, emotions will grow twofold.” He regained his composure and continued his plan. “Now, after the attack on the Twin Towers, I had hoped to not be captured, but unfortunately I was. Obviously.” He motioned around the room. “So, if I hadn’t been tethered to humanity, this would’ve been how the rest of my plan would’ve unfolded. The next corner was to engulf the world in flames by sinking 20 oil tankers moving across the ocean on October 15 of 2002.”
Set the world on fire? This man was truly psychotic. Then I realized something, “But, today is the 15th.”
His stupid grin returned a second time, “Yes, I know.”
I couldn’t trust him, but at the same time, he was confiding in me more information than I could’ve hoped for. Erik Farran’s master plan? I’ll make headlines.
“The next, and final, corner of my plan was to ignite the people of the world to revolt against their respective governments, making the Earth a huge ‘No-Man’s Land’.”
Yeah, this guy was borderline-Jack the Ripper-insane. What he was proposing was a destruction of the Earth. I guess the most effective way to get people to join you is fear and death.
“That is my plan, and I still hope to watch it unfold.”
To think he was still clinging to his ludicrous plan was pretty funny. He was in the most heavily guarded prison in the world, with the most elite soldiers watching him at all times. It was indeed comical to think he could get out.
It was 12:00.
Exactly when my watch hit noon, a huge explosion rang through my body and through the prison cell. It was the most terrifying sound I’ve ever heard: it was the spreading of fire. The cell ceiling had come down, as well as the two outer walls. I tried to stand up from the rubble, but it was too heavy. The dust and soot were filling my lungs and scratching my throat; I couldn’t speak; all the while sirens were blaring and soldiers were running. It was either funny or admiring that the soldiers could still be running in perfect unison at a time like this, I couldn’t tell with makeshift poison coating my insides. Every foot that fell matched my heartbeat to no fault. Their steps were my last breaths.
Even though I was trapped, I could still move my head, and I pointed it towards Erik. He was standing over the destroyed wall, facing the ocean. From my point of view, the world truly was engulfed in flames. It was beautiful: the flames hovering over the ocean flickered every which way, to the left, right, forward, backward, and up to the sky. The sky even appeared to be in flames: the normally white clouds bled with the burns; all the while, it all swayed in tune to my heart. Footsteps, heartbeats, and fire, all connected in one beautiful song. Erik simply stood there, expressionless; most likely due to the fact that I couldn’t see his face. But if I could, I would’ve seen tears of happiness and that stupid smile again.
Without turning to me he said, “Isn’t it wondrous? This is how I envisioned the Earth: in flames. Fire symbolizes death and war, but also life and courage. Fire isn’t red, orange, or yellow, it is black and white.”
As if the flames were listening, it suddenly transformed into black and white. It was like a fire in the 40s. The clouds now literally bled, the drops swirling into the ocean, forming a whirlpool the likes of which the world has never seen. My lungs and throat were starting to burn now; ashes and dust should never be inside someone. It’s like eating a sandwich that has peanut butter and arsenic.
The footsteps were starting to get louder. “The people of Earth will finally know of my power, and I will give them my hand: an invitation to immortality.” He finally turned to face me. With a wave of the hand he swept the rubble off of me. I could finally breathe, but that was the least of my problems. “You are internally bleeding Victor. I will cease the bleeding for now, so that I may speak with you just a little longer. But make no mistake: your time is soon.”
Erik didn’t do anything this time, but all of a sudden I could feel my lungs sort of, vacuum themselves out. They no longer burnt with the dust of the prison; it was a relief to say the least. I coughed to make sure nothing would impede my speech.
“How…do you…know my…name?” I said with a sputter. The feeling of death still lingered inside me.
“I know all, Victor. I know that for your 10th birthday you wanted a Transformers toy. I know that on August 21, 1999, at precisely 3:22 pm, you made soup and added a bit too much seasoning. I know how much you dislike the bland flavor of soup. I know that yesterday you walked exactly 1.2 miles west to pick up your daughter from preschool. I know all about you Victor, because I knew we would meet. It was destiny that we meet. You had to be the only person to witness my victory.”
At that moment, I looked behind Erik to the ground where the guards were lined up - the first row on their knees, the second row standing - all about 20 M16s pointing towards us. Erik merely glanced over his shoulders towards them. “Do not worry about them. Death is on our side today; his scythe will finally be quenched of its thirst.”
As soon as the words “Fire!” rang out from the commander’s mouth, the guards pulled their triggers, and then all of the guns spontaneously combusted, showering the entirety of them with what appeared to be napalm. Their screams of agony sent a chill down my back, which then proceeded to my entire body. Erik merely stood on the edge of the wall, watching the soldiers howl. “Their pain will ensure the survival of the human race.” I saw for a brief moment his hand clench into a fist, and then the guards’ screaming stopped. I looked over the wall and saw their bodies lie still on the floor. “Why would you kill them?”
He turned to me. “They were becoming a hindrance to my plan. Their slaying was a necessary one.”
I merely stood there, allowing my mind to comprehend what just happened. After a quick thought, I faced Erik once more. “How are you able to do all of that?” I pointed to the bleeding clouds.
Erik gazed at the ruby-red sky. “I already told you how: understanding. It is the key to the universe’s secrets, hidden in Pandora’s Box.”
I was still very bewildered. “Okay, but how are you doing that?”
“Do you understand what ‘understanding’ means, Victor?” I could tell he was trying to be as calm as possible. “Understanding is what let us get to the moon. If Isaac hadn’t understood that what goes up must come down, we would never had understood that gravity affects our skyward dreams. If Ernest Rutherford never understood the destructive force of the atom, humanity would never have become the power hungry creature that it is. History is painted with humans using understanding to their advantage, but only some of them did it for good, or at least, believed they did it for the greater good.” He looked at me, hoping for a reply.
“But, no one could have thought that the energy in an atom could be used as a weapon.” I thought my reasoning was airtight. Inhaled soot and dust are more effective than TV ever was.
“Did they? Energy is power, and power meant death. We have been using power long before the discovery of the deadly potential of the atom, and we used that to kill people too. What do you think the world would be like if everyone understood exactly why the enemy is doing what they’re doing? There would be no war, no hate, no lies. Everyone would know everything about who they ‘hate’, and realize that hatred is just another petty emotion, another emotion that manages to control our existence even though it has no purpose other than to ‘guide’ us through life.” He started to walk around. I looked down and noticed that the soldiers’ bodies have disappeared. “The people of Earth ‘understand’ only to use it against other humans. That is the difference between me and them, I want to help humanity.”
“But what if humanity doesn’t want to be helped?” I never kept my eyes away from that spot where the bodies were.
He turned to the ocean. “Then I will force them to accept my generous offer, no matter how long it takes.”
Thoughts were racing in my head, banging against the curbs. He had some sort of magic power, either that, or I’m hallucinating. There has to be some sort of explanation for all of this, there always is. Maybe he coated the cell with a hallucinogen, so I could only see all of this when he blew apart the ceiling. After all, the guards didn’t seem to care at all about the burning water behind them. The guards… Maybe that explosion was a weapon malfunction, but then where did the napalm come from? From what I’ve read, no one puts napalm in their guns, and how would they? But how did he save me? Rubble doesn’t just fly off, and dust doesn’t just leave your lungs. And where did the bodies go?
“Where did the bodies go?” It seemed like such a foolish question, but curiosity got the better of me. Surprisingly, he answered, “Oh Victor. They are still there, but your fear of death is clouding your vision. Look closely.” I looked back down to the spot where the soldiers once stood, and was surprised by what I saw. The soldiers were there, and they were covered in fiery death, but they were alive. They were moving, shaking, their mouths wide open and screaming in pain. But there was no noise. They were just screaming. Then the napalm was slowly flying back into their hands. Time was moving backwards at slow motion, but only for the soldiers. Everywhere around them the wind was blowing, birds were chirping, and waves crashed, but not them. I saw their guns materialize, the napalm flowing inside. I saw the commander ‘yell’ “!Erif”, and I watched them run back around the corner they originally came from. “You didn’t kill them” I said, all the while staring at the corner where they just ran past.
“I did. But I felt that more deaths would be a stain on my plan. I saved them because they didn’t need to die; they were just doing their jobs after all, just like me.” So he saved them. Does that mean he can save me?
“I’m afraid this is where your destiny must end.” I looked back up; this was the moment I have dreaded for the past 5 minutes. “I cannot allow anyone to know my plan, or else it will never be carried out successfully. The world will then take my hand, I will guide them to the edges of the universe, and the human race will prosper once more. We will purge ourselves of our bloody past, and recreate the Earth as the pinnacle of beauty it once was.”
I looked him in the eye for a few seconds, and said, “They will never take your hand. It is the hand of Death.”
He smiled that stupid smile once more; it was now burned in my mind; and I fell to the ground, motionless.

Narrative with Song Lyrics

I once heard a story about a man and a woman, who thought they were in love. They were happy while it lasted, but they knew that eventually it would end. They knew that their love was as brittle as peace, and they knew that it would come crashing down. He chose to just ignore the inevitable rather than fighting against it, to save their glass relationship. He didn't care whether or not they stayed together, he just wanted all of the pain to go away because it was blinding him. The pain of keeping his love afloat was more powerful than the love feeding his pain. He didn't know that suffering and love go hand in hand, swaying to the cracks in their life, their love breaking as he turns away from his lover. Then one day, he knelt to the pain. It had overwhelmed him, and he gladly gave in.
She was the soldier fighting on, even when the war has already been lost. She was the one trying to put together the glass prison of their love back together, and she was cut as a reward. She tried to help him, tried to save him from giving up, gave him her hand when he fell towards the light. But when he wouldn't take her help, she gave up as well, gave one last glance, and left.
As she closed the door between them, she heard a noise. Not in her ears, but in her heart. The glass prison trapping both of them was opened, and she climbed out. When her last step was taken, their love crashed to the floor, the glass breaking in a satisfying way. She was free, and he was not. Even to this day, the shards stay impaled in his body, a reminder of what he failed to do. Where did I hear this story? I heard it from the corners of my mind. You see, that man was me, and I cry everyday at the bottom of that hole, surrounded by a failed life, wondering where she is now.
"Once the stone
You're crawling under
Is lifted off your shoulders
Once the cloud that's raining
Over your head disappears
The noise that you'll hear
Is the crashing down of Hollow Years"

Petrucci, John. "Hollow Years". Lyrics. Perf. Dream Theater. Falling Into Infinity. East/West, 1996-97