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Variation on a Theme example

English 10 2011-2012 Class Variation on a Theme

Site: Mountain Heights Academy OpenCourseWare
Course: English 10 Q3 v2014
Book: Variation on a Theme example
Printed by: Guest user
Date: Sunday, 25 February 2018, 4:35 PM

The Library Was Different Last Time I Saw It...

The Library Was Different The Last Time I Saw It

by Tanner Martin

New York: July 24, 2200

I never thought I would live this long, of course no one else did either. I live in New York, or what used to be the modernistic flashy New York, now turned into a large city full of extravagant empty buildings. Likewise, with no one around I choose to live in the middle of the overgrown city in the penthouse of the Empire State building, which needless to say, was a dump. I have now lived here for 10 years and had to live off of the food that I could salvage at the local WalMarts, and the occasional animal that I annihilated with my assault rifle. I look around as I'm walking through the vacant city at all degrading newspapers that cover the crummy streets saying things like "The End it Near", "Start living life Now, or you wont get to later", “Become Impervious to the unforeseen Danger”.

I walked past the library that I used to go to when I was a kid and read about war and survival techniques; this was the place me and Bobby would go every day after school because we both dreamed about living in the wild. Looking at the old and tattered building, it brought a slight tear to my bloodshot eyes because without this overgrown library, I never would have survived.

As I walking down Wall Street I froze in mid-stride. There, 50 feet in front of me, was the largest wild boar I had ever laid eyes on. Its stature from the bottom of its front feet to the top of its head roughly 5 feet. The hair that covered this thing was almost as if the thing have gotten into a wig shop and rolled around until he resembled more of a Sasquatch on four legs. The tusks were about two feet long and at the end they were dripping with fresh blood. All I could think of at this point was dinner.

I promptly ran and crouched behind an abandoned car in the middle of the road. I had to think this through. I peered through the windows of the car and watched as the large beast rummaged through the streets looking for waste to eat. I would only have on shot at this before the boar would run away like a little piglet, or charge me. I put my gun of the hood of the car and looked down the scope, but every time that it was in sight, it would then leave again as it wondered somewhere else to look. I knew that the only way I could get a shot was If I got closer.

I picked up my gun and slowly started to make my way towards the brute. CRUNCH! On no.I stopped and looked down at the Coco-Cola can had just stepped on. I watched as the wild beast started stomping its large hooves and swinging its head around to try and find the intruder. Then something terrifying happened, it turned and looked me straight in the eyes,

“ROAR!” it bellowed!

“AH!” I screamed in my best Beiber voice.

The large pig started to charged me running like a dun over-sized dump truck in a drag race destroying everything in its path. I felt the polished grip on my assault rifle and aimed at the boar but I was so shaky that I couldn’t get a shot. BOOM! My bullet whizzed past its head. Bang! This time the hair was shaved clean down the middle of its head. The hair went up on my back as the beast charged faster in frustration, then he jumped in the air bearing its large tusks ready to eat me up.I pulled the trigger one last time, Boom!

“Ug” I groaned as I crawled out from under smelly armor bodied animal and out onto the street. I started to laugh, “Dinner!” I stuttered as I blacked out and landed on a nearby Coco-Cola can.


It Had Been Raining For a Week....

By Shianne Dansie

In this harsh, corrupt little town of ignorant people. I finally get on my retro blue bike, basket and all, to ride into the city as the sun begins to come through the clouds and pinnacle on the horizon. I had a monstrous time sneaking out of the house this morning. My underweight scrawny twig of a mother was already up rummaging around the house. She does this every morning whenever my dad and her fight. Once I got caught sneaking out, and well I don’t care to relate what happened to me to you at this time.

Syrupy rainbows like sweet dew drops melt dripping from behind the bountiful mountains ahead. Cloudbursts into serendipitous colors causing a tempest in my heart. Thump, Thump, Thump. Leaving this town, all the gloominess behind, the surroundings, the people, even the whole aura. Things are changing, rearranging. The roads, wet smelling of concrete and grass, the air dewy almost as if you could breathe in the moisture. Riding to the city in the morning is my favorite, the crude red brick houses flying by me being replaced with shimmering glass and shining metal. Why couldn’t I have born in the city? The smell of sweat, work, things at work practically oozed off the structures there.

Then I come upon it. My little blue mailbox, used, abused, and dented. Well it wasn’t really mine, but I liked to think it is, it made everything much more personal. Then again it’s romantic to think of all the love letters written carefully and delivered here to this very spot in haste. Then again, what about all the malicious things that must have passed through this metal portal.

The thoughts make my spine tingle, just like when fingernails go down a chalk board. Slowly I reach into my worn denim jeans and out of my pocket pull the letter. I hold it to my chest, give it a kiss, and watch it sink into the deep blue metal bin getting mixed in with other peoples taxes and magazine subscriptions.

I remember when my first letter arrived. The day after my mom and dad had had one of their worst fights. Three letters arrived for me actually, all on accident, a wonderful miracle of an accident. They had arrived in my little dandelion colored mail box which tilted sideways, it’s so crooked, just like everything in my little abhorred town. Yet, these letters where beautiful even with the chicken scratch lettering on the outsides of them. Worn, dirty, smelling of oranges, that’s how this journey all began. In a mailbox with words written on paper. They’ll never understand, my parents, my friends, that’s why I’m going to share this adventure with you. I hope you’ll understand, just listen to me carefully and hear me through. We’re going to be marvelous friends me and you. Maybe you’ll be good friends with Sunny, Raylen, and C.G.B. too.

Lost Keys

Lost Keys by Ethan Knapp

It was almost eight o’clock. That meant that the long and exhausting work day was almost over for Stan. Stan was always the last one out of work, it seemed. Was it too much to ask for a single early leave?! All he wanted to do was get home and spend time with his family. Stan’s mouth watered as his mind wandered to the delectable aromas of his wife’s delicious homemade dinners that he always had to reheat upon arriving home.

It was so close to eight now. Stan watched the second hand as it ticked closer to eight o’clock, going excruciatingly slower with each tick. Five... Four... Three... Two... One... Finally! Stan hurriedly collected his papers and adeptly stacked them where they were supposed to go; why hadn’t he done this before? Sorting papers was work-related after all, right? He quickly snatched his briefcase and rushed out of his cubicle, grabbing his coat while he made his hurried escape.

Stan quickly darted down the stairs instead of taking the abnormally slow, derelict elevator. As he hurried, he confronted his usual checklist: briefcase - check; coat - check; keys - check, (as he jiggled his pocket and heard the usual jangling and clinking). He had everything!

He then reached the parking level and strode to his car quickly. It was the only one left in the parking lot. “Go figure”, he thought. As he reached his car at what seemed the most remote corner of the parking lot, he threw his hand into his pocket to grab his keys. He fumbled around a little, but could not find the jagged edge of one of his keys nor one of the unusually shaped handles. By the time he had pulled his hand out, he had found 3 quarters, 5 dimes, and a penny. His panic started to rise as he frantically felt the rest of his pockets. Nothing!

Stan scanned the black, barely-lit pavement for his keys. He saw nothing. Where could his keys have gone? If they had fallen out wouldn’t all of his change have fallen out as well? Wouldn’t he have heard them hit the ground? Stan thought back to when he left his cubicle and vaguely remembered reaching a hand out to grab his keys. He had made such a habit of doing this. Had it become so much of a habit to have his keys actually there that he forgot to double check?

Stan quickly retraced his steps back to the office building, scanning for his keys on the ground. At the same time, he noticed the ominous, dark grey clouds obscuring the moon and the few stars that would otherwise show when in the city. “I sure hope I find those keys before the deluge begins”, he thought as the first drop hit him on the back of the neck. “Great, rain”, he thought.

As he reached the front of the building, still without his keys, he yanked on the front door, hoping in vain that it would not be locked. It was. He felt another drop of rain hit his neck and looked up in mild surprise, forgetting temporarily that it was starting to rain. He quickly looked down again, but something caught his eye. There was a small glint of light on the second floor windowsill. That was the window that he usually ate lunch near. He vaguely remembered showing a colleague the incredible distance at which his new car remote would work. Could he have inadvertently dropped his keys then? How would he get up there to investigate? If he could get on top of the dismal gray awning, he could probably reach the narrow windowsill, but would the awning hold his weight? And how would he get up there in the first place? His scrawny arms had never been able to perform a satisfactory pull-up.

Stan surveyed the area again. He noticed the small potted trees that he had always taken for granted. Could he stand on the pot and leap onto the awning while hauling himself up? It was probably worth more than standing around waiting for the heavens to open and drench him as if he had been shoved into a swimming pool.

He stood on the pot and grabbed the awning, apprehensively testing his weight on it. It quivered a littler, but felt as if it would support him....he went for it. He leaped and hauled himself up, hoping that it would actually support his weight. He also hoped that no one would take notice of him and call the police. That was not what he needed at this particular time; although, he wouldn’t mind a fireman and his ladder.

Stan inched along the metal support of the awning, fearing that a fissure would open in the canvas if he put his weight on it. He was so close to the building now. He reached up to the window sill to feel for his keys. He could barely touch the tip of something metal hanging slightly off. He could barely feel that it had a jagged edge like a key. He was sure that it was indeed one of his keys. Why couldn’t his keys have fallen onto the awning instead? They would be much easier to salvage then. He coaxed the object with the tips of his fingers. If it was a key, and if it was attached to the rest of his keys, he could save them, if only he could pull the one off enough to grab it and pull down the rest with it. “Almost there...,” he mumbled under his breath. He had it! He grabbed the dangling key and pulled down his keyring with all of his keys. He jumped down from the awning, nearly spraining his ankle in the process. He quickly hobbled over to his car while pressing the unlock button on his remote. He was happy to hear a small click from his car door locks. He opened the door and gladly crawled inside just as the buckets of rain he had predicted fell to the ground. He thought he heard the distant wail of police sirens growing louder as he shut the door and turned his key in the ignition. “I hope this thing starts,” he thought.