annalea.m
09-15-2010, 09:52 AM
My first short story for english class
IF YOU HAVE ANY TITLE SUGGESTIONS, PLEASE HELP!!!!!!!
He called me magpie, the bird of youthful joy. He used to call on me the way a wise, loving grandfather would softly call on a grandchild. I wish I could reclaim that sensation of pure happiness. No worries, no stress. But as I sat there on that creaky chair, in that small dusty room, I was further away from that feeling than ever before. His breath sluggish, his eyes too weak to remain open, my dearest friend, my teacher, my Baruti, rested hopeless, unable to even smile, a feature that used to be carved into his face as if there was no way to wipe it off. . Undersized, bed was restricted in space; his feet hung off the edge, yet he appeared to be shrinking before my very eyes, melting into the bed, fading away…
Wherever I looked, the room was disheartening. The olive-brown walls and crimson red carpet gave the room a warm atmosphere, but the confined space had the sickening smell of disease, distress and desperation. The hot turbid air hung like thick fog drooping across a valley, almost tangible.
The young falcon on the windowsill cried softly, as if his voice mirrored Baruti’s worsening health. Baruti has been my best friend and mentor ever since I was very young and wandering through the valleys of rural Egypt. One day, I spotted him perched on a rock, reading a very large book. A very inquisitive and curious girl, I decided to carefully approach him like a lion approaches a gazelle.
“What are you reading?” I asked quietly. Baruti lifted his head and looked right at me with wise, knowing eyes.
“My favorite book about birds. Would you like to see?’ he replied,
offering me the book.
“I cannot read.” I replied solemnly, saddened by the fact.
Understandingly, he smiled and simply said,
“I will teach you.”
Since then, we have shared an unbreakable bond over his everlasting passion and my curiosity for birds and their significance. It fascinated me more than anything in the entire world. The placid effect that learning from him had on me was like nothing I had ever experienced.
Slowly, I was pulled away from my thoughts and brought back to today’s reality by Baruti’s hand. Using all of his limited strength, he touched the novel on my lap to get my attention, and it made me smile. In that moment, we both looked towards the tiny open window at the young falcon perched so serenely. That falcon has been settled on that sill ever since Baruti was admitted into the clinic. In the first few weeks of him being enclosed in this room, I had no clue why the falcon was there, until one day, even though he had barely enough energy to say a few words, Baruti explained.
“Inside every soul, there is a spiritual element called the Ba. A figurative meaning, the Ba is represented by a bird, and it is believed that if the bird leaves, the soul leaves; the Ba shall depart at the time of death.”
At the time, I was oblivious to the true meaning; I mean, I did not relate it to Baruti’s condition. Only much later would the nuance become apparent to me;, and the overwhelming sense of depression hit me, like I was in a hole so deep I could no longer see that spot of light at the top.
Wrapping my hand around his, I smiled faintly. He appeared so miserable, like a homeless dog hopelessly hunting for scraps of food; it was heartbreaking. A gentle breeze fluttered open the pages of my book, and I took it as a sign to continue reading. I spoke quietly and inadequately, distracted by my thoughts. Baruti had always been keen to hear me read to him, but only if I listened to the meaning behind the words. Slowly, Baruti lifted his head and looked at me firmly but sympathetically.
“Mandisa, use what talents you possess; the woods would be very silent…”
“…if no birds sang there except those that sang best.” I whispered, completing his phrase.
That was one of his habitual refrains ever since he first taught me to read; his best words of encouragement. I remember being so frustrated, unable to pronounce the knotty words, unable to enunciate. We would always read about various types of birds and the meaning within Egyptian culture. My favorites were always the doves, the magpies, the bluebirds and hummingbirds; all the small, cute ones. However, Baruti taught me that judging a bird only by its appearance is like singing a song without knowing the lyrics; there is no way to understand the significance. He liked to use the example of an owl; an owl is prominently recognized as a bird of wisdom, insight, and virtue, but most are unaware that the owl may not only represent death, but also shadows, darkness, and shaded meanings.
During the summer one year, Baruti fell gravely ill. He suspected the particularly excessive heat that year and the thickness of the air triggered his sickness. At first, I had trust that there was hope; that he would get better, but as the months passed, optimism felt like the most impossible emotion. I felt like my small world was being slowly and tortuously crushed. Baruti then chose to teach me about the more obscure meanings of birds. He said that the mourning dove, its soft off-white color and stereotyped meaning is misleading, as it is the symbol of upcoming death to someone close.
Baruti had dozed back off to sleep as the sun started to set over the sand dunes, making the sand glimmer like all the stars had fallen from the sky and were scattered all over, welcoming the arrival of dusk. I watched the colors cast a glow on his face; the shadows constantly shifting. The falcon cried softly, as to remind me that he was still there. He stood in the path of the sun, his silhouette seamlessly reflecting upon Baruti’s face. I smiled to myself once more, realizing the irony, and how Baruti, my Baruti, would always live through the birds. I scrunched my forehead, trying to remember what the Falcon represented, when suddenly; I heard Baruti’s voice, as if he read my mind.
“A light…that shines… in the darkness.”
By the time I turned my head, Baruti was no longer awake or speaking. I wondered why I never realized the prescient theme of the significance of birds and the sayings that Baruti taught me. Maybe I was too young at the time. It felt as if he was trying to tell me that eventually, something would happen and I would no longer have him. His illness circled us for months like a vulture circles its prey, ready to attack at any moment. Rising from my chair, I sat on the edge of the miniscule bed, holding Baruti’s hand as the moon cast a glow over both of us, the sand now gleaming like each grain had been replaced by a tiny pearl. I stared towards the window, straight at the fierce-eyed falcon. It returned my stare, as if it were trying to tell me something. I blinked, and in that instance, the falcon spread its wings wide and lifted its legs off the windowsill. I simply stared as it slowly began to take flight, its wings fluttering freely. As the falcon soared high and far into the sky, I remembered Baruti’s strength of spirit and his words;
No bird soars too high if it soars with its own wings.
any suggestions would be greatly appreciated :)
thank you!
IF YOU HAVE ANY TITLE SUGGESTIONS, PLEASE HELP!!!!!!!
He called me magpie, the bird of youthful joy. He used to call on me the way a wise, loving grandfather would softly call on a grandchild. I wish I could reclaim that sensation of pure happiness. No worries, no stress. But as I sat there on that creaky chair, in that small dusty room, I was further away from that feeling than ever before. His breath sluggish, his eyes too weak to remain open, my dearest friend, my teacher, my Baruti, rested hopeless, unable to even smile, a feature that used to be carved into his face as if there was no way to wipe it off. . Undersized, bed was restricted in space; his feet hung off the edge, yet he appeared to be shrinking before my very eyes, melting into the bed, fading away…
Wherever I looked, the room was disheartening. The olive-brown walls and crimson red carpet gave the room a warm atmosphere, but the confined space had the sickening smell of disease, distress and desperation. The hot turbid air hung like thick fog drooping across a valley, almost tangible.
The young falcon on the windowsill cried softly, as if his voice mirrored Baruti’s worsening health. Baruti has been my best friend and mentor ever since I was very young and wandering through the valleys of rural Egypt. One day, I spotted him perched on a rock, reading a very large book. A very inquisitive and curious girl, I decided to carefully approach him like a lion approaches a gazelle.
“What are you reading?” I asked quietly. Baruti lifted his head and looked right at me with wise, knowing eyes.
“My favorite book about birds. Would you like to see?’ he replied,
offering me the book.
“I cannot read.” I replied solemnly, saddened by the fact.
Understandingly, he smiled and simply said,
“I will teach you.”
Since then, we have shared an unbreakable bond over his everlasting passion and my curiosity for birds and their significance. It fascinated me more than anything in the entire world. The placid effect that learning from him had on me was like nothing I had ever experienced.
Slowly, I was pulled away from my thoughts and brought back to today’s reality by Baruti’s hand. Using all of his limited strength, he touched the novel on my lap to get my attention, and it made me smile. In that moment, we both looked towards the tiny open window at the young falcon perched so serenely. That falcon has been settled on that sill ever since Baruti was admitted into the clinic. In the first few weeks of him being enclosed in this room, I had no clue why the falcon was there, until one day, even though he had barely enough energy to say a few words, Baruti explained.
“Inside every soul, there is a spiritual element called the Ba. A figurative meaning, the Ba is represented by a bird, and it is believed that if the bird leaves, the soul leaves; the Ba shall depart at the time of death.”
At the time, I was oblivious to the true meaning; I mean, I did not relate it to Baruti’s condition. Only much later would the nuance become apparent to me;, and the overwhelming sense of depression hit me, like I was in a hole so deep I could no longer see that spot of light at the top.
Wrapping my hand around his, I smiled faintly. He appeared so miserable, like a homeless dog hopelessly hunting for scraps of food; it was heartbreaking. A gentle breeze fluttered open the pages of my book, and I took it as a sign to continue reading. I spoke quietly and inadequately, distracted by my thoughts. Baruti had always been keen to hear me read to him, but only if I listened to the meaning behind the words. Slowly, Baruti lifted his head and looked at me firmly but sympathetically.
“Mandisa, use what talents you possess; the woods would be very silent…”
“…if no birds sang there except those that sang best.” I whispered, completing his phrase.
That was one of his habitual refrains ever since he first taught me to read; his best words of encouragement. I remember being so frustrated, unable to pronounce the knotty words, unable to enunciate. We would always read about various types of birds and the meaning within Egyptian culture. My favorites were always the doves, the magpies, the bluebirds and hummingbirds; all the small, cute ones. However, Baruti taught me that judging a bird only by its appearance is like singing a song without knowing the lyrics; there is no way to understand the significance. He liked to use the example of an owl; an owl is prominently recognized as a bird of wisdom, insight, and virtue, but most are unaware that the owl may not only represent death, but also shadows, darkness, and shaded meanings.
During the summer one year, Baruti fell gravely ill. He suspected the particularly excessive heat that year and the thickness of the air triggered his sickness. At first, I had trust that there was hope; that he would get better, but as the months passed, optimism felt like the most impossible emotion. I felt like my small world was being slowly and tortuously crushed. Baruti then chose to teach me about the more obscure meanings of birds. He said that the mourning dove, its soft off-white color and stereotyped meaning is misleading, as it is the symbol of upcoming death to someone close.
Baruti had dozed back off to sleep as the sun started to set over the sand dunes, making the sand glimmer like all the stars had fallen from the sky and were scattered all over, welcoming the arrival of dusk. I watched the colors cast a glow on his face; the shadows constantly shifting. The falcon cried softly, as to remind me that he was still there. He stood in the path of the sun, his silhouette seamlessly reflecting upon Baruti’s face. I smiled to myself once more, realizing the irony, and how Baruti, my Baruti, would always live through the birds. I scrunched my forehead, trying to remember what the Falcon represented, when suddenly; I heard Baruti’s voice, as if he read my mind.
“A light…that shines… in the darkness.”
By the time I turned my head, Baruti was no longer awake or speaking. I wondered why I never realized the prescient theme of the significance of birds and the sayings that Baruti taught me. Maybe I was too young at the time. It felt as if he was trying to tell me that eventually, something would happen and I would no longer have him. His illness circled us for months like a vulture circles its prey, ready to attack at any moment. Rising from my chair, I sat on the edge of the miniscule bed, holding Baruti’s hand as the moon cast a glow over both of us, the sand now gleaming like each grain had been replaced by a tiny pearl. I stared towards the window, straight at the fierce-eyed falcon. It returned my stare, as if it were trying to tell me something. I blinked, and in that instance, the falcon spread its wings wide and lifted its legs off the windowsill. I simply stared as it slowly began to take flight, its wings fluttering freely. As the falcon soared high and far into the sky, I remembered Baruti’s strength of spirit and his words;
No bird soars too high if it soars with its own wings.
any suggestions would be greatly appreciated :)
thank you!