Short Story #3

People think that just because me and him fight that we dont love each other. People say that we do not belong together. Well i think that they are all wrong. I have never said it before where i really meant it but i think i love him. His lively smile, the way he looks when he eats, the little things that no one ever picks up. It breaks my heart to know that he at this very moment was or could be with another girl.

It never occured to me before that he could be so unfaithful towards me... even after 3 years of a love and friendship filled realtionship he could ever do such a thing. Even though it broke my heart i had to stand up for myself. And this is where my story begins...

I had woke up late one sunday night come to find out that he was not next to me, when i realized how uncommon this was i immediatly think the worst. Scared and confused, i called his cell phone like 4 or 5 times in a matter of 5 minutes. This started to scare me. As i lay in my bed thinking to myself all the possibilities of what could have and what is happening right now, the list went on and on.

When he strolled in at quater past three, i was so overjoyed to see him and see that he was okay. As any normal person would do, i asked him "where the hell were you" i waited and waited, worried, thought up horrifying reasons to why you were not home. Guess what classic line he used next? He used the "I was working late." Although this is entirely possible it just didnt seem right. I kept on pushing and pushing the same questions figuring sooner or later he'd screw up and i would have him caught but he didn't.

I knew something was fishy when this became a regular occurence maybe two, three times a week. Every Answer was the same. Well one night i got sick of waiting, i went to his work. I got out of my car, and come to my surprise he was there. I walked up to his car and made sure that what i was seeing was real and not just a figment of my imagination. I noticed that the doors to his office building were still all unlocked because the janitors and the trashmen were all working.

I took the elevator up to the fifth floor, (the floor to which his office was on) and when the doors opened, there he was with his arm around another women, giggling. I started to see red. Angry and emotional i started to scream when the elevator doors closed before me.

"Do you think he saw me" i asked myself, "Yeah" he had to have seen me, i was right in front of them. Well it was enough proof to me on what he was doing. I had so many questions for him and a good ride home to think about how i was going to ask him.

I got up stairs, and the door is unlocked, " Iknow i locked the door" she said to herself. From the dark corner of the room he appeared slowly. "It was straight out of a horror film i said i had no clue on what i thought. He then said softly "Where were you tonight?" I lied and covered my tracks but he knew, he knew all along. He asked me a question and i stumbled on the answer almost revealing to him the truth, but he caught it. He knew that i knew. He knew that i couldn't say anything. I started to raise my voice as we started to speak. He heard me start to get defensive.

Then i let it out " I Saw you" i screamed, "I know what you were up to" he looked at me with red eyes filled with anger. He thought that he didn't have to explain himself but i told him otherwise, he looked at me and as i turned to get my things he grabbed me with a grip that could never be reproduced. He flung me to the floor and started to hit me. He was showing no remorce. It pains me to talk about it to this day. I finally managed to move and got a little room between this crazed, psycho, maniac and myself. He hit me one more time. All i saw was slow motion falling to the ground then black.

...

I woke up the next morning to a ransacked house. I didn't know what to do. If i called the cops he would know it was me and be sure to kill me next time. He had never been this way before. He was always a kind, generous person who would appear never to be capable of committing such a horrendous offense. He started to really change right around the time we moved to our own home outside the streets of New York, a beautiful home and it was all ours. I had a tough time taking all this in. He hadn't come home since the attack and i was done.

There was no way i was hanging around to fear any longer for my life all because he has serious mental issues. All this was because he cheated, lied to me, then beat me because i confronted him. I decided that enough was enough.

Thats how I ended up here talking to you guys, i had no other place to turn i felt like i was sitting up against a wall in the fetile position.

The captain immediately sent two officers down to his job to see if they could talk to him, i begged them not to but they did anyway. I tried to explain to them that he would know, and he would be back. I did not want to test that theory though i sat in the waiting room and then i heard over one of the radios "Code 91, Code 91" and another officer said that there was a hostile criminal that nedded questioning. When i saw his face come around the corner it felt like a ton of bricks came crashing down into my stomach. He looked at me with disgust, i have no idea why he was the one that made it happen this way.

After questioning i learned that the man that i was with for 3 years, was a real psycho, he had been in mental hospitals and had good control for a while but then relapsed. The police, when conducted a further investigation, had found out that the women he was with that night i caught him, he was murdered. She had seen me and yelled at him as did i because she thought he was single. He admitted to killing her out of self defense. Which did not hold its own in court. i sat there and listened to the judge, watching his gavel, then the verdict came... life in prisn with no chance of paroll. I was free from there on out. i did not worry about him comming in and killing me all because of some stupid relationship that hopefull i never make again.

i walked out free. No longer did i worry about him. I knew he was going to be put away for a long time. I had no more fear...

Proposal for Community Interaction

My proposal for comunity interaction is yet to be determined, although i had thought it would be cool to do community service and volunteer at physical theorapy office. This way i can focus on the physical aspect of pain and the art that is dedicated to it. I can look at the x-rays which can be considered an art.

Short Story #2: Lonely Marine

Critique #1 "The Head Ache"

"The Head Ache"

George Cruikshank

Looking at "The Head Ache," by George Cruikshank you are immediately shown the man's pain when you notice the figures poking and stabbing him in the head. Cruikshank's carefully executed plan to create the perfect number of creatures has been met because there are not too many nor too little. The engraving is not to full and overbearing but simplistic yet meaningful.

This piece of art is an engraving from the mid 1830's. It shows that George Cruikshank (the author) had a great understanding of pain. This engraving has a picture of a man, dressed in old English clothing, which probably meant that it was sometime in the 18 and 19 century. The etching gives a sense of relation to the viewers, because there isn't one person who hasn't had a bad, bad migraine.

The figures in the piece represent pain and the feeling of throbbing blows pounding upon your head. These figures also have an ominous look to them which could only stand for evil.

Overall this piece does a good job of showing physical pain, since the miniscule creatures are brutally attacking this poor man. Usually like a migraine or head ache would.

Short Story #1 - The Anguish of Defeat

Crack, was all I heard as I started to fall to the ground, when I landed, there wasn’t a place on my body that didn’t ache. As I turned over still laying on the ground I can’t help but remember saying to myself “get up, get up, you have to, your team needs you”. I attempted to arise from the ground and get back to playing as I sat up my right leg was bent, although I couldn’t feel that it was bent, I forced myself to try and move it just to see if I pinched a nerve and maybe lost feeling for a little while. But that was the last thing I should’ve done, I heard another crack and felt a shock through my entire body then again worse, excruciating pain. Pain that could bring a tear to a glass eye,

I didn’t know what to do I couldn’t cry in front of all my teammates, I couldn’t move, I had no choice, I sat and waited for the official to come over. When he did he asked if I was ok and I laughed at him, saying things like “do I look ok”, in a sarcastic manner. When he asked me if I could feel my leg, I immediately answered no; I remember it like it was yesterday, my exact words were “my left leg doesn’t feel like the other one.”

My coach came over, told a couple of kids to help me to the bleachers were I sat, watched my team. I sat and thought that whatever the outcome of the game was I couldn’t change it or I couldn’t be a factor in it. It devastated me. Little did I know the news that about to come to me a few hours later?

The game ended and on the bus ride home the lone front seat was calling my name, everyone asking if I was going to be ok and I said that” I would be just fine” When we got back to the school after forty-five minutes of painstakingly counting every bump the driver hit we arrived at the school.

I sat outside on the ground where a parent of one of the freshman players came over to me. She had noticed that I was in agony. She had told me to grab on to her hand and get into the front seat of her truck so she could look at my leg. The heat coming from her truck felt good because it was night time and I had nothing but my uniform pants, these were just like wearing nothing at all.

My dad had no idea that I was hurt so when I called him to come pick me up from the school he had no idea to what he was about to face. When he saw the bright red grapefruit sized ball around my kneecap he knew something was wrong. We rushed strait to McDonald’s because I didn’t eat all day and there was no way I was going to be in pain and starving. After we ordered our ninety-nine cent heart attacks we rushed to Quincy Medical Center.

This was convenient because my orthopedic doctor was stationed at that hospital. Upon my arrival my dad got out of the car and acquired the nearest and largest wheel chair the hospital owned. I sat down in the wheel chair and was pushed like a baby in a stroller to the lobby where I waited. It wasn’t long until I was under the X-ray machine getting pictures of the wound. Turns out a man named Derek, who also had a new injury (from football) would be the one taking the x-rays.

When I was transferred to my only room I was informed that the Orthopedic staff that I normally see was on another emergency call and was not able to help me and that the nearest team was in Boston. I was given medication and off I went to Boston Medical Center (BUMC). I was transported by ambulance which was another long and bumpy ride; although it wasn’t bad (I think because of the pain meds they gave me before I left).

The surgeons had spit out complicating words that I had never heard before, they were saying words like tibia, and plateau, meniscus I was scared and confused. Dr. Creevy came in and told me that I basically shattered the bone that is right below the kneecap and some of the bottom of the kneecap. He told me that my sports career was probably going to be over. This was tough because I really enjoyed playing on the team with all my friends. When he put the x-rays on the lighted back board you could immediately tell what was wrong there was a gap about the width of a an inch between the two pieces of bone that should not be apart. Only words out of his mouth after that were “Surgery Tomorrow.” I met him for surgery the next day. The nurses they came and took me down from there I don’t remember much. The doctors had put the mask on my face to sedate me. I remember counting backwards “one-hundred, ninety-nine, ninety-eight, ninety-seven, and then I was out.”

I woke up in more bandages and wraps than a mummy the doctors came in feeding me pills and injecting medication through the I.V. I was completely lost in time; my whole life had stopped for the couple of days I was there. I had forgotten where I was, why I was there, and who was there with me, I soon realized when the pain struck what was going on.

My family came in to the room asking all kinds of questions. It was all broken up by Dr. Creevy when he stepped into the room and explained how the surgery went and what problems we had to overcome. I remember the dreadful words he spoke, “It is going to be hard to play again if at all”, this crushed my spirit and I didn’t feel like talking to anyone about it.

Three long agonizing days later the throbbing pain that flooded the lower half of my body had subsided. The doctors requested that a physical trainer came in and talk to me about trying to walk so I can go home. I was worrisome about walking because if I fall she wasn’t going to be the one to catch me. My P.T. was about one hundred and ten pounds soaking wet, all five-two of her was going to catch me a two hundred and sixty pound linemen, something wasn’t right.

As I started to walk on the crutches I said to myself that it wasn’t that bad and that I could do this but my next obstacle was one I was sure to fail at… stairs. I took a long look at my physical therapist and then at my father we both laughed then I did what I had to do, I hobbled one step at a time in the small crowded staircase up a half a flight and down a half a flight all on crutches. It was painful, don’t get me wrong but it wasn’t nearly as bad as before.

When I got back to my room I asked when I could go home and start recuperating there and Dr. Creevy and all the other staff said that it was ok that I went home if I wanted because I had passed the necessary physical tests. I was so excited to go home and get sleep in my own bed, not have doctors and nurses hovering around me. As I came around to going outside for the first time in nearly a week I forgot how cold it was, I was in a tee shirt, pajama pants, and slippers… whoa it was cold. What really started to piss me off was the stupid guy helping my father had no idea how to do his job and me not caring I told him to get lost. I picked myself up and slid into the backseat of my dad’s car had a pillow by my head and I slept the whole way home.

When I got home I wanted so bad to go to my room, thank god I had those climbing stairs lessons. Slowly but surely I got to the top. I hobbled into my room and plopped myself in bed, this is where I stayed for another week. By this time my school work was piling up and I needed to complete some of it so. I decided to have the hospital give me a wheelchair and I would go to school in it. This helped so much I was able to get my work done and caught up and most of all I was able to say hi to all of my friends.

Some things never skip the mind, one of those things would be when I came upstairs to first period Spanish and I went in and sat by the window. The bell rang and people started to come into the class. No one has seen me in a couple weeks when the questions came again; I got a couple of hugs, a couple of “what happened” and a couple of why are you in a wheelchair? They were as confused as I was. I explained my situation and a fellow teammate of mine had no idea my injury was so serious. After I was done showing everyone my scar and answering all the questions it was time to go to the next period, the classes dragged on for the rest of the day and I couldn’t have counted the number of times I lifted my pant leg and repeated the same words “I shattered my left tibia”. My coach has yet to speak to me to this day, to which I am a little upset but I understand. Third and fourth period had flew by and next thing I knew I was on my way home. It was a month until I was out of my wheelchair and then it all started to piece back together, walking going to school on the bus, finishing all my make-up work. When I saw the J.V. coach and he asked about my leg and exclaimed that he knew something was wrong with me. I asked him about the outcome of the game because I had no recollection of what had happened that night. Come to find out all my pain, dedication, hard work, effort for the game was wasted we tied the game at 17-17. I guess things happen for a reason…

Declaration

Pain is not just an emotion it is an experience. Have you ever been in such excrutiating pain you thought you were just going to pass out? Pain is the most influential emotion to write about. I also think that is an emotion that everyone can relate to; everyone has had their heart broken or has lost a loved one or broken a bone, guess what?... PAIN. Pain is such a strong, raw emotion because it can be physical pain or mental pain. I think this because i have witnessed this first hand, i feel that i can connect and put a special input toward critiquing artwork on pain, and trying to find any hidden messages embedded into the art, and literature. I think that this would be the best concept for my concept folio.