Object Analysis

              Today I reviewed three stories, of very different nature.  A comical piece, a serious piece, and a neutral piece.  Although they were all very very different, they all shared one thing in common... Imagery.  The three authors expressed phenomenal  presences of imagery.  I could feel every description as if I was there and see every detail as if it were laid out in front of me.  It was wonderful to see that they could use their writing talents so resourcefully and bring me as a reder into their world.

Cuban Cigars: Part I

The pressures of high school can really get to a kid.  Especially a dyslexic epileptic who’s dad is dying of brain cancer.  My dad has been sick for almost 3 years now, we’ve thrown every last penny we have into making him better, but the odds never get any better.  At this point, my mom has just given up.  She speaks very little, and almost seems to pity herself for the soon to be death of my dad, rather than supporting and caring for her family who she doesn’t notice, still exists. 

Everyday after school, I usually try to avoid going home, it’s hard to look at my dad the way he is, once so strong, and now so weak.  I also can not stand to be around my mom.  She acts as if she is already a widow and I should cater to her out of sympathy, which I do not have, not for her.  To keep myself busy, I usually go sit inside this house, it has been empty for a very long time, until the owner up and left without a trace.  It looks like it used to belong to someone very wealthy, I would have loved to have seen it in it’s prime. 

On the second story of the house, sitting under a couch cushion, was a brown box.  Inside was a slew of foreign cigars, and a lighter.  In the pantry, there was a half empty bottle of scotch.  Everyday after school, I would come here, sit on the tattered couch cushion, have a smoke, and a drink.  I’ve heard many people say a cigar every day is worse than a pack of cigarettes a day.  Good.  Maybe if I’m lucky they’ll take me away.  At least then I can stay with my dad.

I’m in my junior year of school at McEven’s High School. Up until a couple weeks ago I had it all, star soccer player, great grades, GORGEOUS girlfriend, but since the doctor told us, about a month ago, my dad only had till late November to live, I gave up.  I started missing shots, and tripping over my own feet, we had to stop my medication for my epilepsy to pay off our medical debt for my dad, after that school became nearly impossible.  After that, the only thing that kept me going was my girlfriend, er...  ex-girlfriend, Linda.  She tried to hold me up and pull me through, but she just didn’t understand, and we got into a big fight, and I lost her...

I still have friends, I mean we never hang out anymore.  I wouldn’t be any fun anyways.  I’ve always got my Cubans though.  It’s not all bad I guess, there is a stray dog who comes and hangs out with me while I smoke at the house.  A scruffy thing.  Exactly what you’d think of when the word “mutt” comes to mind, or what you’d expect to see in the bed of a pick-up truck in a country music video, or sitting on the porch of your grandparents house.  He was great company.  I called him Sid.  I told Sid everything, he was the only one on earth that new my whole story, he knew all my problems, and always seemed to actually be listening, with his funny crooked ears.  He always seemed interested.  Sid kept me going.  Some nights I would tell my mom I was spending the night at a friends house, when really, I just wanted to spend the night with Sid. 

                     My life was a wreck, it unraveled like a sweater that’s stitch got stuck on barbed wire.  The one thing that keeps me going is that dog, that smelly, gray faced, skinny, mutt.  Sid. One day, if I ever get my life back together, I wanna move away, far away, leave this life behind, my mom, my wrecked life, and take with me only my truck, my cubans, my dad’s memory and my dog, Sid.

This is a fictional story based on small tie bits of memories from my life.  When my brother visited Cuba and brought home a box of Cuban Cigars, and how much peace they brought him.  My ex-boyfriend and his relationship with his dad and how hard it was for him to cope with his dad dying of lung cancer, and some of the life choices he would make (none mentioned in the story, but the fact we are no longer together should be enough of a hint) All my life, dogs and horses have always brought me an immense amount of comfort, through all my rough, and dark places.  My dog Josie always knows when I am upset and comes and curls into my lap, she is not a small dog but not big either.  My horse as well, he always seems to actually listen and pay attention to what I say, he even nods his head when I ask questions, and rests his head in my arms when I'm sad.  I am also an epileptic with vision problems and it has caused huge problems for me in the past.  I really let this short story right me, as intimate memories exploded in my head.

I am...

I am...

A rose garland claiming a champion’s neck

A  swift breeze made around dusty barrels

Callused hands stroking God’s number one majesty

A star-lit ride in the midst of a soggy Missouri summer

Butterflies chasing each other in your stomach

A competitor

A bloodied nose and fighter’s spirit

A western saddle on a horse’s back

Wind you hear rushing past your ears in an alfalfa field

Motivated to fulfill my dreams

Tears streaming down my face after the blood, sweat and pain have finally paid off

I am... an Equestrian.

I am...
Hands on a keyboard editing video
A face hidden behind a camera
A journalist searching for the best story
A National Geographic videographer wannabe
Tired eyes from staring at a white screen
A nit picky clip cutter
I am... A video journalist

I am...
An annoying baby sister
A dog lover, a horse lover
Sitting in my chair looking into my aquarium
A fish enthusiast
A girl of God
An animal rights activist
A lover of the light
An AWOLNATION fanatic
A survivor
Compassionate to all
A California city girl blessed by a country world
A daughter
Named for my beautiful grandmother, Emma Francis Roberts
A friend
Strong willed
Stubborn
I am... Emma Leigh Hayford