K. Keener, Teacher
Course Seven
2017-2018
ENGLISH 9/10
Horace Greeley High School
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K. Keener, Teacher
Course Seven
2017-2018
Letter from the Teacher’s Desk Dear Readers,
The students below were asked to submit to this anthology with one question in mind: What writing are you most proud of from English class this year?
They submitted their choices to canvas. It wasn’t until after I stacked our class novels into the book closet, after I straightened my files and after submitted my grades to the main office, that I realized the gift they’d given me. The dust motes of Room L107 softly fell on empty desks. Yet the student voices in this anthology crowded the room. These snapshots of pride, cropped to a tight word limit, bring, as strong writing often does, an emotional resonance to our solitudes.
This year we tackled some tough subjects together: racism in To Kill A Mockingbird and Fences, love in Romeo and Juliet and war in Night and All Quiet on the Western Front. Along the way, we wrote together, ten minutes each day at the start of class and longer works once a cycle on topics as varied as the axioms of love, confederate monuments in the South and classification systems for modern life.
There is so much to be proud of outside of these pages below, but I hope that you will be able to see the hard work your students applied to big questions of humanity and smaller ones of who they are becoming.
Thank you for all of your support that runs invisible underneath all of the growth I witnessed this year,
K. A. Keener
English Teacher
Horace Greeley High School
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K. Keener, Teacher
Course Seven
2017-2018
Table of Contents Table of Contents
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Dear Reader (a letter from a multi-genre project)
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by Peter A.
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Empty Space
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By Alex A.
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Implicit Bias Reading Response
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By Brian B.
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As Time Goes On
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By Angelina B.
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Two Body Paragraphs From Compare/Contrast Between Books Essay By Kristin C.
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Flyers
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By Sage C.
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Lies
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By Jaime Fine
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Alternative Ending to Joyce Carol Oates Story
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By Yaya G.
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Looking Back
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By Noah G.
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Colors
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By Josh G.
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A short story about a soldier
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By Stefanie G.
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Morality and Proximity
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By Brendan K.
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K. Keener, Teacher
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Axioms of Love
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By Dylan L.
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Audition
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By Ellie L.
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See Things the Way You Want to See Them
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By Luke M.
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Letter from Protagonist of All Quiet on the Western Front
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By Ellie M.
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ANXIETY
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By Avery R.
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Believe and You Will NOT Achieve
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By Quinn S.
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Why They Chose to Write
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By Pranay T.
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From Vibrant Colors to Black and White
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By Ben T.
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A Response to The Lover’s Dictionary - Illustration Through a Dictionary 22 By Kevin W.
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Addiction and Conscription
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by Alec X.
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Excerpt from “Where are You Going, Where Have You Been?” Story Rewrite 24 By Daniel X.
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2017-2018
Dear Reader (a letter from a multi-genre project) by Peter A. Dear Reader
War will always be war, it never changes. War stories however, are always different and intricate to each other. War stories are the inner mind of a terrified soldier during a war and his struggle to survive. Everybody loves these stories, more so because of their fiction like scenarios these soldiers are put into. People can't even imagine themselves in any situation as been described in many war stories. Erich Maria Remarque wrote what is known as the greatest war story All Quiet on the Western Front. This WWI story follows a boy, Paul Baumer, who ventures into the depths of war into the front lines.
Only a true soldier is able to come back and show how the war has affected them and then write and thoroughly discuss about it. The author himself being part of the war is able to use his past in an advantage to relate the characters to him and his experiences when he himself was serving.
Although many moments in the book seem far fetched and gruesome, that is the harsh reality that our world lives in, that is the reality of war.
Why did Remarque decide to write about his war story? what was his aim or push to write this great story? Why do people write about war? No soldier writes a war story in the effort to entertain an audience, there are many key factors in how these stories are shown to an audience.
For example, a story of war may be used to describe the horrors of war and why we should never ride down the path of war. I believe Remarque took this path, in an aim to influence and teach the people about war. There are also those that write to remember, they write to remember their lives before the war, before the war scarred them for life.
Furthermore, war can be used as forms of propaganda, in the sense that people will view war as the only option in liberating their country. Leaders like Hitler used propaganda to attract young men into joining the military, he wrote about war as if it were a place for strong individual men who want to save their country.
Throughout this Multi genre Project, I discuss and explore the many different reasons how you can be affected after the war.
Sincerely
Your Author, Peter Anastos
Horace Greeley High School
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K. Keener, Teacher
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2017-2018
Empty Space By Alex A.
I’ve always been interested in what was classified as the unknown. Just looking up into the neverending, lush, deep blue, smooth grid that was the “sky” surrounding the fragile Earth. But truly, whatever that meant was fascinating enough to my mind. I never clearly understood what it was that made my brain so invested into what this immense space was, because truly, what really is it? Of course, there is the scientific explanation, but that isn’t enough to ease the mind of creative, artistic bonds ingrained into practically my DNA. To me, the millions of miles of sky illustrate a blanket of contrast, saturation, exploration, some buckets of differing tints, as I could continue my list but it would eventually turn into every filter I had ever used to make an image I captured more dramatic than it needed to be. It is day 30 of the school year, and day 288 of the gregorian year. Two different things, but somehow align into a tight schedule that demonstrates the live of a busy highschooler living like there’s no tomorrow. To continue, I’ve always wondered if we’re just fenced in for good. Sure, you can be an astronaut, and explore a portion of space, but how far out there can we truly get? What is there beyond space, and is it something unworldly? While I may never know the answer to this, the thought of what could be out there in the empty space that we call the atmosphere, will always be interesting to me.
Implicit Bias Reading Response By Brian B. In To Kill A Mockingbird included many segments, where implicit bias clouded people judgement, Aunt Alexandra’s really stood out. Scout wanted to befriend Walter Cunningham (Mr. Cunningham's son) to dinner after School; however Aunt Alexandra disallows this. She did not condone this simply because of her implicit bias toward the Cunninghams. She believes that since they are wealthy and a different class than the Cunninghams, that Scout shouldn’t be hanging out with him. Scout argues
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that the Cunninghams are nice people but she specifically says about that “They’re good folks. But they’re not out kind of folks.”
(Pg 299) What she means is that it's not about the Cunninghams being cold hearted and bad people (which they weren’t), but that the Finches should not be hanging out people like the Cunninghams. This clouds her judgement because Scout doesn’t have many friends, and Scout likes Walter, but Aunt Alexandra (who usually does was best for Scout) denies her this friendship just because of her bias against the Cunningham family. Aunt A is blind to seeing that Scout just wants have friends, and she's to young for Alexandra to care who she's friends with. Aunt A however doesn’t want Scout to be exposed to friends that aren’t the same wealth. She goes on to actually explain to Scout why she shouldn’t be with Walter “The thing is, you can scrub Walter till he shines, you can put him in shoes and a new suit be he'll never be like Jem. Finch women aren’t interested in that sort of people. She ain’t nine yet! (Said Jem). She may as well learn it now” (Pg 300) Aunt A is referring to that in the future, the Finches shouldn’t be interested in people like the Cunninghams. Aunt A is blind to seeing it doesn't really matter who she hangs out with, they're just kids! She is not seeing that Scout just wants a friend and that it doesn't really matter who Scout hangs out with. Aunt Alexandra’s implicit bias that the Cunninghams aren’t as wealthy as they are, clouds her judgement, and makes her blind to really seeing that they are just kids, and that Scout should hang out with whoever makes her happy.
As Time Goes On By Angelina B.
As we get older, not only do we change, but so does the world around us. It could be in a bad way; memories that you can never get back, or in a good way; being open to more ideas, and notice more things that we wouldn’t’ve expected to in the past. Everyone grows up to see the world differently. The homeless could see the world as harsh, and cruel, for how they have a hard life, how they need to beg on the streets for money. The rich could see the world as fair, and easy. Everyone has a different view on things, and this could change as they get older. They could be happy, and not have a care in the world, or they can be the total opposite. This could change the thoughts that people have on others. You can think someone is really mean, or really nice at first, but when you get to know them, you find out who they really are; there could be a reason why people act a certain way. People can be fake, just to get others to like them. Or rude, so no one talks to them. You can’t assume what kind of person someone is, until you get to know them. Opinions, decisions, and choices can be developed into better ideas. It’s hard to imagine that the things we don’t accept right now, might be accepted later, but we should be open to all new concepts and intentions. And the things that we are used to now could transform, whether it’s in a good way or a bad way. Over time, we learn to improve the way we think, critique the choices that were made in the past. Based on what happened, we can see the things that can be fixed, even if it doesn’t happen fast. Some things could change very suddenly, and other things have to be waited out over time. Drastic decisions can change our lives forever, personal or not, but it all depends on what happens as time goes on.
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Two Body Paragraphs From Compare/Contrast Between Books Essay By Kristin C. In the book Everything, Everything, Maddy, one of the main characters is raised by her mom to believe she has SCID, an immune disease that prevents her from leaving her house, ever. She has spent her entire life inside her house, in attempts to protect herself from getting sick. Maddy has had little interaction with other people and almost nothing from the outside world, so when Olly, a boy Maddy’s age moves in next door, she is at first, unable to meet him. This does not, however, stop her from meeting him later in the book. They text for awhile and soon fall in love despite Maddy’s disease, the main obstacle in their relationship. Maddy being restricted and not being able to meet Olly only incited her desire to get to know him and spend time together. Similar to in Romeo and Juliet, the two lovers being forbidden from seeing each other due to the long-lasting feud between their families only spurred them on to get married. Being told that something or someone is off-limits, or any other type of obstacle only makes the other person more irresistible. As well as how in The Storied Life of A.J. Fickry, since the characters did not get to spend a lot of time with each other, the time spent with each other was more significant and they looked forward to it. Obstacles only acted as ammunition for Maddy to fall in love with Olly and leads her to go outside, living her life without fear, especially from love, believing “Love can’t kill [her].”(149)
Not only distance, but the people and the environment surrounding a character can be an obstacle in a relationship. In Romeo and Juliet, the two characters not being allowed to see each other only encouraged their relationship. Juliet loved Romeo, and realized that it’s only “Thy name that is [her] enemy” (Act 2 Scene 2 Line 41). Romeo and Juliet came from two different families, the Montagues and the Capulets, which have been rivals for a long period of time, causing problems for their relationship. On top of this, Juliet already had plans to marry another man, Paris. These obstacles did not affect the two, it only brought them together more rapidly. Them not being allowed to see each other only made being together more extraordinary for the two, as it did in The Storied Life of A.J. Fickry and Everything, Everything. Since Romeo and Juliet loved each other so passionately and got married shortly after they met, difficulties they faced could never bring their relationship to an end, only make it stronger.
Flyers Horace Greeley High School
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By Sage C.
I was at JFK airport, getting ready to fly to Tampa. I was sitting on this small delta flight, that probably had about 250 seats. Sitting next to me, was this old man, with white hair slicked back, and a white mustache, glasses hanging off of his nose and he was wearing a striped button down shirt. We were sitting so close to each other that our elbows were touching. I was sitting there waiting for all the people to board so we could take off. While I was sitting there waiting for everyone to get onto the plane,I observed each person that walked past me. First a 20 year old man passed me, with earpods hanging from his ears, wearing a red t-shirt and sweats, with sneakers. Behind him was a women around her 40s with a business suit on, and a small suitcase behind her following every step she took. As each person walked by I thought to myself how different they all are. And that is when it hit me, that every person who flies is categorized into some type of flyer.
The first type of person I really notice when I step onto the plane, is the person who is holding up the whole boarding process. The person who causes me to stand in the skinny little aile for about 10 minutes. That’s the person who is trying to stuff their big suitcase [that was really meant to be checked in] into the overhead bin. While they play tetris with their bag I have no other choice, but to stand there and wait. While I am standing there, waiting unhapply for them, they are the ones that are really suffering. They don’t want to be holding up the plane, and they don’t want to stuff their big suitcase into the overhead bin but they have no choice. Unless they want to pay $70 to check the bag, which they don’t.
After 10 minutes of waiting for them to put their bag up, I am finally able to get to my seat. I sit down, put my bag under the seat and buckle my seatbelt. I get comfortable and get ready for a nap. But then all of a sudden this little kid that is sitting behind me starts to kick my seat. And at that moment I realize that it is going to be a long flight. How could I be so unlucky? There are hundreds of other seats on the plane, and somehow I just end up with kid who can’t sit still for five minutes, right behind me. I can’t believe this. I sit there for 5 minutes, while my head bobs back and forth. Finally I get up so I turn around and look at him. We both make eye contact and I give him the death stare. Finally that will make him stop. I sit back down, and second later he starts to kick me seat again. Great. Just Great.
Lies By Jaime Fine
People always tell stories about how war changed them about how they almost died, and at the time I marveled at their bravery, at their strength, their courage, but now that I am here I think it is all just one big lie. The day I turned 18 years old on June 14, 1941, I got a letter in the mail that my entire family feared, but I was excited to fight for my country to become brave, strong, and courageous. It stated that I had to go and report to base to serve in WWII. The next day I left my mother, my father, my sisters and my baby brother and went to the train station. Once I got there everything started to get more intense. Colors, smells, sound, sight. Am I nervous? But, I remember those war stories I was told about bravery, courage and strength of those men who fought to come back home and tell those stories. Soon, I was loaded on to the train with the other men. The train Horace Greeley High School
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had intricate bright paintings on the wall and the carpet was a deep red, the walls were wooden and warm. Then I looked at the other men on the train. They seemed scared. Their faces seemed scared.
One of the men came up to me and said straight to my face, “Why are you smiling, boy? Do you not know why you are here? Why you are drafted? Everyone is dead!” Then the vibrancy of everything became dull, the middle aged man was still talking to me, but I didn’t hear him, I didn’t hear anything anymore. I was deaf with fear. I looked around the train and I saw the paintings which no longer looked intricate to me they looked blurred. The beautiful deep red carpet now looked like blood of all those who have fallen and the cozy wooden walls now felt like a cage. There was nothing that I could do. I was trapped. I was terrified.
One Month Later…
I was sitting in a ditch blood and dirt smeared all over my face. As I attempted to wipe it off, another grenade detonated leaving more dead than alive. I looked around for my comrades all I could see is smoke. All I could hear is screams for help. All I could taste was blood. Where was the courage, bravery, strength I once thought I had? The war stories I once heard are only fractions of reality of what I witnessed that day.
Here in the story the narrator is telling us how he might feel after his friend go shot right in front of him. Was he going to be just another dead body among thousands? Then he thinks about the stories that he heard as a child he now actually being in a war calls them lies
Alternative Ending to Joyce Carol Oates Story By Yaya G.
“Shut up! you're crazy!” Connie said. she backed away from the door. she put her hands against your ears as if she'd heard something terrible. Connie realize that she had no choice but to obey Arnold's wish, or at least to make him think she was going to…” alright, I love to come on a ride with you Arnold!” Connie said, while twirling her long blonde locks and batting her thick lashes like the sweet girl she knew Arnold wanted her so badly to be. Little did Arnold know Connie had a different idea in mind. A wild grin spread right across Arnold’s tanned and wrinkly face as if he was a little boy at a candy store. “Sounds sweet to me honey! I knew my baby would come around!” Connie shivered at the words “my baby” disgusted at the thought of belonging to Arnold. She stepped onto the cold linoleum floor and noticed the sun setting on the field behind her house. She stepped through the back doors as Arnold called out “What's taking so long in there sweetie?!” but Connie didn't hear anything except for the jittery tunes of XYZ Sunday Jamboree which came from her once fortified and plush room but now seemed like a cardboard box that Arnold could easily knock over with his big stuffed boot. She walked out onto the endless field as the sun melted into the horizon and laid down, letting the grass and mud tarnish her clean blonde hair and soil her crisp white dress that she bought at the store just last weekend. She lay there for what felt like hours, Horace Greeley High School
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watching the sky turn into a shade that was blacker than Arnold’s crazy hair. Eventually, she heard the engine of Arnold’s tacky gold convertible rumble and take off as he yelled “Don’t you worry baby girl, I’m gonna getcha another time! Just you wait honey...just..you..wait!”
Looking Back By Noah G.
This is a first person narrative on a person looking back on their time in the Holocaust.
When I imagined my future, I thought it was bright. Back then things were so simple. Eat, sleep, learn, work, play. It was a simple existence, but a happy one full of little hardship and strife. The future looked good. It had always been predetermined that I would grow up and take my father’s place as our town’s rabbi, always been predetermined that I would marry a nice Jewish woman and have lots of nice Jewish babies, always been predetermined that I would raise my children in the same quiet little town in the south of Germany that I had grown up in. And my life was headed in that direction, until those who thought that they could somehow be superior to their fellow human beings decided my people and I should be quartered and treated as filth. Thrown on top of each other, everyday fighting for our lives, all the time suffering, and only wanting for the pain to stop. Husband and wife separated, father and son, mother and daughter, all made to live for themselves, but above all else for each other in the vain hope that one day they would see each other again. Only those with the strongest of wills survived, though their resolve broke long ago, and were carried purely by the miniscule amount of hope that was afforded to them. They carried on until mind and body broke, too weak to keep going, too strong to give in. Torture of every kind was enacted upon my people, starvation, disease, lashings, mass killings, pitted against one another for the minute amount of food allowed to us. As once said by Reverend Martin Luther King Jr., “Darkness cannot drive out darkness. Only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate. Only love can do that.” The enemy had played their hand, our supposed allies turned a blind eye for too long… but both sides firmly believed that what they did was in the name of peace.
Colors By Josh G.
He’s in a cab, a short 30 minute ride from the train station, but it feels like years pass as he’s slowly descending on his old home. As he stares out the window, and watches the cars and buildings fly by, he remembers his old life. Hanging out with friends in the park. The fresh air. The smiles, oranges, reds and greens. His old grade school. All of the stories and memories, but only the bad memories came forward. Being stuffed in lockers, rejection, drug abuse. Stories of how his life turned upside down. As they went through town he saw the old school. Well, not a school anymore, a factory. A factory to build arms for the collective war effort, as well as the park. Rebuilt into a factory. He was expecting to see the flourishing colors of home, the rainbow of youth and happiness and ease of of his old life, his childhood. Where he didn’t need to be vigilant of the whirr of bullets, and didn’t have to fight for something he didn't understand. He expected to feel safe. But when he arrived, it felt as if he hadn’t moved. Days of watching things go by, train by train, but he hadn’t
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moved. We all sit thinking the war is only fought on the battlefield. But at home, his home, the war had taken over. His childhood destroyed into refineries and metal foundries. The war effort came in and wiped away everything. War is a home fight. War is all around.
A short story about a soldier By Stefanie G.
A warm breeze brushed the hair out of my eyes, but still I shivered. I was in the middle of a desert, but still I was shivering. It was not cold. Quite the opposite, it was too warm, it was far too warm. The sun beat down on me, seemingly pushing my heavy boots further and further into the pale yellow sand that surrounded me. I should have grown used to this weather by now. I should have gotten used to many things by now, like the fact that it was always too bright here, that noone in my family had tried to come in contact with me, that I was only 10 miles away from an active battlefield, but still I felt like a lost and scared infant. For god’s sake, I had been deployed 5 months ago, and all I knew was that I was somewhere in Iraq! I hadn’t even seen the front lines yet, maybe that's why I was shivering. The humvee jumped grounding my thoughts to the people around me again. “For god’s sakes Dan close the damn window” yelled the man next to me. “Lighten up Cal, I’d think you’d enjoy the breeze, it’s a break from the god-awful heat.”, Dan, the driver retorted. Cal gave Dan a pointed look, and sure enough Dan rolled up the window. I glanced at Cal, first at his face, neutral and cold, and then at is leg. He was taping his foot. He was nervous. I was nervous too. I didn’t bother giving him a resuering glance or a smile, where we were going smiles weren’t going to help. I was thankful, for at least the breeze had stopped.
Morality and Proximity By Brendan K. World War One was one of the most devastating wars ever fought. The long term economic and demographic impact was one of destruction and death. All Quiet on the Western Front by Erich Maria Remarque is a story from the point of view of a soldier, Paul Baumer, who joins the army as as
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a young man with others from his school, but quickly realizes that war was not what it was made out to be. He is confronted with unimaginable terror and suffering, his friends slowly die around him, all as part of a seemingly pointless and stagnant struggle against an innocent enemy. The idea of death becomes less imaginary and theoretical as he is faced with it everywhere as the question of when it becomes ethical to kill another man is explored.
When Paul is stranded in no man’s land and sheltering in a crater, he encounters an enemy soldier and makes the split second decision to kill him. Paul immediately feels regret and huge amounts of empathy towards the enemy soldier, while sitting there with him in the crater he investigates the soldier’s life, learning his name, job, and information about the soldier’s family. Paul feels personally and deeply responsible for the death of the enemy soldier, imagining the grief felt by his family and lamenting his death of the fallen soldier, asking the corpse “how could you be my enemy?”(223). Up close, the enemy is no longer a faceless evil, but instead just another man like himself, there is nothing that defines him as evil and a threat, the state of mind that regards him as evil is nonexistent. It demonstrates the difference in the effect of the death of someone known to us compared to someone unknown to us. The morality of killing is questioned in that environment because the enemy is known to Paul. Paul never hesitated to killing the nameless soldier who might step into his crater, but in the aftermath regrets killing the man Gerard Duval. When Paul tells his friends about what happened, they point him towards the snipers tower. There Sergeant Oellrich is working to pick off as many enemy soldiers as he can. The killing is shown to be nothing to him as “Oellrich’s rifle cracks out sharply and dry”(229). The act of killing is completely mechanical, dry. There is no empathy or thought beyond satisfaction over success. From afar, separated by meters and meters of the most dangerous land on Earth, death means nothing to the sergeant except the chance of a colored bird by his buttonhole or the chance of a promotion. Each shot he fires has the potential to completely devastate and ruin a man’s life, but it means absolutely nothing because of the space between them.
Axioms of Love By Dylan L.
This is an excerpt from my piece “Axioms of Love,” where I had to compare three love genre texts and explain how certain overall truths are in all books and our lives today.
Axioms are universal truths or guidelines, which in our case, are dealing with love. These kinds of universal truths can be beneficial to a relationship, but also devastatingly true. For example, if a couple knows that they are resistant to goodbyes, they can move around this difficulty. But if a relationship impairs their judgement, that one relationship can be the greatest implicit bias. In literature, these kinds of truths come up all the time. In literature we read about other characters who have love stories that we want for ourselves. Love stories give us a sense of hope for our own love lives. In Romeo and Juliet by William Shakespeare, Eleanor and Park by Rainbow Rowell, and The Hate U Give by Angie Thomas, these kinds of love truths are expressed.
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Moments of truth demonstrate how stable and real a relationship can be. Moments of truth can consist of, either when the first “I love you’s” come out, or even the first spark of love or interest attractions. In literature, this axiom of love could be found. For example, the phone call scene is full of firsts for both Eleanor and Park in Eleanor and Park. But most importantly was the moment of truth for Park. As their phone call was coming to an end after listening to all of Eleanor’s positive remarks, Park rams in a quick, “Eleanor––wait––I love you” (113-114). Unlike Park, Eleanor quickly hangs up the phone. The ironic thing is, Eleanor knew that she felt the same way about Park. By Park saying it first, Eleanor knew, that her feelings were true. This moment of truth opens the door to Eleanor finally say “I love you” back.
Additionally, In Romeo and Juliet, at the Capulet’s party, Romeo latches his eyes with Juliet. He searches for Juliet after the party. Once encountering her, they touch hands and a conversation sparks. Throughout their conversation, they talk about pilgrims and how they are like pilgrims. Romeo compares Juliet to a saint and her kiss to a prayer. Romeo tries to pursue a kiss from Juliet, but in retrospect, Juliet thinks of this as a sin. Romeo explains how it is not a sin. They kiss and Juliet is dazed with delight. She wants another kiss from Romeo, “Then have my lips the sin that they have took” (Act: 1 Scene: 5 Line: 119-121). Juliet falls under Romeo’s spell and allows Romeo to kiss her. In that moment of truth, Romeo and Juliet feel their true emotions for each other. This moment of truth opens the door for their love story...
...Set side by side, the genre love, stands out compared to others. This kind of literature provides the idea of what we want in our lives. By reading words on a page about love, it shows us how hopeful we need to be. We all fall in love with someone at some point, we just don’t know when and where. By reading a love story, people can even learn how to manage a correct relationship and do everything right. Reading love stories can be a gateway to show us how amazing and unbelievable a love story can be. Literature about love give us an idea of what is coming up; hope and ambition is what keeps us going.
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Audition By Ellie L.
This piece is an expert from my classification essay on the different types of girls you will find in an audition waiting room.
The constant hum of the air conditioner echos as it struggles to keep up with the massive amount of people filing inside the large gym-like room. It is accented by the rhythmic clicking of a blue bic pen belonging to the administrator at the front table as she checks people in for the audition and hands out forms. Her legs kick back and forth under the plastic white table in boredom as she re-ties her high ponytail for the third time that morning. Her once cheerful smile is now strained with fatigue as she has been sitting there since six o’clock that morning. She checks her phone: 9:56. Only four more minutes until she can start escorting people back. She could close the doors now. She bounces to the heavy metal doors, struggling with them for a second, before pulling them closed. However, just before they can clang shut, a scrunchie-clad hand rockets through the narrowing gap. “Oh, I’m here, excuse me!” the girl calls as she weasels her way through the door. “Of course,” the administrator thinks with a groan, “one of these.”
An audition is an explosion of talent, excitement, and nerves. It could be a can to perform and have fun, or five minutes of pure terror. To audition is to be vulnerable; to voluntarily put yourself on the line to be judged by others. It is an opportunity to prove yourself and get the role of a lifetime. Yet, I have always been more interested in the low simmer before this loud explosion: the waiting room. It could be an office lobby, a long hallway, or an empty gymnasium, yet no matter the setting, there are a couple types of girls you can spot in any audition waiting room.
As she jogs across the gymnasium, her untied converse squeaking against the polished floor, the Hot Mess takes center stage. This young girl is a bagless, balancing act of binders, papers, and water bottles. Her sweater hangs off one shoulder, covering the yoga pants she had scooped off her bedroom floor just fifteen minutes earlier. Her hair is up in a messy bun, not the kind you might watch a Youtube tutorial to construct, but a mangled, matted, mess of hair that any woodland creature would be happy to take up residence in. Her competitors exchange raised eyebrows and conceal smug smiles. Once her pilgrimage to the check-in desk is complete, she dumps all of her bottles and binders galore onto the white plastic table, ignoring a dirty look from the administrator. Thank god I made it, the Hot Mess thinks. She had been looking forward to this audition for weeks and had set six different reminders on her phone, but when her friends texted her to go out last night, how could she resist. Cut to 9:30 the next morning when she jolts up in bed, eyes wide with realization and still smeared with last night’s makeup.
See Things the Way You Want to See Them By Luke M. Horace Greeley High School
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K. Keener, Teacher
Course Seven
2017-2018
Troy learned to play baseball in jail after being arrested for the stabbing and eventually killing of a citizen. With the countless experiences that Troy went through, he began to put real life events into this metaphor to make it easier for himself to understand. He refers to death as, “nothing but a fastball on the outside corner.”(10) A fast ball was something that he has encountered many times, but has overcome and escaped, just like death itself. A fast ball is the most common form of a pitch in the sport and can happen at anytime, similar to dying. Death can come upon anyone at anytime and can be hidden in any “corner.” When Troy says this, he really means that death is something that he’s has witnessed and avoided more times than he can count and that death has been “pitched” to him at heart wrenching speeds that he always has managed to hit out of the park, that is, turn overcoming death into a personal victory. A fastball was thrown at a Troy when he got pneumonia and was sick in the hospital, but he overcame the illness and was now victorious against death itself. There is only one certain thing in life: you will die; it’s your choice whether to ignore or accept it and for Troy Maxson he accepts it in his own language he can understand, baseball.
Horace Greeley High School
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K. Keener, Teacher
Course Seven
2017-2018
Letter from Protagonist of All Quiet on the Western Front By Ellie M. 
Horace Greeley High School
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K. Keener, Teacher
Course Seven
2017-2018
Horace Greeley High School
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K. Keener, Teacher
Course Seven
2017-2018
ANXIETY By Avery R.
My mind rumbles and races. My thoughts fight one another for a chance to become more than noise in my head. The clutter of my brain can be exciting. It drives me to be creative and the flood of thoughts fills me with a purpose. But sometimes it hurts. Sometimes it overwhelms me and sometimes it feels as though I will never focus on anything but the chaos. My heart races. That pounding that starts like a hum in my veins, grows to a steady beat, like a drum. There’s a feeling, almost a hitting on my throat and a tingle in my shoulders. My stomach twists and folds into itself, maybe from hunger or maybe from fear. My hands become weak and feel as though they are so useless my arms don’t even attempt to move them. My knee begins to tap, no, it’s hitting, punching, hurting, the ground beneath me. I imagine the floor being cold and smooth but my shoes and socks which confine my feet limit me from knowing the truth. It seems as though pure will can not stop me from shaking and despite knowing that I am making me knee hit the floor, I can not make it stop. I guess my mind is on other things. I feel the air chill my throat and enter my lungs and I can see my chest expand but it still feels as though my ribs have shrunk and I can’t get the tight feelings to release. I say I want it stop but I still struggle to do so. Even with the use of every cell that exists within my body, I can’t focus enough on making the chaos stop because I am so consumed with what it has left behind. So instead I just wish there was a timer, one which would tell me when my head was about to explode, rather than forcing me to wait and worry for the moment in which I break.
Believe and You Will NOT Achieve By Quinn S.
If I were to search under the seats of my 10th grade year, I would expect to find a variety of items. I would expect a pile of scrap paper with the math formulas I tried so hard to understand. I would expect to find crumpled up tissues from the disappointments of being let down by a friend, something not going as planned, or disappointment from an injury. I would expect to find scraps of tickets from the movies and concerts I went to with friends the laughter and memories echoing with every spare piece. I would expect to find candy wrappers and scraps of balloons and decorations from various birthdays, holiday parties, or just fun evenings together. However what I did find was a pack of smarties. Nothing else, just a pack of smarties. Completely untouched, 9 round little candies inside, it seemed safe to eat. Each little candy was a different color and would therefore bring about a different flavor, some are known to be sweet and some are known to be sour.
I unwrapped the package and popped the first candy into my mouth; it’s yellow which is a happy color but it tastes everything but. It wasn’t just the lemon flavor and my general dislike towards sour tastes that made it bad, but despite the fact that there was happiness to the color and newness to the packaging the taste was disappointing and expired which made it hard to swallow. I grabbed the next two, a pink one and a white one and popped them into my mouth simultaneously. At first the combination was so bad I choked and almost spit the two out, they tasted so old, so washed up and so expired. However after a little while the taste settled in my mouth and it wasn’t Horace Greeley High School
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K. Keener, Teacher
Course Seven
2017-2018
so bad; in fact the sweetness of the pink smartie was coming through making a taste which had been rancid and bitter actually enjoyable and worthy of swallowing and not spitting out. The next candy I picked up was broken completely in two and dissolved the second I put it in my mouth. I could tell it was a white smartie by the appearance and at first it seemed too destroyed and broken down for me to taste anything, but after settling on my tongue it actually tasted succulent and sweet which was completely unexpected. The next four that I grabbed were all different colors; one was pink, another was green, another was orange, and the final was purple. Despite the different colors I couldn’t tell one from the other in terms of taste. Despite being flavored with different artificial flavors they all tasted the same with the pink one being slightly more tangy than the rest and the green one being slightly sweeter than the rest which was weird as it is usually the other way around, I guess flavor powders mixed or something. However I could taste sweet and bitter in every individual smartie and it seemed as if the flavor of one overlapped with another as I swallowed. The last smartie I grabbed was another yellow one but this time it was different. It wasn’t as bright of a yellow as the other one and being at the bottom of the packaging it was slightly more flimsy than the other ones from having the weight of all of the other candies being pushed against it. Remembering how the last yellow candy tasted I quickly popped the last smartie into my mouth to get the taste over with; but to my surprise it wasn’t bad at all. The lemon flavoring of this one actually tasted pleasant, new, and a good kind of sour; not expired and stale like the first one I ate. I let the candy sit on my tongue and slowly melt, filling my mouth and clouding my taste buds with the sweet lemon, and eventually swallow the juice left behind.
Normally the pink or purple smarties are my favorite as they are usually sweet, but this time they had slightly more tang which was a disappointment, but I guess one can never have expectations otherwise they’re sure to be disappointed.
Why They Chose to Write By Pranay T.
People write when they don’t have the power to make the change they believe is necessary. People write when they have things to say but no one is listening. People write to prove a point, to preserve truths for future generations to uncover, and to relieve themselves of struggles, sorrows, and emotions pent up deep in their hearts and minds. Everyone has their views of the world and their opinions about how things should have played out. But, not everyone can set things the way they want. Not everyone has the power to educate, to inform, or to help. Not everyone has the chance to correct mistakes, and no one has the power to change their past. Some don’t even have the power to voice out their opinions. So, when we are confronted by our feelings about how we wish we were brave enough, or strong enough, or able enough to have done something, we turn to another form of change: writing. Once we write our words onto paper, they last as long as the paper itself. As long as we can preserve the paper, we can preserve the very ink engraved on it; our words become a kind of eternal truth. Most of the time, this is as reassuring as actually having made the change we wanted to see in the world.
Horace Greeley High School
20
K. Keener, Teacher
Course Seven
2017-2018
When the survivors of the Holocaust look back at the past, some do so with regret - why didn’t I stand up for my family when I had the chance? Why didn’t we leave town before the Germans arrived? How was I foolish enough to believe that everything would be alright? Some look back with sorrow, because they knew there was nothing they could have done. Some look back with hatred to their oppressors, some look back with forgiveness and still more hope for a better future, and some just look back and wish that the world was more informed about the rise of the Nazis and their inhumane acts. Regardless, they all wish that they and their families and friends were never the victims of the horrific genocide. And, at the end of the day, it’s not unreasonable to expect that most will turn to writing to give them a sense of closure to the tragic events that happened.
From Vibrant Colors to Black and White By Ben T.
School ends and I run to the fields near the tennis courts behind my high school. There, a bunch of my friends gather and we choose teams to play a pick-up game of touch football. We don’t have enough players, so we corral a couple of other guys who are hanging out after school. I am a captain and Ryan is the other captain. I choose Chris first and then Ryan chooses Will. I choose Brian and Ryan picks Jack. This goes on until the teams are defined and finally the game can begin. My team puts on blue pinnies and Ryan’s team puts on yellow ones. I think our team is better, but it should be a close game. I am nervous, but confident. I know my team will play hard and will be aggressive because the winners make the losers bow down to them at the end of the game and then buy them ice cream from the Good Humor man. Chris and I really like that and we smile at each other. We are all sixteen-year-old boys having fun, but we are extremely competitive. We are friends, but on this field, on this day, we are enemies. Only one team can be victorious. I believe that we will crush them. We take opposite sides of the field and line up. Blue against yellow. The game is on.
Fast forward two short years and imagine that we are at war with North Korea. The President tried to negotiate a peace treaty with North Korea, but things went awry and our country is at war. There are not enough soldiers who enlist in the army, so, there is a draft and once again people are being corralled in order to have enough soldiers to fight. I get drafted along with Chris. We are on a team that wears green uniforms and we are told to shoot at and kill the guys wearing the red uniforms. Our group is strong and I think we are going to win. I am nervous, but confident. Chris is scared but eager to please our commander. I know the people who I am going to fight alongside will try their hardest and be aggressive. And, in this contest the winners make the losers bow down to them. Most of us are about eighteen-years-old, are competitive and when we were in high school we were having fun. The team in green and the team in red are on opposite sides of the world, but now we are put face-to-face to see who can crush - who can kill – whom. We may have been friends under different circumstances, but today, on this field of battle, we are enemies. Only one side can claim victory. Green against red. The fight is on.
Horace Greeley High School
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K. Keener, Teacher
Course Seven
2017-2018
Chris no longer likes ice cream and holds his gun like a security blanket.. Winning the war is not nearly as fun as winning the football game. Life is not as fun as it used to be. Chris no longer smiles.
The blue and yellow football pinnies and the green and red uniforms all look black and white now.
I wish I could play them in touch football and the winners just get the losers to buy them ice cream from the Good Humor man.
A Response to The Lover’s Dictionary - Illustration Through a Dictionary By Kevin W.
Question: How does the author use the dictionary format to illustrate the conflict within the couple’s relationship?
The novel The Lover's Dictionary by David Levithan is a modern story about the quirks, insecurities and emotional highs and lows in a relationship between a young couple living in a city. Through an unconventional way of writing, the story is told in alphabetic order of words chosen to define certain segments of the story, much like in a dictionary. Overall, Levithan shows different aspects of the couple’s relationship and conveys the message that in reality, love can be complicated and messy through the narrator’s specific choice of words to describe the relationship. For instance, in one episode, the narrator chooses the noun “kerfuffle” to illustrate his partner’s recklessness throughout some points in their relationship by stating that “[she’s] only allowed one drink at any of [his] office parties.” (129) While the narrator does not directly define what kerfuffle means in his narration, he indirectly defines the word through the description of his partner’s behaviors. This delineation of how she cannot drink too much at formal parties allows the reader to infer that when she is drunk, she is reckless, carefree and possibly embarrassing. This sophisticated writing style is captivating and entertaining. While the relationship between the narrator and his partner ultimately ends in a clichéd way, Levithan is able to turn a book about a completely ordinary relationship into one of the most unique romance books ever written.
Horace Greeley High School
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K. Keener, Teacher
Course Seven
2017-2018
Addiction and Conscription by Alec X. A seasoned gambler walked out of a casino after a night of success, having made a few hundred dollars on blackjack. As he walked alone on the sidewalk, teeth chattering, his alcohol-blurred vision focused on a face sitting on the steps of a decrepit building. “Hans, my old friend! The last time we met, you were a high-roller. Look at you now.”, said the gambler. Hans let out a cloud of misty air, and said “I was addicted to gambling, and I lost it all. Save yourself, Joseph, before you lose one too many pots.” Chuckling, Joseph bent down, sitting next to Hans on the steps. “Maybe I’m just a better gambler than you, Hans. I’m on a winning streak.” Hans widened his eyes. “You-you really don’t see it, Joseph? Gambling is consuming your life. I’m telling you now while you can still run away - you still have time for salvation.” Joseph ran his hand through his hair, and replied “If I acknowledged there was something wrong with me, which there isn’t, I would have to fold, and fall apart. I’ve been dealt a single hand, and I choose to hit; it’s my life’s service.” With that, Joseph put his hands on his knees and pushed himself up. Shivering, with his hands buried in his pockets with the night’s winnings, he continued down the lonely road and let the euphoria of his successes fill his deepest recesses.
Horace Greeley High School
A battle-hardened soldier clambered down into the trench after a night of success, having caught a few Frenchmen a bit too high above their parapets with his Gewehr. As he crouched and moved through the trenches to his squad, he grimaced at what he saw on the ground. “Hans, my dear comrade! We were in basic training together. Focus on my face don’t let go.”, said the soldier. Hans coughed up a misty red cloud, and said “I was in love with war, but she’s killing me. Save yourself, Joseph; war is a harsh lover.” Forcing himself to smile, Joseph knelt down in front of Hans on the trench floor. “War isn’t for everyone, Hans. I’m still here though.” Hans gave a final, hard stare. “Wake up Joseph, this is no dream. War will take everything from you, but you don’t see it. I failed, but you don’t have to - run away from all of this.” Joseph watched Hans lean back and close his eyes, replying “I can’t do that. War is my only life; I need it so badly, to feel full. If it ever pushes me over the edge, it was worth it. I chose this life. Wake up on the other side, Hans.” With that, Joseph turned away and groaned, pushing his tired body up. Ignoring the aches and pains, thinking about the extra food he would get for today’s kills, he continued down his path and let War embrace him.
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K. Keener, Teacher
Course Seven
2017-2018
Excerpt from “Where are You Going, Where Have You Been?” Story Rewrite By Daniel X.
Arnold booted down the mesh, screen door, with an effortless kick, sending the screen door flying into the living room as if the door was nothing but cotton to Arnold. The living room trembled as the screen door hit the ground, making it seem as if the house was now scared. The music outside, played by Ellie, started to crescendo, quickly becoming stuck in Ellie’s ears. The tune reverberated in Ellie’s head, slowly intensifying as each single note became more aggravating and deathly. The whole world seemed to warp into a false reality, muddling Connie’s ability to think. Connie was petrified, yet managed to bring her indecisive self to run clumsily upstairs into her bedroom, bumping into the railings and wall as she rattled herself up the stairs.
“Ohhhhhh Connie!” Arnold said in a sing-songy voice, tempting Connie as he followed her exact footsteps.
Arnold walked nonchalantly, in a carefree way, as if he had experienced breaking into people’s homes before. As he walked across the living room, and eventually up the stairs, he touched everything in his radius; June’s diploma, one of Connie’s hand-held mirrors she adored, a family portrait of Connie, June, her mother, and her father all smiling into a camera. Arnold grinned as he caressed each and every item he saw, taking them all in with his beady green eyes.
Connie sprinted through her door, shutting it in a hurried rush, but still closing it delicately enough as if her parents were sleeping in the room beside hers. She had nowhere left to run: the closet in her room would cramp her and otherwise confine her to Arnold’s grasp and clutches, and the window was too high up to even think of jumping out. All that remained between Connie and Arnold, was a door and a lock. She didn’t want to think anymore, she didn’t want to run, she didn’t want to hide, she didn’t want to be afraid, she wanted to leave this wretched town, to be free once more. She could still hear Ellie’s radio outside of her closed window, but now it was nearly unable to be heard, as the reminiscing melody of David Bowie played on, giving Connie a second of peace and solace.
Horace Greeley High School
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