Reading The Grapes of Wrath

Since reading the book, The Grapes of Wrath, I've thought about what it would have been like if I had lived in that time period. How would I have survived as an immigrant back then, and how would it have affected my family? The imagery of the book is very beautiful, and I think being a person living in those hard times with no food or money would give me so many reasons to keep going. The immigrants were despised back then, and even though the work that was given barely paid anything at all, they would do it in order to feed their children. It's admirable and such a touching story. But then I think, What if I didn't have family with me? What if there were people who would give up instead of being determined enough to survive?

Storytelling 101- Sibling Rivalry

I was the spoiled type of only child who played the cutesy act and got away with absolutely everything. My mom would often fret about this, but my cousins, aunts, uncles, and grandparents doted on me so much that her words were lost in the presents and loving words they bestowed upon me.

But when I was just two years old, my brother Sam was born. The attention was split equally between the two of us, but since one of the few words I understood was ‘want’, I found that I could only want more attention than Sam at all times. From then on, I took every opportunity I could to sabotage him and make him look like the bad kid.

The story that my mother tells the most about that time of sibling rivalry is when I colored on the wall when I was merely four years old, pinning the blame on two-year-old little brother.

My brother followed and did whatever I said when we were younger, and idolized me. I knew that he loved me and now that I am older I feel bad about the way I treated him. But I can’t change what happened all those years ago so I try not to think of how much of a little demon I was back then. After all, we can only learn from our mistakes, right?

Sam couldn’t speak yet, and I quickly turned that to my advantage that day in the playroom. I had my box of twenty-four Crayola crayons, which I dumped on the floor. Sam sat down, his diaper cushioning his fall, and stared as I took one crayon in each hand.

He watched as I furiously began to scribble jagged and curly lines across the white wall of the playroom. After going at the wall for about five minutes, I stepped back to admire my handiwork with a smile. I turned to my brother, who still sat on the floor looking up at me with a curious look in his eyes.

I gave him an overly-sweet smile and stuffed the two crayons in his hands. He looked at them for a moment before beginning to suck on the one in his right hand. Perfect, I thought to myself. Now I just need….

“Moooooooomm!!! Mom! Mom!” I yelled, running all over the house screaming for my mother.

“What?” she came out of the kitchen with her apron on, looking worried and frazzled.

“Sam colored on the wall!” I blurted out, pointing down the hallway to the playroom.

Her expression went from worried to ‘oh no’ in a fraction of a second before she took off towards the playroom to see the damage done by her precious little boy.

When she entered the room and saw Sam clutching the crayons in his grubby baby hands, an attempt to recreation of Van Gogh’s early work etched onto the wall, she gave a sigh. Sam didn’t understand what was going on, but when his hand was slapped and he was taken to the pantry to be given a spanking, he knew he was in trouble.

I could hear him cry from all the way down the hallway, and I smiled with satisfaction. Yes, I know I was an awful little girl. If that wasn’t enough, I repeated this act about three times before my mom caught on to my scheme.

For the fourth time that day, I scribbled on the wall. I put the crayon in Sam’s hand before heading out to find my mom again.

But when I got to the door, my mom was towering over me, her arms crossed. She had been spying on me through the crack of the door between the playroom and the hallway. All I said was, “Uh-oh.”

“Yeah, ‘uh-oh’,” she said with a nod. For all the spankings my brother received, I got it ten times worse.

Although I didn’t try to get my brother in trouble (more than once anyway, learning that a trick was likely to be discovered after being attempted more than twice), I constantly waited for him to get in trouble or tattled whenever I could.

Luckily, I got over the sibling rivalry, and my brother and I ended up getting along for a few years before we grew apart again because of gender differences during adolescence. So I guess my point is: try to get along with your brothers or sisters because even though you might be an attention hog or a spoiled brat, at least your siblings will try to see past that because they’re forced to love you anyway by your parents.

Dream Creature

As I stared at the creature before me, I realized that I had seen it before. I didn’t know exactly what you would call it, but it appeared to be a spider-like bird. It was the size of a raven and its multiple eyes were that of a spider’s, black and beady. When I looked closer, I saw with some intrigue that the eyes, as spider-like as they were, had a few distinct characteristics of an animal. The eight eyes had a film of bright water over them and were watchful and understanding even though they were pitch black. I gasped at the reaction it stirred within me, but the creature made no indication that it wished to move away. All over its small body were sleek black feathers that ended in clawed bird feet. Dark brownish-black spidery hairs sprouted from its stick legs, causing me to shiver slightly. Lastly, instead of tail feathers, multiple fingerlike growths, resembling the rubbery body of a tarantula, spread like a fan on the tail of the creature. A few feathers the color of the spider hairs peppered the eerie tail, which vibrated slightly as it ruffled its feathers lightly.

Venture #2 | Rayla Gomez

She raced down the paved canyon trail, the wind warring with her now-tangled mass of hair. Where to hide, where to hide, she thought over and over. Her heart pounded painfully in her chest as her eyes darted from side to side, forward and back.

“Alissa! Where are you?” a distant voice called. Alissa looked back to where it came from. Bright pastel blue bore into her eyes and the sun’s rays drenched her and soaked into the black pavement beneath her. She turned her attention to the expanse of burnt-looking trees with spots of green atop the red mountain, and it made her feel like she could honestly get away with so much space around.

She turned back to the trail ahead and jogged to the left side of the trail. As slowly as she could, she descended the riverbank until she could feel the wet from the mud seeping into her Converses. Looking down, she saw muddy strands of river grass swaying and dancing to the water’s steady hum as it travelled around the riverbank’s bend.

“Alissa!” The voice was above her now. She backed up as far as she could against the dirt walls on both sides of the river, shivering at the damp cold of the dirt and the tickle of the tree roots brushing along her neck. Turning her head to the side and placing her cheek against the wall, she saw a solitary leaf on one of the tiny roots move to the rhythm of her panting breath.

She listened as hard as she could, moving her feet slightly so they wouldn’t get wet anymore than they already were. Alissa’s hands lay flat against the wall as she stood perfectly still. The only sounds were that of the river and wind, and the hard thump of her heart which she urged to stay quiet.

As she began to relax, she took a deep breath and looked around. If she head up the river more then she could avoid anyone finding her. She began to edge her way along the river, but before she could take two steps, a hand caught her by the shoulder.

“Aaaaaaaaaaaahhhh!!!” Alissa screamed. She lost her balance and fell into the river, the water soaking her from the waist down.

Laughter came from above her and she sighed in exasperation. “Did you really have to get me all wet?” she asked.

“Well, it made my day. Not only are you It, but your butt is soaked. Now it’ll be harder for me to hide from you ‘cause I’ll be laughing so hard at all the people walking up the trail staring at you. So, in all fairness, you should be thanking me,” the other girl said with a smile.

“Thanks, Nicky,” Alissa said, rolling her eyes.

She dragged herself out of the water before chasing Nicky back up the riverbank, racing down the trail where the home base was.

Venture #2

The webbing of the branches stretches across the distant red-and-green speckled face of the mountain. Dark, burnt-looking trees adorned with the greenest leaves dot the rusty red of the mountain. The backdrop is pastel blue and almost blinding after being in the subtle shade of the trees. Almost as if there were stars in the sky on this cloudless day, the particles begin to settle behind my eyelids after the dazzling colors begin to fade.

Muddy strands of river grass sway and dance to the river's steady hum as they bend to drink, some being swept away by its force. The cave of green and yellow-green fall clothing surrounds and encloses the river, which wears a path right through the enemies it feeds. The large rock pinned down by its own weight sits at the bottom of the riverbed and, having been smoothed over by the water's constant onslaught, creates a tiny waterfall that makes white, bubbling splashes around the rock. The sun-tanned water causes millions of of mirrors to spring up, only to move and glimmer like fish scales the next second.

The solitary leaf on a wind-swept and gnarled oak tree blows in the slight breeze, only to be blown in the opposite direction from a warring wind. Its sits at the very end of the stemming branch near the ground that sits at an upward-slanted angle. For fear of touching the millions of scattered stones and dirt clods on the ground, it lets a caterpillar eat to lighten its already light-as-a-feather load. It soars higher now in the breeze, reaching for the sky it will never grasp.