Maycomb Newspaper

The Ohio Floods

Shocking sky-view of the devastation

 The Ohio river has reached it´s highest level in recorded history. The worst flooding in over 175 years, including the flood of 1884 and 1773.

Over 150,000 residents have ran from the city of Lousiville due to extreme flooding. Reports say that over half the city is submerged in water from the Ohio river, and that the water level is continuing to rise.

385 have been reported dead or missing thus far, and the government is checking in for 500 million dollars of property damage. Nation wide there have been 1 million people displaced.

These floodwaters have been an issue for 11 days now, the first flood warnings were sent out on the 10th of January but the Ohio river has continued to rise at worrying rates since then.

Worry over the flood waters has even reached as far south as Maycomb.
“If the floodwaters reach Maycomb we are doomed, me and my family don't have a house strong enough to keep back floodwaters and we don't have enough time to build dikes” said John Ewell, the oldest son and second oldest sibling of the Ewell family. Many worry that the Ohio´s raging waters will soon reach Alabama, and it does leave one to ask. Will the flood reach Maycomb?

Official reports say no. Although northen Tennessee has received some flooding the South has been left almost completely untouched and it is very unlikely that the water will go any father than that. Maycomb, unlike towns farther north, is safe from the devastation.

Alabama has been left completely untouched by this wrathful rainstorm , thank God for that.

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Maycomb Lynchings on The Rise

In recent times residents from around the county have been taking matters into their own hands and have decided to hang and torture suspected offenders. The victims of the lynchings are almost always Negro males. They corner suspects, humiliating them then killing them before the court has a chance to condemn them guilty or pardon them.

Many whites view this as form of justice. They believe that this way true justice can be dealt. "My son died at a black man´s hands. I´m sure of it. The court wasn`t ready to sentence him to death, but I knew it from the beginning. Me and a few of my friends gave him what he deserved.". Lynchers believe that what they are doing is right, and that the court system here in Maycomb isn't harsh enough on offenders, especially blacks.

First Purchase, along with other elements of the Negro community argue that these lynchings are purely racist, and that they have no basis in justice and redemption and more so in hate and cruelty. "Many of the men getting lynched have never done anything wrong in their lives. Church-going innocents with the worlds warmest hearts are being hung on the trees simply because they are Negro´s and people dont like them".
First Purchase may have a point. Some lynchings are almost random and it´s hard to know if all people who are lynched have even been accused of a crime, let alone are guilty of one.

This may be a pressing issue in Maycomb´s future.

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Obituary on Bob Ewell

In the past few years Bob Ewell had always lived as humble man, living with the rest of his large family near the city´s trash dump. He lived a rudimentary life with them, mainly keeping to himself and not bothering anyone. He was an honest man and no one had any problems with him. Although not that many people knew him, no one who did disliked him, he was a quiet type. The type that keep to themselves usually.

Then, his life was turned upside down. His oldest daughter, Mayella Ewell was raped by a Negro by the name of  Tom Robinson(now deceased). He stayed strong, standing next to his daughter as she was cruelly forced to remember and recite what had happened that terrible night to the entire town. He stood tall and strong and was there for her,  staying strong in the court room and keeping it together for his family.

His strength in front of the entire town will hopefully be what he is remembered for, because just recently he was found dead, his own knife in his stomach, his back propped up against an oak tree. No one really knows why he did it. All we can really do is remember the man he was and send help to his family, who will miss him dearly.


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Dear Editor,

I would like to ask you a sincere question, what happens in years from now? And no, I do not mean in five years or ten years or even twenty years. I mean in the future, way past us. Better put, what do they think about what is happening now? The Negro community is slowly gaining power. Up North they are nearly being treated as equals! What about in Europe, don´t they already frown down upon us for our more conservative ways?

When people look back at us, if the Negros have their way and are our equals, what will the world think of us? Will be ignorants imbeciles who upheld ancient unjust ways? Will we be scorned by the then modern-world?

Editor, what I`m saying is that do we seriously think that in years from now people will understand. I was grown as a proud white and already I hear people from the North saying we are all ignorant bigots. What is going to happen to us in the future? Will people look back at our culture with pride or will all else be blown away by the fact that our lifestyle was once based off something they completly disagree with. Will my great grandchildren not want to speak my name because I took part in lynchings?

Sincerely,
A proud white.

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Editorial: Maycombs Courts

Are our courts really fair? Our judges, yes, our lawyers, yes, of course. But the real question is, is the system as a whole fair to all people under God and this nation? Let me answer that for you, hell no. It doesn't take a genius to notice that blacks get convicted for any crime a hell lot easier than whites do. Is that because our judges trial them unfairly, probably not, they are trained to be fair to all peoples, regardless of race and line of work. Is this because of lawyers on the defense do not attempt to protect the Negro´s because they are racist? No, many lawyers like Atticus Finch fight viciously a losing battle in an attempt to save the possibly innocent men and women and give them a chance in court.

So if our judges and lawyers are all fair, what´s ruining the system? That is after all all a court really needs, isn't  it?
Unfortunately, in this small town of Maycomb we have jury´s, and in those juries are racist whites who would rather die than to deem a Negro man innocent of any crime, regardless of it´s punishment and the obviousness of his innocence. They ruin the balance of our court systems by brining in race as a powerful factor into deciding whether or not the suspect should be guilty as charged.

Jury´s should be revised for KKK members or known lynchers, these men in such powerful places destroy Maycomb´s sense of justice.

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LOTF: Book vs. Movie(1990 version)

 Although much of the books action was captured in the film, it failed to perpetrate the allegory, character and plot development, as well the whole feel and mood of the book.

In the 1990 version of Lord Of The Flies, the conch was just the shell they used to call meetings, not a huge symbol of civilization and democracy as it was in the book. There was no connection whatsoever to what was happening in the outside world, no allegory towards Nazi Germany at all. Partially because Harry Hook decided that a group of disciplined English schoolboys could be easily replaced with a bunch of potty mouthed American Military Cadets who came as one huge group instead of a union of many small ones. There was no Lord Of The Flies scene in the movie which was in one sense the climax of the storyline. A connection to The Catholic Church and The Devil was completely absent in the film. Harry Hook just decided that the title of the book meant absolutely nothing and trashed that whole part of the storyline. Instead of a union of society then a segregation of it, it started with a brief period of union.

Many characters were bluntly nameless or just non-existent in the movie, Sam and Eric didn’t have names and it's like Harry Hook completely forgot about half of the boys and just decided to leave them out. Even the characters who were there were missing some of their fundamental attributes. Piggy's words filled with wisdom and logic are replaced with whining and crying. Ralph's bravery, remorse, and self blame was slightly captured in the movie. Yet, Ralph did have a few annoying attributes which were absent in the book, for one, he was a snotty American potty mouthed brat just like Jack. Jack was just... wow. Apart from the fact that both Ralph and Jack didn't look their parts Jack was by far the worst portrayed character. In the book, he was obviously evil but being evil doesn’t necessarily mean he was a complete and utter idiot as Harry Hook thought he quite clearly was. The amount of language which was spewing out of Jack's mouth was one worthy of much note.


The Island and the whole paradise feel of it was completely absent. With no halicunations the feel of the tribes men was pure evil. With no real beast in the story the whole point of the revolution was non-existent. Harry Hook failed miserably to capture the Lord Of The Flies into a book. If he had even got the mood right it would have been 20 times better, but quite frankly, he did not. It's an embarrassment to the book that even some of the most basic scenes were switched with all-new ones which weren't even part of the book in the first place. Also, the fact that they were suddently Americans in the time of the Cold War slaughtered the whole ironic feel and pretty much killed off any hope for the movie at the very start.


In conclusion, Harry Hook should have probably never titled it Lord Of The Flies. If he had called it something else and said it had been based very loosely off Lord Of The Flies then changed the characters names it would have passed as a perfectly normal movie and wouldn't be the brunt of shunning movie reviews who despise it. In fact, if he had named it anything different, very few people would have known it had much to do with Lord Of The Flies, because it was just that bad.

Lord Of The Flies: My Version

Red And Black, Blood and Dirt.

Twigs and branches snapped under his bare feet, blood forming up like a small coat over his toes, his nails with a thick layer of dirt clogging them up. Scratches pulse on his chest as he breathes heavily, sprinting for cover, running from the claws of his own tribe. The creepers are heavy but he breaks thorough them, ignoring the cuts which seem to consume his once handsome face. Finally, he can hear their yells no longer, he dives into the undergrowth. Samneric were right, they were after him. His friends, his tribe, the people who he had lead. They were after him, and they were going to kill him.

Roger's double ended spear lay at his feet, he was squatting down, bent over and pondering the upcoming hunt. Jack was weak, all bark and no bite, too scared to kill a human, too proud to admit defeat. Roger smiled the smile of one with grim pleasure. The grin of a lion as it gets ready to pounce on it's prey. Roger was ready.

Jack stood before his uneasy group of savages, his mask covering up his gloomy discontent.

“Everyone, be ready!” the chief yelled.

“Ready for what? He's one big 'un, it'll be easy.” Roger cut in.

Jack ignored Roger, continuing with his intended to be monologue.

“ We are going to hunt him down! Grab your spears and stay alert.”

“Stay alert? It's just Ralph”

Finally, he could take it no longer

“Shut up! He is the old chief and he can fight, he is dangerous. Also call for me if you find him. It's too risky to hunt him without your chief,” Jack announced, “We'll light a fire, we'll find him. Then I'll do him and we can have fun again”

Yet still a wave of unease enveloped the savages, Ralph was now dangerous. Some heads turned ever so slightly from their chief in power to another figure. One with an aura of danger, but at the same time, a sense of protection. Crouching down, spears in his hands, yet now silent under the chief's orders.

Ralph had found a small place in the forest, surrounded by vines he lay in the deep cool night, with no shelter but the green around him. A feeling of warm safekeeping and even familiarity surrounds Ralph as he crouches, pulling the vines back, ready to hide for the next few hours.

Heat woke Ralph. Heat which didn't burn like the sun did on the Island, but another kind. Ralph woke up to the scratching, slicing claws of flame. Ralph burst through the cover of vines, picking up foliage as he went, breaking into a sprint.

Ralph needed to get far, far away from the fire.

“Roger, follow me”. The chief called for him.

Roger followed, grasping the shaft of his one ended spear with an look of confidence. Jack and Roger ran thorough the remaining creepers, around the gaping mouth of heat and flame which had eaten up most of the Islands flora.

“Where is he?”

“We'll find him. We'll do him in.” Roger mumbled

Then Ralph burst out of the bushes.

Before Jack could call for the rest of the hunters he was on the floor, whirled and punched around by Ralph's fists. Driven by fury, resentment, and hatred Jack was knocked once and once again down into the earth by Ralph.

Ralph picked up a large rock and swung it over his head. That's when Roger swung his spear. It's shaft hit Ralph straight in the back sending him writhing in pain on the floor.

Jack moans, trying to recover himself and the dark figure pulls back his spear for the finishing blow.

A burning piglet, squealing and screeching from pain bursts through the bushes and disorients Roger just long enough for Ralph to get up and run.

Ralph knew that if he stopped running he would die, so he just kept going.

“Why isn't he calling for help?” Jack was worried

“Roger will be fine on his own”

And that, Jack recognized, was the problem.

He ran to the one place they wouldn’t be. Castle Rock.

Standing near the cliff, holding one of the spears Samneric had dropped Ralph waited for Roger to arrive. After what seemed like an eternity, Roger burst out of the bushes to meet the shaft or Ralph's spear.

Scuffling, stabbing, dodging rolling. Roger is above of Ralph, lifting his weapon up high, ready for the kill this time.

The end makes a squishing sound as it breaks through the skin, blood pours out from the wound, covering both of them with gore. Roger gapes, his eyes wide with disbelief. He regurgitated blood, letting it spill all over Ralph's face.

Ralph staggers backwards and sat down, breathing heavily and gasping for breath. Roger's warm, thick blood was smeared over his chest, mixing with his sweat, becoming a part of him. He shudders and kicks the corpse over the edge. Over the cliff, far away from Ralph. He looks up from the cliff edge and his heart stops. In the horizon he can see a ship rushing towards the Island and the giant twisting, twirling tower of smoke which bent to the will of the wind.

As it got closer, Ralph saw it's flag, it's colors, of which he had been taught to hate with all his heart and soul. But honestly, he didn't care anymore. He truly had no hate left that he was willing to give.

Sighing, Ralph sits down with the fragments of Piggy's conch lying still on the cliff. He brushes some hair that he picked up by accident from where he hid from the night. It's dark, thin and long, and covered in Roger's blood.

He lies back, watching as the ship gets closer and closer to the island, he can't the roar of the fire , the yells of savages. In silence he sits there in the remains of the Conch, his conch. The boat gets closer and closer, but as the enemy draws nearer all he can feel is relief that it's over. Finally, after what seemed like years, he would be safe. There was silence, no screams at night no crying litte 'un's, no crackling of fires.

All is quiet at Castle Rock.

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I chose the point in the story when Ralph is first starting to be hunted by the other because from there it would have been much easier to alter the end. By giving a different, more obvious build up of conflict between Roger and Ralph and finishing it differently. I ALTERED the end of Lord Of The Flies instead of completely changing it because I believe that although the end could have been better the main idea of it was exactly what it needed. I added in Roger's death because that way it show's loss of innocence on both side's and not only with the hunters. It also conveys that the more malicious figure of them all was destroyed at great cost. It adds on to the WW2/Nazi era metaphor which Golding created.

Lord Of The Lies

Jack relies on the
countless tales he tells, the ones
of  hellish beasts and
hate filled eyes, all with, coated with
lies, strung tight, firmly tied.

You Can't Have It All

But you can have a cheap pizza with cheese like rubber, it's tomato sauce with a hint of green.
You can have the soft, icy touch of water, waking you up at 4AM, telling you your AC is broken.
You can have the purr a cat and the hiss of a wounded stray, a look that can only mean I'll get you later, and when it's November, you can have time and abundantly so. You can have love, and lot's of it, when she wants you too, like a teeter-totter swinging back and forth, love to hate, then love to love.
You can have irritated friends, aggravated by the fact that "You can't keep your hands off each other".
You can have a worn down soul, toughened up like the bottom of your shoes,
 never not ready to tread on thin ice,
or needles and spikes.
You can have now, smiles and fun, flirting and a little bit of hurting, knowing that you're going to say goodbye.
You can have the pain and pleasure of living far away, far from the family's that you adore and abhor with such a pleasant passion, one that fills your heart every time you are dragged away from friends far too early in the summer vacation. You can't ever get back what you've lost, but you can have late night chats and long distance phone calls, ready for use, for they'll soon be needed.
You can have the grass on your brand new cleats, the wind in your face, and the bruises and scabs on your knees, reminding you that when you fall it shall leave a mark. Although not forever.
You can have music blasting through your headphones, so loud, so proud, so that everyone can hear it, and you still won't care. You can have the Sweet and Sour candy bag which would blatantly remind you of your relationship with a certain someone, if there were twice as many sweets than sour.  You can have arguments with your family, awkward dinners with tension drowning out the taste of your spicy Asian foods. You can't count on anyone to pull you out of a pit, but you can have someone waiting patiently at the surface,she's laughing to herself, very quietly. So when you clamber out, she'll be there for you, and you'll know why she waited when the others went on. So you'll know why you bothered to drag yourself out in the first place.
And when all else fails, you can still grab a pack of cookies, open up a comic book filled with childhood memories, sit yourself down and remember all you couldn't leave behind.
You can have the most painful thing you'll ever have to say,
"Love you, goodbye."

PUNK

Poetry Notebook: People I Give A Damn About

The best if times are always found when friends and family gather round-Unknown

Description:
With the end of year coming, and with half of our grade moving, it's time to figure out what really matters to you. More so, who really matters to you. This collection of work is about the people I give a damn about. My friends, my family, my brother, my life, and a little more. With quite  a few people going(including myself) I think  it's time that I dedicated something to them. To my friends, my family, my brother, and all the others that I really give a damn about.

Synopsis: This is a collection of poems is about people who I care about.


When A Woman Loves A Man by David Lehman
The Family Group by Madeline DeFrees
We Who Are Your Closest Friends by Phillip Lopate
Miss You by Anonymous
Untitled by Nancy Langomarsino
Battle Of Will & Exhaustion, Mother and Child by Jenny Factor
From The Lives of My Friends by Micheal Dickman
Your Catfish Friend by Richard Brautigan

Royal Flush- Benjamin Moore- 2076-20

Family and friends,
our turns revolve around the table.
Like a roulette ball,
spinning on it's wheel,
waiting to stop,
waiting to land.

There are plenty high hands
here tonight.
Still, none are the perfect.

None are the cards,
The hand,
The group of four or five,
One would always dream of.

The Rodriguez family.
A three of a kind that should be a four,
One card missing from the deck.

The Otways.
A pair of Jacks,
And an unloving Queen

Sammy is playing with his chips,
His hand slips
and dark red chips topple over,

they spill like blood over the table.

He is awake while Zach is fast asleep.
Sick again,
Awaiting the care
The attention,
of his mother.

The Carlsons,

A Full house
Three Kings,
Two Queens.

Then there's us.
Ace, King, Queen, Jackass.
All of spades.

Nearly enough,
but not quite.

We don't make a Royal Flush.

Lies, A Gone Novel:

Lies, by Micheal Grant

Publisher: Kathrine Tegen Books(imprint of Harper Collins Publishers)

Genre: Fantasy

Where I got it: I bought this book myself after reading the first two novels in the series, which were recommended to me by a friend.

One sentence summary: In the midst of a civil war between “normals” and “freaks”, the force that set up the FAYZ reveals itself and both sides are forced to unite under Sam once more to combat a greater evil.

First Sentence: Smashed Windows, Human Crew Tags, and their logos, warning freaks to get out.

First Chapter Review: The first chapter is really more of an introduction and reminder of the characters in the last two books. It is clearly shown the separation between the people who developed powers and those who remained normal, sprouting jealously and envy which turned into hate. Sam is in deep trouble and needs to prove himself as a leader and rally his own troops.

Verdict: Although not as action packed as the last books, the building suspense and tension makes this book one that you'll find yourself reading very late at night. It gets you hooked very early and is hard to put down. Like the rest of the series, a great book.

Cover comments: The cover shows Sam and Astrid standing apart from each other, symbolizing how they've both kind of broken apart because of Sam's ruthless campaign to get everything under control.

A Fool's Island.

He can't think like Piggy can.
He finds himself,
in the wearisomeness of this life,
with an assembly standing before him.

"this meeting must not be for fun"
the assembly standing before him,

are breaking apart.
Like small children,

they are.

"Don't you want to get out?"
Do they?
Does Jack?
The assembly remains silent.
For everyone is unsure,

and everything is uncertain.

"I know there is no beast",

the talk of fear,
consumes them.

Then, doubt once again.
Maybe there is a beast

Shut up,
sit down,

Fear envelops them.

They think of the beast from water
When
we should,
they should,
look at themselves.

Savages,
Children,
Fools.

Where I'm From

I am from painkillers

From Advil and Asprin

I am from the grass on our hill,

Wet, sharp; It slips under my feet.

I am from the tree outside my window.

The breeze in the summer,

which cools one faces,

on a scorching hot day.

I am from smart-assery and arguments,

from Colin and Thjis

I am from the witty bastards,

And the dumb fools.

From "Welcome Home,"

To "Good Morning, We've been robbed again."

I am from a squad of atheists,
Surrounded by an army of Christians.

I am from a small, miserably cold town,
Which I never even lived in.

I am from a line of settled people,
When I'm a traveler.

I'm from spicy food and churrascarias,
From the blood on our staircase,
the destroyed nerve in my fathers leg.

I am from the picutre books of my parents,
Filled with family faces,
And I'm from my father's computer files,
Just the four of us,
Happy as ever.

I'm from the branch
The branch that fell of the tree
The branch that stemmed.
I'm from the tree who's leaves

are far too distant,
But are always ever green.

That is where I'm from.

Japan Tsunami

Over the carnival break, word of a major disaster in Japan completely overwhelmed news stations worldwide. A 9.0 earthquake: 1000 times stronger than the one that hit Haiti, preceded a devastating tsunami which wiped out thousands of homes.

Refugees in copious amounts fled to nearby towns and cities in hopes to be taken in by the locals, and possibly housed and fed. The Japanese, adept in search and rescue after many years of practice, have already deployed teams from all over their nation to assist in the rescue efforts in the north. The Japanese- a proud people- have only asked for a specific amount of international help.

Everyone who is a part of the effort knows, however, that there will be many more bodies than survivors. With all the mud and debris it makes it very hard for their fastidious search dogs to differentiate the smell of a human and of a corpse. Bodies are being dug out under 1.5 meters worth of mud, so it is very unlikely that there will be many survivors.

And yet still the situation only gets worse; with power outages nationwide; refugees pouring in at all fronts; and now one of their nuclear power plants coolers decelerating and malfunctioning, all of this could lead to a very catastrophic second disaster. It's crucial that nuclear experts contain the radioactive fuel rods before the reactor melts down and explodes, a radioactive leakage could effect many people nationwide. With the roof blown off the reactors from explosions audible miles and miles away from the plant, the situation get's ever more worrying, especially since the many teams already attempting to grapple exactly what they need to do and nothing being done to help. This could turn out to be another Chernobyl.

Although help from Tokyo facilitates the recovery of the refugees, and capacious offices are being offered to roof many of them off, they will have many nights of fitful, worried sleep.

Lone Survivor

Marcus Luttrell is the "Lone Survivor" from Seal Team 10, he holds the memory of all his friends who died fighting along side him and trying to save his life. Being the "Lone Survivor" he has the hold all the weight of their deaths on his shoulders. He is the only one, he is the "Lone Survivor".

The memoir tells the story of Marcus Luttrell, and how his Navy SEAL training, Operation Redwing, and the death of his comrades changed his life forever. It is about how his determination, his will to live, and his faith in God and his country pushed him forward to survive against impossible odds. It speaks of how they were betrayed by the farmers they let live, soon a battle of four Navy SEALS vs over 150 Taliban insurgents began.

His vivid descriptions of the hardships he went through in training and in the fateful Operation make the reader feel like they are right there, in the heat of combat. Even things he only learned about later, like his rescue helicopter full of his closest friends being shot down he manages to capture his feelings about and get them down on text.

Although the book starts in New York, where Marcus is going on a tour around the country in an attempt to console his fallen team mates family members, it flashes back and then forward again. It goes backwards in time to the SEAL Training in Colorado, then to Operation RedWings, then back to his country-wide trip of the United States.

The book show's how Marcus was ultimately changed by these events in his life, how the training made him a stronger man both mentally and physically, how Red Wings turned his life upside down but strengthened his patriotism and determination to never give up. And how he feels that he can change the lives of the 16 families he visited over his state side tour.

Marcus Luttrell's "Lone Survivor" is by far the best military novel I have ever read, not only does it actively capture the intensity and the heat of the battle. He made you know and love every single one of the characters, and managed to portray how they fought to the death with extreme courage. Although he has very strong views against media, he never swings too far out to one side, making this story enjoyable for both liberals and conservatives alike, despite the disagreements over the war.
He makes it very clear that you can hate the war, hate all that it stands for, hate the president who started it, but he believes you have to pay respects to it's soldiers.


Lines we love:

"Any government that thinks war is somehow fair and subject to rules like a baseball game probably should not get into one. Because nothing’s fair in war, and occasionally the wrong people do get killed. " pg. 142

"You can’t negotiate with someone who is trying to cut your head off" pg 257

What I Believe

I believe fate doesn't exist,
that grass grows near snow,
purely by chance.

I believe we should risk,
that a bungee cord should hold
the one life we have.

I believe a flat tire
can ruin a day.

I believe a smile,
A laugh
Can fix all the cracks
In a broken day.

I believe music
Is best
in it's loudest from.

I believe all "if lost's"
should be changed to "when lost's",
because we lose everything,
eventually.

I believe you should always pretend
That you cant grab,
the paper she's holding out of reach.

I believe that in life,
A multiflavored Icee
Is a must try.

I believe cars
should give way
to bikes.

I believe learning
is trial and error,
that failure leads to to success
or death.

I believe that the bird which wakes you up
far too early on a Saturday morning,
Sings a beautiful song.

And I believe that when the time comes
We should all get dragged away,
Knowing we have taken risks.

So that there is no regret

So as not to leave behind,
a half-lived life.

The Carcass of The Beast

It used to be perfect, they used to be the most powerful fighting force in the world, they used to be stronger, and richer than everyone else. Now they weren't stronger or richer than anything, because they just weren't. They were gone. His entire life had been ripped apart by this sick disease, he had watched as his family was split in two by the ilness, and he had watched his friends get annihalated by the virus.

He stood at the cliff's edge, staring down onto the ruins, the wreckage he had once called home. The sweltering jungle heat covered the cliffside, but all he could feel was cold. Calamity after calamity had struck this land. Travelers from distant lands had come. The society had assimilated them and with the travelers came into the land, and- if the conspiracy theories were correct- they had brought the Disease.

The Disease was bizarre, it was like nothing they had ever seen before. The infected would boil up all over their faces, and people would watch in horror as one boil would expand untill the point that it would damage the nervers in the eye.When it finally connects to the brain, the boil explodes. He, as a hospital worker, he had seen this happen many a time. It was a huge mess to clean up, and a traumatizing experience for all who witnessed it. Yet even when the Disease first struck, no one could possibly apprehend how it was transmited. That was, at least. Untill the floods. The water from the heavy rains blocked up the sewage and water systems, leaving people to drink from a few central fountains in the city. Soon later, the amount of infected nearly doubled, confirming it was transmited through saliva and water, human contact. As the time elapsed, and the king refused to acknoledge how bad the people's condition was. Riot's began.

This only made everything worse. The King acted on it, of course. But in a very unexpected way.

He stands at the edge of the cliff and shivers. He remembers being shackled onto a chair in an interrogation room, pale white walls, multiple with blood stains. He remembers the crimson curtains draped from the ugly slitted windows. He remembers the door, his only hope of escape, less than five meters from where he sat. Then he remembers the people who tried to find out what he knew about the Disease. His people had always been treated as second class citizens, but when they were blamed for bringing the Disease into this land they lost everything.

In a meticulous manner, as to not rise suspicion, The King's men spied on all of them. They found every house number, every school the children went to, their hosiptals, their ages. Everything. And then they rounded up all his people and threw them into cells. There was no arraingments for them. They were treated brutally, violently lashed for information and tortured. Not even the children were spared. After months of endurance, it all stopped in one day. No one showed up at the doors. The Jails were silent apart from the sound of prisoners dying from the Disease and the usual murmurs. He had torn at the door untill his finger nails bled, kicked at it untill his foot was covered in blisters, and then resorted to hitting it with his head. Finally, he broke a hole through it.

That was a week ago. He was the last one left now. Everyone else had died from the Disease or had joined the gangs of Immunes that now roamed the city looting, the King was dead and the land was in a state of anarchy.

He smiles and picks up a piece of broken glass. He holds it near his face. The boil is half grown, he's lost vision in his left eye. He drops it then looks over the cliff again. Death is immenent. He was born in this land, he was born in that burning wreck that used to be a city below him. He will die in that city. He smiles a weary smile, then steps forward and jumps off the cliff.

Short/Memoir: Delicious Water.

I was edging my way across the muddy hillside, trapped between razor wire and the stench of sewage. Rocks littered the face of the hill , with small patches of under-grown grass infesting the already ugly slope's side. We weren't in the best of situations right now, and it was partly our fault. On the way back to our house, dissension had occurred in our car. Evert and I had decided to get out at Embassy Gardens to prove that we could make it back home faster by foot.

On a normal occasion, we could. Except the guy who lived near the shortcuts border had decided to put up a huge, ten foot fence topped with razor wire and with iron bars under it so we couldn't rip the whole damn thing up then clamber under it. It was a bizarre sight, on our neighbourhoods side, there was a pathetic, miniature fence that I could step over. Yet on the shortcut side it looked like we were trying to cross the Mexican border. If I had paid more attention to the people around here, I would have known the guy who built this fence was lionized here in Cardenas. As a complete asshole, that is.

"Well... Shit."

We now had a choice, double back and take the long, two hour walk around taking the main roads. Or take the adventurous, stupid way. Through a swamp like jungle , snakes, sewage, drains and spiky plants. To be fair to ourselves, the stupid way was only a twenty minute trip at maximum. It seemed like the obvious choice at the time. But of course when I had razor wire a few yards to my right, and a sewage line on the other time, I didn't feel all too smart.

The water at Crap Creek(formerly Crab Creek) is a very special kind of sludge. It seems that anything that falls into it just assimilates into the drink. Now I'm meticulously moving my way across the slope, finding places to put my feet and grabbing onto the hillside. My brother is at the very start, being a pussy(or being smart?) waiting to see if it's safe. My foot hits a loose rock, and now I'm sliding down on my leg, swearing. I try to grab onto the grass, but it just rips out of the soil. "Gah! F*CK!" I tried jumping to the over side of the shallow water(this was pure sewage, not the creek anymore) but my feet can't get a grip.

Splash.
Now I'm over the ankle in sewage water, damn.

Short: The Spin of A Bullet.

SThe old man's wrinkled finger curled around the trigger of the gun, the metal was damp from the humidity and the man's sweat. For what seemed like the thousandth time, his cold, gray eyes slightly touched the lens of his scope. He had done this countless times, he had done it in Siberia in his training camp, decades ago. He had sniped in countless Russian conflicts, he had done the same in Europe, Australia, Asia. Even in South America he had taken shots at the opposers of his nation's beliefs. Yet this job, which he would carry out in the United States, was his greatest task yet.

The Motherland wanted one thing for the United States, they wanted chaos and anarchy. They wanted the president, John F. Kennedy dead. The old man knew this could be his last shot, he, Vasily Zaytsev, legendary soviet sniper and WWII veteran, was getting too old for this. He knew that at this old age the police could easily aprehend him if they found out who he was.

Yet even he could not imagine what was going to happen next. He had his gun trained on Kennedy, he was waiting for exactly the right moment, when suddently a shot echoed through the streets. Good. Now some other conspiracy could be blamed for his death and not the Russian goverment. He took a deep breath, and then he pulled the trigget

Day 20: What we Drown In.

We left the surfboards back on shore, we felt like bodyboarding. I paddle up a wave and make it over as it crashes down on my friend, who didnt make it over fast enough. By the time he surfaces the next wave is already looming down on top of us. I padddle, and along with my brother, catch it.

We have a very, very stupid game we play occasionally. Wave wars. If two or more people catch a wave on bodyboards you do the only logical competitive thing left to do. You try to get the other person off the wave in the most violent manner you possibly can. I turn towards my brother and my brother starts turning towards me. I'm on the right side, so I'm going to have to punch and/or grab him with my left. Disadvantage D:, I try to get him in a headlock then flip his board. What happens next can only be described as absouloutly retarded. I grab his head and try to slam him off the board. After a few seconds of struggle I succeed, but when he goes down sideways he pushes the board, making it fly up straight in my face.

Foam tastes like shit.

We swim out to catch the next set of waves. About ten minutes and a few waves later, I manage to screw up. A pretty big wave is looming over me and I'm paddaling to catch it, I look back and notice that I'm a bit too far forward. Oh shit. As I go up the wave I try to turn out of it, but it's too late. The wave crashes right on me.
Now, if you've never had a wave crash on you, count yourself lucky. I was immediatly sent rolling through the water, getting pushed along and span by the wave for the first few seconds. Then the wave fully broke, and I was being dragged along by my board about two feet underwater. I pulled at the rope and finally managed to stop myself. I was nearly out of air after I had had some knocked out of me when I hit a rock when I was in the roll so I went up to the sky as fast as I could. Water really is a different world from the air. You can feel the difference almost before you break the surface.