Newspaper Story "Many are Called, but Few are Chosen"

    Many are called, but few are chosen. Many are called, but few are chosen.

    Those words lingered in my head. Jencie’s words. Her last words.

    It was the storm. My uncle told me she was old and it was her time. But no, it was the storm.

She lay on her death bed at the closest hospital (60 miles away) with a big gash in her head and broken legs. Her face, so monotonous, unlike how it usually was.

    I turned away to walk out of the room when my uncle attempted to grab my hand to comfort me. I

shrugged away. I don’t need anyone to hold my hand. I’m almost a teenager. My uncle doesn’t think so, but I think I’m stronger than he is. He needs a hand to hold. But not mine.

    I walked through the grey hospital, though the hospital smelling of rubbing alcohol and disinfectant, and down the wide stairway leading to the front doorway. I walked out of the hospital through the revolving door and to the car which was locked. So I sat down by the car and glanced up at the sky, the dark sky with no stars.

    A couple minutes later, my uncle arrived and he drove me through the shimmering city to his apartment, only a few minutes away. It was kind of chilly, but he had a blanket in the car from when he went camping with a couple of his friends. I stepped out of his car and was greeted by a tall building. From there we went inside and took the elevator up to the eleventh floor. I was not ready for this. When we actually got to his apartment, I almost started to cry because the lack of a backyard. The apartment had a sophisticated look to it. The lighting was dim but it was reflected off of the stainless steel in the kitcken.

    “Dede!” My brother’s voice rang through the room.

    “Sam, quiet down. You don’t want to disturb the neighbors,” My aunt was over by my brother. Her voice was soft and kind, but not the voice I wanted to hear.

    “Where’s my room” I said through my sniffles.

    My aunt pointed to a room on the right, “You’ll be sharing it with your brother so don’t take the whole bed.”

    I felt like walking to the room was my death march, on my way to eternal mystery and suspense.

I opened the door and ran straight to the full bed, jumping and landing in the middle on my back.

    I’m done. I thought to myself. I lived off of stories, Grandma’s stories, and now she’s gone.

    I closed my eyes. Maybe it was time I grew up. Maybe I don’t need stories. I can make friends in this world too, couldn’t I? Besides, my grandma’s stories aren’t even real. The people, the places. I’m not a kid anymore.

    Many are called, but few are chosen.

    Those words again. They echoed through my mind and through my body.

    Many are called, but few are chosen.

    I was worn out. All I needed was a long night sleep. Maybe then I will handle my thoughts better.

    I slept.

    Many are called, but few are chosen. Many are called, but few are chosen.

    “I am chosen, I am chosen, I am chosen.”

    “What?” A distant voice sounded. “Hello? Can I help you?”

    “Many are called, many are, are,” My eyes fluttered open.

    “Yes?” The voice was now strong and the figure of a man slowly made its appearance as my eyes adjusted to the light.

    I couldn’t speak. Not at all. I was not in the apartment anymore.

    This is a dream.

    “Then it must be a good one,” The man smirked.

    Did he read my mind?

    I sat up quickly, startled by the remark he made. When I did so, he was already walking away, though the forest with leaves of gold and orange.

   “No, lay down, you’ll need all the rest you can get,” his brown hair was flopping through the wind as he made his descent through the forest.

    This isn’t a dream.

Book/Author Quotes

There is neither happiness 

nor misery in the world;

there is only the comparison

of one state with another,

nothing more. He who

has felt the deepest grief

is best able to experience

supreme happiness.

~Edmond Dantes

First and Last Quotes

“I am an invisible man.”

This is from the book, Invisible Man by Ralph Ellison. The book was first published in 1952. This book covers racial values in a time where African Americans were treated very poorly. This is the first person story about a man trying to find who he really is by having flashbacks to the Civil War Era. Though this story is mostly told from New York, it starts in South Carolina.

It sounds like an interesting book, but I don't think it is quite my cup of tea. I'm more for the books with some supernatural events that happen. And tell you the truth, I'm not much for books that are about racial issues either. I get that they can be a big deal, but I don't see what makes the book relevant to today's world.

“In your rocking-chair, by your window dreaming, shall you long, alone. In your rocking- chair, by your window, shall you dream such happiness as you may never feel.”

This is a quote from Sister Carrie Sister Carrie by Theodore Dreiser and first published in 1900. It is the story two people. A girl who ends up being an actress after a life of low paying jobs and a man who is financially well off and ends up on the streets. Their lives soon clash and Carrie begins supporting him with money and a house. But despite of all that, the man is not satisfied and he commits suicide. Carrie then states this quote, saying that she can never again feel happiness.

I don't think this book is my cup o' tea either. I do really like the quote. In so many ways that quote is what many people in today's world may not say, but they may be feeling like that. I feel like my quote that I used from The Count of Monte Cristo kind of reminds me of this quote and the quote fits in with the story line of The Count of Monte Cristo as well. So, maybe I would like it. I don't know, but I do not think I will read it. 

Book Passage, The Count of Monte Cristo

There is neither happiness 

nor misery in the world;

there is only the comparison

of one state with another,

nothing more. He who

has felt the deepest grief

is best able to experience

supreme happiness.

~Edmond Dantes

I speak about this quote very often, and ever since I turned the last page of the classic The Count of Monte Cristo, I feel like I have almost seen life a little differently. Most people probably do not think anything of this quote. But the more one looks at it, the more they see and learn of the truth that is present within these 37 words. 

Think about it...

What makes something a treat? The fact that it is so special it does not happen very often. For instance, every once in a while, my mom will make brownies. That is a treat. If she made brownies every single week, than it wouldn't be as special. We wouldn't have the same feeling as if the brownies were made every six months. You may feel more happy and the brownies may even seem to taste better if you eat them less often.

Also, there is a reason that no one is ever completely satisfied. People get too content and want something better. Then the something better becomes boring, so they seek something better than the last, and so on. 

So...

Only if you have felt pain (it does not have to be physical) are you able to experience that unique power of happiness and joy. That in no means means that you cannot feel happiness if you don't go through trial and hardship. 

That is why that trial and pain aren't necessarily bad, they're just a part of life and people need to learn to not hold grudges or pain with them if they can just rub it off to enjoy the supreme happiness that comes at the end.

The quote continues...

"... that we may be able to experience the enjoyments of living. Live, then, and be happy, beloved children of my heart, and never forget that until the day when God shall deign to reveal the future of man, all human wisdom is summed up in these two words, 'wait and hope.'"

Writers as Readers

3. I would say my writing style is most like Ted Dekker's, but that's not entirely true. I believe the reason I look up to him as an author is because of how much I enjoy his writing style. Most other books I just cannot get into because I do not like the way the author writes. As a girl who has dreams

of becoming an author, I want to imitate his writing because other people may be out there just like me, who love Ted Dekker's books because of his figurative language and his particular writing style. Another reason how I believe I write like him is because what he does with his stories. He has just a regular story line, but in order to get the whole picture, one needs to read in between the lines. It is kind of like in Narnia how the Lion Represents Jesus and the killing of the lion represents Jesus's death. But in the end, the lion did not die, symbolizing how Jesus rose again. Ted Dekker's message isn't always religious like that, but is presented in the same manner. I like that because what most authors do is just write a story with a plot and a climax and characters, but Ted Dekker goes above and beyond. That is what I want to imitate.

9. When I finished reading most Ted Dekker books, I was angry.  

You might be thinking, why would she absolutely love Ted Dekker's books if she is angry after she finishes one? Well, maybe that's why I like him. He is not afraid to do things that most authors are. He takes risks and it's so unlike any author that whatever

happens is a total suprise. For example, he is not afraid of killing off many of his characters or turning the good guys into people who want to destroy all of what is good. He is also not afraid of creating a whole entire story just to say at the end that none of it was real. This always makes me mad. Not just mad but angry, frustrated, confused, and sometimes just hate life. But no other author does that. He stands out and jumps off of the cliff towards insanity. If you don't get what I'm trying to say, then answer me this: 

Why do we like to watch daredevils risk their life to be entertaining? Why do we like to watch AFV when it is just showing people getting seriously hurt or doing something stupid?

10. I do. I never read Harry Potter before this year because my parents never let me. I judge a book

by its cover. I will just listen to the title of a book and tell you whether or not I will read the book. I know what I’m looking for. When I find it, I find it. If the name’s cliché, the book is probable cliché. If there is a picture of a person on the cover, I don’t like to read it because it takes away from my creative imagination. If the book involves a boy saving the girl, I don’t like it. If the last page gives me a summary of what happened in the whole entire book, I don’t read it because it doesn’t end on a cliff hanger. The “ifs” go on and on. That’s just how I am.

11. No. I write for my own liking in the hopes that I will get something from it. If someone else would get something from my work, that’s just a plus. I think the audience that would like my work would be all ages. My vocabulary might be a little difficult for an elementary age kid and even a middle school age kid. But I write for all ages. I try to satisfy not for the mind, but for the soul. As long as they walk away thinking, boy, that was deep or this really gave me the encouragement that I needed, or even darn, I didn’t realize how ratchet my life is, then my goal is complete. Nothing is different if I just write for myself or if I write for the public eye. I have nothing to hide. If anything, it’s the exact opposite.

Caged in a Storm

    There I was, in a little house enveloped in the black abyss of a raging summer storm with black clouds swirling up above and the large droplets of rain pelting down upon the house. I should be scared. I should be worried for my own life and for my baby brother here inside the house with me. But in the midst of the pandemonium that was producing havoc outside, I knew my brother and I was safe.

    Our parents had left the house only a night before to go on a mission’s trip to South Africa. And every night before dinner, our neighbor (who lived two and a half miles down the dirt road) came to check up on us. To make sure I knew how to do all my homework and to make us dinner. She was a very nice old lady, like the grandmother I never had. When I was little, I actually called her Grandma, my brother still does. I think her real name is Jencie.  

    But on that stormy night, she did not come. The roads were now mud, maybe that’s why she didn’t come. No light lit our house, for the power was out. I closed my eyes and tried to imagine the soft, green meadow and the colorful forest that Jencie always talked about.
    Boom! Crack!
    My mind was locked in a cage with the constant interruptions from the thunder. 
    "Dede," my brother tried to say my name as he pointed toward the door.
    "No, Michael. That's just the wind," I pulled him close to hug him. He crawled up in a ball on my lap and tucked his head into the sleeve of my nightgown. 
    "Michael, how about you grab all the pillows you can find in the house and we'll make the biggest fort ever!" I tried to sound enthusiastic over the disturbance outside.
    Michael lifted up his head with a big smile across his lips and ran towards the tiny room that we shared. He made several trips, each time with as much pillows and blankets as a three year old can carry. He continued to do that whilst I started to stack the pillows on top of each other.
    "Dede!" Michael shouted in my ear. He handed me s flat, striped, down-feather pillow as if to help me.
    "Michael, never touch this pillow!" I rapped my arms around the pillow and hastily moved the pillow away from Michael.
    Oh, dear, I just yelled at my brother.
    In that moment, he looked at me with big brown eyes with water droplets in them and say down on the floor.
    "No, I"m sorry for yelling. This pillow is really special, that's all. Jen— I mean Gamaw gave it to me." I looked down at him, his eyes still on mine. "Yeah, she said her lover gave it to her on one of her trips to her Dream World. I know right, sounds kind of crazy, but to Gamaw it's not." 
    Michael's eyes were a little less watery now.
    Boom!
    There was no stopping the storm.
    "Come on, let's finish that fort."

If I Were in Charge of the World

If I were in charge of the world,

Money would have no value,

And the only thing that had one was the spirit held inside people’s hearts.

There would be no more electronics, accept for house phones to use in the case of emergencies.

There would be no more booty shorts or bikinis,

No more hypocrites and unjust ruling.

The prisons would receive less tax money so the prisoners will stop being treated like royalty,

And more money would be given to the people who work hard.

If I were in charge of the world,

The United States would split in two,

The Democratic side and the Republican side.

If I were in charge of the world,

I would have a cure for allergies and asthma,

Declare no school in June, July, and August,

And not be in charge of people’s private life (that’s private).

If I were in charge of the world,

I would dance in the rain without worrying about people judging me.

I would sing, even though I am not a good singer.

I would laugh because life needs to be enjoyed.

If I were in charge of the world,

It would probably end up being exactly how it is now.

The world could never unite under one roof,

The world could never come to peace.

That’s just the way we are as humans.

If I were in charge of the world,

I would be as kind and as generous.

Though I cannot change the world,

But I can make a difference by taking just one single step. 

Is Reality Just a Dream?

To me, dreams have always been very powerful. They are not refined to the rules of reality. I have had dreams about being a ghost and about floating churches. But through dreams bring action and adventure. They bring mystery and romance and thriller. I know I am not the only one who feels like that especially when my favorite author writes books about a dream world. Through reading some of Ted Dekker’s books, they made me think about the rules of reality and the deepness of dreams. He made me think about these questions: What if we are living in a dream? What if one day we die only to wake up and find out this whole entire life was all just a dream?

Well, our ideas about magic and flying and unicorns have to come from somewhere, right?

One book of Ted Dekker’s that is primarily about dreams is the Circle novels: Black, Red, White, and Green. The main character is a man known as Thomas Hunter who gets shot in an alleyway while coming home from work then passes out only to wake up in a Black Forest. Every time, Thomas falls asleep in his Dream World, he would wake up in reality. Or is it the opposite way around? Are both worlds real? Are they not? Thomas gets flooded with so much confusion that he begins to eat a certain fruit that makes someone avoid dreaming, therefore Thomas lives in his Dream World for years before actually waking up in reality a day later.

You see, it’s not the story that gets me hooked, it’s the fact that the whole entire story seemed and felt so real when I was reading the books. It made me think that this could really happen though the story contains magical fruit, water someone could breathe in, and an enemy that reminds me of the Orcs from The Lord of the Rings.

When it comes to the future, I want to be able to write books that draw people in like Ted Dekker’s books draw me in. Maybe about dreams, but mostly about life. There is a lot of people who think life is so good because they don’t see how what they’re doing is wrong. If I write books and paint evil with the blackest of brushes but still make the book very realistic and real, like Ted Dekker, maybe I will be able to speak to people like Ted Dekker spoke to me. 

The picture is of Thomas Hunter

Freedom Isn't Free

Freedom isn’t free

Freedom is painful, in chains

Freedom is death and torture

Freedom isn’t freely given

It comes with a price.

So how can we say we are truly free?

The answer is simple

We can’t.

Maybe it’s because this world is darkness

This world is sin

Covered with monsters that rip us to shreds and hide in plain sight

They take advantage of us and cloak our eyes with black

But still we accept them into our lives as friendly creatures

Creatures that will build us up

For comfort

In joy and in sorrow

Until the day comes when it is too late to turn back

They then turn against us and slaughter us as sows.

Does that mean there is no hope?

The answer is simple

No.

Through the darkness shown a light

Riding on a white horse and here to save us all

There are monsters on this earth

But they stand no more against Light

For where there is light darkness withers and hides

Darkness has no plea for the Light has come

Still we are not truly good

For we are imperfect bodies only here for a short time

But as long as we have the Light

The evil in our hearts will be washed away as far as the east is from the west.

Now this, this is true freedom

Freedom came with love and compassion and good news

But freedom also came with whipping and nail pierced hands

Freedom came with death

But in the hour of darkness, the Light could not be held down.

Freedom has won

For now and eternity.

Freedom

Writer's dreaming

    Angelou has learned so many different languages. I personally don’t know any other language besides English, but I love all things words and it has been by aspiration to learn at least a couple different languages in my lifetime. The languages that I would like to learn are Russian, Arabic, and Mandarin Chinese. I would first learn those languages because those are spoken in countries that are not friendly to The United States of America. I could easily get a well-paying job with the CIA or the government, even though that is not the number one job I would like to hold. I do think having a job like that would be something I would enjoy greatly. Another language that I would like to learn for fun would be Old English. Being a lover of language and words, I am fascinated with the history, evolution, and origin of the English language and of speech in general. Learning Old English would not only help me to better receive an understanding of where my language comes from, but it would also bring me back to my history and let me explore my roots as a human. I personally think we as humans should be able to speak more than one language. America is getting so overflowed with people who speak foreign languages that I think it is almost a necessity these days. I do believe that anyone who lives in the United States should know how to speak English because it is our national language. If they do not know how to speak English, they should not come to America (excluding vacations and business trips).  

    Ways I occupy my “Small Mind” is by reading, listening to music, or sleeping. It helps me focus on things that I am dealing with and give me lots of stress. Reading broadens my perspective on life. Though most of the books I read are fiction, it helps me to learn about things I cannot learn anywhere else. I feel like music is what triggers my emotions as a human. I believe that is why I like folk music so much. That genre tells a story through song. A story of love, of life, of pain and suffering and war. It paints a picture that is so beautiful it tears at the heart. Sleeping is where all the ideas come from. Some of my favorite books are about dreams. Those books are the most powerful books I have ever read. They paint evil with the blackest of brushes, so that the Darkness will not be able to hide in the dark. In the books, good does not always win in the eyes of the world, but the idea is not to please the world, it is to please God. So when I have writers block or just want to occupy my “small mind”, I sleep. At times, I tend to talk to myself or just lay down and think about random things until I fall asleep.
 

Dream Thread

Maybe something was calling me back or an irrational childhood fear. Left, Right? There was no way out. Maybe I should listen to the calling, to go back. But what if that was a mistake? What if it's not? I continued on anyway. Through this metal hell hole.
    Exit, exit, exit
    That was the word running through my mind.
    It was not the fact that I was trapped in an underwater maze, it was the fact that I was completely and utterly alone. No one with me. No one to guide me. No one to help me through my problems. My childhood fear. Abandonment
    I began to grow weary and tired. My feet could've given out at any moment, so I decided to stop. I used that time not only to calm myself down, but to think.
    Hold on, I thought. Maybe what I need to find isn't the exit, it's a flaw. Maybe it's not. There could be something to stop this never ending process, this game. 
    Whatever it was, I was going to find it.
    I stood up and trudged on. I now had hope that I had the answer. I picked up my pace and decided to try to not find the entrance or exit. What was I looking for? I do not know. All I knew was whatever it was had to be in this maze.
    "Hey, Sweetie."
    Who was that?
    "Over here!"
    I quickly turned my body around to face the direction that the voice was coming from. The voice was not a comforting voice, more like an old man's voice, all raspy and hoarse. The voice was not what frightened me, it was the fact that he was not there.
    I spun around several more times to see if he was anywhere else. No, he wasn't.
    "Sweetie, I'm afraid your stuck here with me till the cows come home," The man, voice, let out a horrific cry of laughter that sounded like he was dying. "There's no way out!"
    The laughter was never ceasing and growing louder. I bent down in a squat and landed on my bottom. My head was between by legs and my arms were squeezing them together. The sound. The horror.
The only thing I knew: I was in a maze and every time I made it to the exit, I would reappear somewhere, lost in this underwater maze.

Journey to My New Home

   I closed my eyes and gripped the blue paddle of the canoe. The sky was cloudless on that day, the 12^th of April. I opened my eyes to a gush of arctic wind. The glaucous color of the canoe almost blended in with the sea that was below me. I looked forward and there lie a tall, thin ice cave. I lifted up my paddle and rowed into the cave, saying goodbye to the cyan sky. I made my way into the mouth of the cave while water droplets fell from stalactites and on to my jeans making me shiver. I looked at the water, which was as clear as ice. I saw fish swimming along beside me. I watched them swim faster and faster until they jumped out and back into the water, their scales shining like sapphires.

   I leaned back in the canoe and closed my eyes once again, thinking of my hometown and the little kids wearing brown dresses and sandals on their little feet as they ran by on the cobblestone street. Some of the girls sat on the side of the street, drawing in the dirt with skinny sticks. The smell of warm bread was always adrift in the air as it seeped out of small wooden and clay cottages. But I knew I wasn’t there. I was drifting in a boat into the darkness of a cave.

  As I drifted further into this cave, I was greeted by a bright yellow light. This light was shining as bright as the sun. As the boat drifted closer, I realized it was. I was out of the cave and greeted by a sandy beach. Though the air that touched my skin through my golden jacket was still cold, the beach warmed me up on the inside of my body. Before I reached the beach, I heard the song of a canary singing from some brush in the distance. My destination lied on the other side of the brush line where the sun’s rays touched the earth and the birds sang.

   The moment by boat touched the sand, I spotted the green Greyleaf Willow tree. I jumped out of my boat and my feet slammed against crunchy grass. Before I went anywhere, I reached back in the

boat and grabbed my jade embedded bag. Right as my hand reached the bag, my feet were taking off up the hill and between the patches of shrubbery. When I got to the top of the hill I saw my house. I stood and watched my mom tend to her garden to the north of the house. My baby sister was in the front playing with the leaves of the lilies. My dad, sitting inside by the window eating some celery–his favorite snack. I know this home is not the house I knew so long ago, but here in Greenland I have my family

Come With Me

Dear Reader,

   I am alive. More alive than I have ever been.

   You think I’m dead.

   You pushed me out of your world up there. You called me a lunatic and psychotic. You tell me that I am malicious and dangerous. You shoved me in a hole in the ground surrounded by filth. You kicked me out because I am different just because I influence people to see the truth.

   You see, I want you to live a life of freedom and pleasure. You need to be able to enjoy your life out there. With me, you will get to do what you deserve. You will love me.

   Is there a problem with that? All I want you to see the glory that everyone is missing out on. I want you to live with me, to live like me. I will show you all that you ever missed out on. I already gave you that choice, but no. Still you push me away. And what for? To live a life with rules that you don’t even like to follow? You are slaves to this Master you obey. I want you walk with me, not behind me.

   I am beautiful. I am musical. I am here to call you into this hole that I am in. Where worms thrive and hearts are captive. You may call it dark and evil and all things wicked, but down here the darkness goes away and you will receive sight to see in the dark. Your pupils will adjust to see how astounding this life is.

   Come with me, my precious and you will see.

   But right now, you are reading an account penned down by a dead man.

Colors: Night Vision and Excellent Pupil (Paint chip story)

Paint Chip Poems

Friend, I must tell you

Right behind the fresh foliage lies an

Entrance to a hidden city that

Shines so bright, but it's only when you

Halt and walk behind the

Fresh Foliage you will see

Open your eyes and 

Listen with your ears

Invite the sound and sight of happy children

As they frolic in the shining city where the 

Gold lies in their hearts and

Excitement is in their soul.

Escape the city

And waltz through the green forest 

With happy creatures

Where are the monsters?

Hiding in the Black Forest

with evil and fear

When the first Morning Dew is

Coating the Green Acres of Scotland,

I travel to my Breezy Summer House 

In Norway where the grass is always Green and 

Covered in snow with Green Brier 

Growing by my Tennis Courts

And when I get tired, I head to England there the Green grass grows.