Brigitte
06-16-2007, 07:55 PM
Okk. This was an assignment in AP English, just for fun. We had to make a list of 10 sounds, sights, actions, tastes, people, places, and etc. Then from the list we had to pick some words and then write a summary, then a poem from that summary. It was called a personal myth because the words changed from a list to a summ. to a poem.
Here is my final result/poem:
Escaping Fear in Pleasantville
3:33 AM. The peach light of dawn will not rise again.
Today is the last tomorrow anyone will ever see.
Rain pours from ominous skies, acid water on my tongue.
I sit on a brutal, cold bench at Westwood Park, my favorite playground.
I realize with fear today is my last day here.
From afar I see the hospital, lights still on.
People escape both life and death in the hospital.
My fingertips grip the wooden bench. I panic.
Mortimer Goth warned me.
Pleasantville’s ruin was inevitable.
Jigsaw’s keys jingled in my memory.
I pictured him running back to his dark alley.
I counted to lucky 13, holding my breath.
A yawn escaped me from lack of oxygen.
Zero. How do I count down to zero, to the end?
I held my breath.
Escaping life to escape death.
My body fell with a thud to the unforgiving cement.
Still, I smelled the smoke, the fire.
-- Bri D.
Words underlined were the words in my list.
Personally, I liked my summary better:
Escaping Fear in Pleasantville
It’s 3:33 AM. The peach light of dawn will never rise again for today is the last tomorrow anyone will ever see. Rain pours down on me from the ominous skies, soaking me, the acid taste of rainwater on the tip of my tongue. The brutal, cold bench makes me uncomfortable and I squirm in my seat. Westwood Park was my favorite playground as a child and I realize with fear today would be my last day here. In the distance I spot the hospital, lights still on, people escaping both life and death. My fingertips grip the wooden bench with a panic. Mortimer Goth had warned me ages ago that the eventual ruin of Pleasantville was inevitable. Why hadn’t I believed him then? I sure believed him now. I began to count in my head; I was on lucky number 13. I hadn’t taken a single breath for 13 seconds. I yawned. The lack of oxygen, or maybe the exhaustion, was getting to me. Jigsaw’s trademark possession – keys, jingled in my memory. I pictured him running back to his lair, hidden somewhere amongst the dark alleys of the town. Zero. How do I count down to zero, to the end? I held my breath. The only way to escape the end was to stop breathing. Escaping life to escape death. With a thud my body fell to the unforgiving cement, but still I smelled the smoke, the fire.
Here is my final result/poem:
Escaping Fear in Pleasantville
3:33 AM. The peach light of dawn will not rise again.
Today is the last tomorrow anyone will ever see.
Rain pours from ominous skies, acid water on my tongue.
I sit on a brutal, cold bench at Westwood Park, my favorite playground.
I realize with fear today is my last day here.
From afar I see the hospital, lights still on.
People escape both life and death in the hospital.
My fingertips grip the wooden bench. I panic.
Mortimer Goth warned me.
Pleasantville’s ruin was inevitable.
Jigsaw’s keys jingled in my memory.
I pictured him running back to his dark alley.
I counted to lucky 13, holding my breath.
A yawn escaped me from lack of oxygen.
Zero. How do I count down to zero, to the end?
I held my breath.
Escaping life to escape death.
My body fell with a thud to the unforgiving cement.
Still, I smelled the smoke, the fire.
-- Bri D.
Words underlined were the words in my list.
Personally, I liked my summary better:
Escaping Fear in Pleasantville
It’s 3:33 AM. The peach light of dawn will never rise again for today is the last tomorrow anyone will ever see. Rain pours down on me from the ominous skies, soaking me, the acid taste of rainwater on the tip of my tongue. The brutal, cold bench makes me uncomfortable and I squirm in my seat. Westwood Park was my favorite playground as a child and I realize with fear today would be my last day here. In the distance I spot the hospital, lights still on, people escaping both life and death. My fingertips grip the wooden bench with a panic. Mortimer Goth had warned me ages ago that the eventual ruin of Pleasantville was inevitable. Why hadn’t I believed him then? I sure believed him now. I began to count in my head; I was on lucky number 13. I hadn’t taken a single breath for 13 seconds. I yawned. The lack of oxygen, or maybe the exhaustion, was getting to me. Jigsaw’s trademark possession – keys, jingled in my memory. I pictured him running back to his lair, hidden somewhere amongst the dark alleys of the town. Zero. How do I count down to zero, to the end? I held my breath. The only way to escape the end was to stop breathing. Escaping life to escape death. With a thud my body fell to the unforgiving cement, but still I smelled the smoke, the fire.