Final Paper - Creative Writing

Second Rate Suit

“Do you remember before this?” a rather drunk, but eloquently spoken and well dressed man said.

“When do you mean?” Chris answered under the thick haze of smoke in the neon lit nightclub with black marble floors and music drowning the conversation.

“Before we were the men, before we had everything.”

“You have always had it all.”

“I know, but I really didn’t earn it myself, now, I feel, I am on top of the world.”

“Not yet.”

“What’s wrong with you tonight?” The man said after downing another shot of vodka, then put his hand on Chris’ shoulder and looked into his eyes. Chris looked up and rolled his eyes.

“I am going home.” Chris said as he cracked his knuckles. “I think you should talk to her now.” Chris pointed to a young blonde with a short haircut, probably still in high school with a fake ID. Chris walked out of the nightclub and waited outside of his car. He knocked on the window a few times, and the driver woke up, got out and ran around the car to open the back door for Chris.

Chris awoke early in the morning just before the sun rose. He always awoke before the alarm would go off, but left it on just to be on the safe side. This would start his normal routine, whether it is Sunday, Monday or Friday. It was always the same. After awaking in his penthouse on the 43^rd floor, he would enter his personal gym. He would always do the same amount of push ups, pull ups, crunches and curls, followed by a seven mile run. This morning was no different. As everyone else was asleep, Chris walked on his marble floor under his eighteen foot ceilings, all white and barren, devoid of life.

After the work out, Chris took a shower, dried off with his Egyptian cotton towel, and put on his grey Armani suit, just delivered before he woke this morning. Chris stared blankly into a mirror as he styled his perfect haircut. When finished getting ready, he took the elevator to the ground floor, greeted by his driver. The driver nodded, not saying a word. Chris looked at the driver with contempt, and just a hint of disgust. Chris knew he was better than him in every way. Better looking, better dressed, much wealthier were a few of the values that Chris judged his driver by. But Chris wasn’t going to drive himself, so he sat in the back and tried to think of anything other than wanting to kill his driver.

But Chris wasn’t going to kill his driver today, it would soil his Armani suit that he had just had cleaned. The traffic was like any other day, slow and congested. Chris wasn’t bothered by the traffic; he reclined in his Maybach with a bored look on his face and flipped through his gold credit cards. When they arrived at the office, Chris’ driver opened the door and let him out. The sky was sunny but the air was cool. Another VP pulled up in his Maserati, only to have a valet park it for him. Chris was a VP as well; in fact there were five VPs, and one president who was supposed to announce his succession any day now. Chris didn’t expect this other VP to be back so soon from Milan, especially not with a brand new Armani suit, grey with thin white stripes. Chris looked at him and felt his throat close up, and got a cold shiver up his spine and down his arms. Who was this VP trying to impress with a brand new Armani suit from Milan? Chris’ mouth dried up and couldn’t say anything to him, but instead got on a different elevator than him.

As Chris tried to enter his office, he was stopped by his secretary, a tall thin blonde that he hand picked, and could have at any time if he wanted, but didn’t. He had to be in the meeting room at ten am. Today could possibly be the day of the succession, and today Chris was wearing a second rate Armani suit. The Armani store was at least thirty minutes away in this traffic; he couldn’t get to the store and back unless he ran. Chris stripped in his office and found the only thing that he could run in, a tiny pair of swimming trunks and his undershirt. None of his shoes could do either; all were leather and about four thousand a pair. He would have to bare foot it. He had done worse things to get where he was, much worse.

In swim trunks, a wife beater and bare feet, Chris left his office to pass by another VP in an Armani suit from last year and a forty dollar haircut, no competition there. The VP laughed at him as Chris walked by, and Chris couldn’t think of a better thing to do but to put a knife in his back, and he was the perfect clothing to do it, no suit to spoil. He just didn’t have a knife, so he proceeded to the elevator hoping to avoid the president.

He saw the president coming out of the elevator so Chris darted into the stairwell. It was nine fifteen, Chris had lingered too long. He ran down one level, got into an elevator and headed to the ground floor. On the ground floor another one of the VP’s was chatting with a young brunette clerk. His Armani suit was at least a couple years old, and his hair was greased back, not to mention twenty minutes late to work. Chris ran out of the building and turned the corner running full speed. It was great that Chris was in such good shape, or he wouldn’t have made it to the store on time. The manager at the Armani store already had his measurements, and had a new blue suit imported from Milan a few days ago ready for Chris. Chris handed a gold credit card, grabbed his suit and ran back to the office at full speed.

As Chris showered in the gym downstairs he saw another one of the VP’s come in after a quick work out. This VP was sculpted like a Greek hero. Chris looked at his legs, which were very lean and not nearly as muscular as this VP. Chris ran out of the shower and put on his new suit and headed toward the office, he still had five minutes to spare when he reached his office floor. Chris walked into the office, the first one in there and sat to the right of where the president sits and waited patiently. This was the biggest moment of his life, well that would be CEO, but he was one step closer. Fifteen minutes passed and the rest of VP’s filed in, followed by the president. They all came in at the same time. They must have been talking to the president for those ten minutes. Chris’ mouth went dry and his eyes went into the back of his head. He didn’t even hear that he would be the next president until he was congratulated by another one of the VP’s after the meeting.

It didn’t sink in for Chris right away. He was at another level. His new suit wouldn’t do. His drivers wouldn’t do. His VP’s wouldn’t do. Nothing would do. Chris looked around his office with contempt. How could Chris work with these people? They were wearing the same clothes that he had worn three years ago, and styling their hair like he had a year ago. The sheep, these vermin disgusted Chris.

Chris had his secretary call his driver as thought of how he would arrange his new corner office. He would have to get all new furniture. The current president’s office looked like a library. That simply wouldn’t do. Chris took the elevator to the base floor and got into his car, and told the driver to go to a place he had been many times.

Chris entered the old building outside of town and headed up a narrow staircase, careful to not get dust on his new suit. He knocked on a beaten up old mahogany door, and the mail slot opened up. Chris put in a thousand dollars and got a small plastic bag of cocaine back. Chris wasn’t particularly fond of cocaine, but it was necessary for the parties he attended. He put the cocaine in his pocket and left the building.

Tonight would be a big retiring party for the leaving president. All of the same sorry sycophants would be there. The cocaine was necessary, and a lot of Cristal. Tonight was the night to end all nights, to show that Chris was more than everyone else. He would wear his best suit, his best watch; he would get a new six hundred and fifty dollar hair cut, he would get a new car, a sports car and drive it himself. He would get a gun and a permit for a concealed weapon. He would get it all.

CHAPTER 2

It would take some time and effort though, but that is how it always had been for Chris. Chris didn’t have a gun permit yet, and that would take at least three days. There is more than one way to skin a cat. Chris glanced at his watch. He wouldn’t officially become president until Monday, and it was Friday. There were so many things to do before the party tonight at ten. First things first, Chris had to go car shopping.

It’s not that Chris couldn’t drive. He could drive exceptionally well. Back in high school he had a muscle car, a 68’ Mustang with a tuned V8. He would drag almost every afternoon. It’s what he did to make money, to make himself who he was. His deadbeat dad and alcoholic mother did nothing for him except kick him out of the house when he was sixteen. It was the best thing that happened to Chris. He didn’t need anybody. The only reason he had a driver because it was expected of him, it was just another way to present himself to others. Moving up to a sports car that he himself drove would put him in the ranks of the millionaire playboys, not a care in the world. Chris had a lot to care about though; he just didn’t want to show it.

Chris thought of what car he wanted. Something exotic, powerful, flashy and loud would do; probably an Italian exotic or some German elite. Not a Porsche though. Those were for faux playboys. Chris browsed through an exotic car magazine, listing cars for sale and dealers. Would Chris get a classic Ferrari and be unique? No, because Chris wanted something with some power behind it. He could get a BMW with more power than a classic Ferrari. No, Chris had to get something new.

And then Chris saw the Lamborghini Murciélago LP640 Roadster. Only one in the United States and only five were produced in the world. Only one was painted orange, and it was only five minutes and half a million dollars away. Chris called the dealer and said he wanted it, the dealer said it would be ready as soon as he arrived.

Chris called his driver for one last time. Chris didn’t meet eyes with his driver as he opened the door for Chris. Chris settled into his seat and thought of sitting in his new car, just him and the road. Chris arrived at the dealership and saw his car parked outside. Chris walked up to the Lamborghini and ran his hands over the car, feeling all of the lines, opened the scissor doors and sat in the driver seat, stitched in the finest Italian leather. The dealer handed Chris the keys and tried to explain some things about the car, but Chris didn’t listened and revved up the monstrous V12, a far cry from his youthful mustang, and spun the tires of the raging bull and made his way out into the open road.

Chris sped home at dangerously high speeds, driving on both sides of the road without care for anyone else’s life. Chris cared for the car though, he wouldn’t want to see it destroyed, but he didn’t want the six hundred and forty horses to go to waste. Chris arrived at his apartment, but didn’t want the valet touching his car. Instead Chris parked it on the street, put a few dollars into a meter and ran into his apartment to get dressed.

There was still one person left to impress, the CEO. But if the CEO were to die, then Chris would automatically become CEO, pending the vote of the executives. Chris didn’t bother planning anything yet, as he still had a lot of time and besides, Chris always had a penchant for thinking on his feet and planning as he went. Chris put on the best of everything, from a custom watch he bought in Switzerland to the hand made shoes designed by a legend. Chris was ready for the night.

Chris grabbed a few more things he needed for the party and headed out. He grabbed some coke, checked his hair and headed out and into his Murciélago. He saw that his gas was low so Chris headed to a nearby station. Of all the cars that could have pulled in next to his, none other than a Porsche Carrera GT drove in to fill up. Chris thought about his faux playboy comment when he saw this Porsche, because this one was extremely rare, expensive, and exotic, not to mention very fast.

“Beautiful car” a middle-aged gentleman with a large gut and a grey beard said. Chris looked at him and smiled. Chris was half the age of this man and just as, if not more, successful. “I would love to hear that beautiful Italian V12 scream.”

“And I would love to hear your V10 rumble. Say, I have some time, do you want to drive around for a while?” Chris asked.

“Hah. That would be great. I know a great road that isn’t very busy. Follow me.” The old man climbed into his car. “Say, what’s your name?”

“Chris”

“Well, pleased to meet you Chris, the name is Mario. You look like you are dressed for a big party. I won’t keep you for too long. Let’s go.”

“Let’s” Chris said as he pulled out the gas nozzle and climbed into his car. Mario revved up his V10, lifting the hairs on the back of Chris’ neck. Mario then pulled out of the station and onto the road. Chris started his engine and followed Mario eagerly. Mario pulled out of the traffic and onto a small side street and sped off. Chris followed closely, wondering where Mario was taking him. They entered a two lane back road with winding curves and deep embankments. They both took the corners fast and hard. Mario dropped into neutral, and Chris revved up to the limit passing Mario. Chris then dropped into neutral allowing Mario to pass. Mario pulled off onto another road that was long, straight and flat. Mario gunned it, and left Chris in the dust. Chris stepped on the gas, shifting at the limit each time. When Chris hit sixth gear he was past one hundred and eighty miles per hour and he could see Mario off in the distance. Chris hit one ninety and the speedometer kept rising. He then hit two hundred, one, two, three, and kept climbing. The wind over his head was booming like a jet plane. He was catching up to Mario fast, and then saw his break lights in the distance. Chris instantly dropped gears and braked hard. Mario pulled over to the side of the road, Chris drifted into a spot next to him.

“Hot damn, I haven’t had that much fun in ten years.” Mario said, and then looked at his Rolex. “You know, I too have a party to attend, and I am running late.”

“Will I see you again?” Chris asked eagerly.

“Boy, I don’t have a doubt in the world.” Mario stepped on the gas leaving Chris to sit and ponder. Chris smiled to himself and slowly pulled out of the dirt. He drove slowly, relatively to his previous speeds, but at composed pace. He drove off, watching the sun set, almost time for the big night.

Chris arrived at the CEO’s mansion. He drove up the long driveway littered with luxury cars and found his reserved space. People stared at his new car with their mouths wide open. Chris pretended not to notice and lifted his doors up and got out. What Chris noticed, instead, was a silver Porsche Carrera GT. Chris stared at it as some of the guests approached him.

“Glad you could make it Chris. I see you did some shopping to celebrate.” A VP said as he pointed at Chris’ bright orange Lamborghini.

“Whose Carrera GT is that?” Chris asked.

“Oh, that’s a friend of our CEO. His name is Tasone. He owns half of this city. He is pretty eccentric, and doesn’t like to go out much or be in the public’s eye. You should meet him, work your charm. You will be CEO in no time.” The VP said.

“And you will be president when that happens?”

“Hah! Have some drinks, then we’ll talk.”

“I could loosen up a little.”

“No kidding. You should fix your hair too, it’s standing straight up. Looks like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Not yet.” Chris grew tired of his banter, and left to see if this Tasone was Mario. Chris walked in through the grand doors into the main area of the home. The area was enormous. There were two grand stair cases in front of him that led up to the second floor that was open from here. Doors lined the walls leading to the hundreds of rooms that filled the home. The first door on the left led to the dining room and Chris entered it.

Chris instantly spotted Mario and walked over to him. A waiter handed Chris some champagne. Chris was ecstatic. “Mario!”

“I knew we would meet again.” Mario said as he walked over to shake Chris’ hand. Chris no longer had the feelings of contempt or jealousy when he saw Mario. He only saw a person that he could look up to; someone he could be in another half a lifetime. Chris couldn’t even be bothered by the terrible style that the VP’s were wearing. Even if they were wearing smoking jackets as three of them were. The brownnosing, the idle chit chat, the endless banter no longer bothered Chris. Chris was happy finally. He had a path, it was set.

One of the VP’s, one in a smoking jacket, had a plate of pasta in front of him. He was inhaling and slurping it, mouth gaping wide. He was chomping the noodles and smacking his lips. Chris could see and hear everything. Chris felt a chill down his spine and his pupils turned into pin pricks. It wasn’t over.

Creative Writing - Extra Credit Poem

Travis the Hungarian

I really like Swedish pancakes

with lingonberries

but not with steaks

like those French fairies

put on crepes

For dinner I want meatballs

not those from the store

because I am not a whore

to cheap foods

you see I am in a good mood

Dessert is my favorite

I ate some ice cream

it was chocolate

When I go out at night

first I drink some scotch

because when I fight

it doesn’t hurt being punched in the crotch

I drank some beer

It tasted like sprite

now I have no fear

to get into a fight

Finally at last I came home

I crashed in my bed

the spins came in like a gnome

in a garden, not dead

When I woke up from my sleep

I looked out the window and saw

A man walking with a sheep

I think I drank too much, naw

I woke up again with a headache

I drank some bacon grease

I just may make the bed break

with my fatty foods, I become obese

At least I don’t have a beer gut

my stomach is nice and soft

I guess I could eat another nut

I don’t have to climb a loft

Once more I stare in the mirror

I guess if I got cut

I would look like Richard Gere

with a fat butt

Here is where the story ends

like it begins

I need to look into getting some friends

with garbage bins

I bought a hog

a motorcycle that is

it drives like a bog

without any fizz

Here is the last stop

I get off the stinky bus

someone needs to get a mop

and stop making a fuss

I spoke too soon

the end is actually here

I threw away my spoon

and ate a giant deer.

Reading Journal Averno

Averno is set now, modern. The tone of this book is very solemn. The narrator is a woman telling her story of her life and relationship with others. Another narrator is Persephone who, like the main narrator is a parallel to her childhood. They both want maternal love and love for another. The earth is the mother of Persephone, and Persephone is a reflection of her mother: “everything in nature is in some way her relative.” (50), “Persephone is taken from her mother and the goddess of the earth punishes the earth” (16). The final verse on page sixteen is a reference to the Hawthorne version of Persephone, which was changed to be a children’s story, and thus the line the line “stained with red juice” is a reference to Pomegranates rather than the rape that actually took place. Narrator second guessing: “Did I say “suffered”? That was my parents’ way of explaining tastes that seemed to them” (23). An author would do this to show the way her relationships had an affect on her, and only now she realized the influence. Part I is shorter and focuses more on the adulthood of the character, part II is the childhood, though both have references to the other. Part I and “Persephone” is from the adult, or the mother’s perspective and vengeful and angry, and part II is from the child’s point of view and it is much more innocent. After reading Gluck’s interpretation I understand the myth as a parallel to the mother daughter relationship rather then an explanation for the seasons.

Writing Assignment 8 - The Sudden Loss of Something

Poem:

Deep beyond the grey sky

Lies a man with just one eye

They call him by his last name

It is his only claim to fame

He tried to do wrong amongst great powers

And he succeeded without a threat from Jack Bauer

Kosovo in the late 1990’s

Preface -

They say you had to be there to understand the conflict. They say you had to be there on the front lines to really know what the conflict was all about. I was there, fleeing for my life as they came to our homes. I don’t understand it though. I don’t think I will. I don’t think I will want to understand because I thought humanity had progressed, I thought that things were different. I thought that after World War II things changed. When Milosevic came into power, and I came to know what he represented, I resented him. And so the journey began, fleeing my home of Kosovo, the only home that I have always known.

The Beginning of the End

I sat down staring at my sparse things; photographs of my girlfriend of whom I would never see again and a single shot bolt action rifle. A few more trinkets littered my messy room. I looked around and saw a few audio tapes, my tape deck, a newspaper and my watch, a gift from my father. I put on my watch, slid a photograph out of a frame and into my back pocket, slung my rifle around my back, and grabbed my backpack and stuffed ammo and any food lying around my small apartment. I had to move fast. I could hear the distant rumble of a convoy. I only had to worry about my self, and I could move quickly.

I ran out of my apartment, down the narrow stairwell and out of the building. It was really cold outside, very cold and cloudy too. I ran around the back of the small apartment complex and out of the main road and headed to the forest just beyond our small town. I made my way up the hillside as fast as I could. My hands were shaking and my eyes teary from the cold and the wind. I stopped in the forest when I was out of view from the town’s perspective, but I could still see the town and stay hidden. I sat down on a dead tree stumps and drank some water from a water bottle. I made it.

A moment after drinking my water I saw a convoy pulling into town and a message being played over a loud speaker. There were still many people still in the town. They hadn’t got out in time. I couldn’t tell what the loudspeaker was saying from my position, but I saw several people exiting their homes and lining the streets. A man stepped out of a jeep and was yelling some orders. One of my townsfolk yelled back at him. The man who was from the convoy pulled out a handgun and pointed it at the other man’s head. He didn’t hesitate to pull the trigger. I heard the distant cries of screams so I grabbed my rifle, loaded a round and cocked it. I aimed down at the man with a pistol. I can hit a soda bottle from two hundred yards away; I can hit a head from one hundred and fifty. I hesitated though. There were about thirty other men in the convoy. I had enough ammo, but it was a matter of loading and cocking each round, aiming and hitting every target. No man is that good. I grabbed my rifle and ran up the hill and away from town.

The farther I got away from town, the less I escaped the gunfire echoing from town. I must have heard hundreds of rounds fired. I didn’t want to think that everyone I know was just executed and I did nothing to help them. I am here running like a coward, saving only myself.

The journey was exhausting; I didn’t know where I was going except to the border. I wanted to stay and fight, but it is useless. How can one man make a difference? I only thought that I need to survive so that I can tell my story and so that people can understand what happened and how to stop future threats. I am not a one man army. A few of my friends joined the resistance a few years back. I haven’t heard from them since. I don’t want to die in glory, I want to live.

About a hundred yards ahead I saw a small village. There were only a few homes. I saw some smoke billowing out of one of the homes. People! If I save someone I will feel much better about doing nothing before. Just then it started raining. It wasn’t normal, it was freezing rain. As I got closer into the town I saw a jeep pull up with three men inside, it was them. One of the men started yelling and a family came out of the only occupied home. There was a father, a wife and three children, two girls and a young boy of just a few years. One of the men from the jeep waltzed over to the family. I could see he had a pistol on his side. He was laughing and pointed to the ground.

The family laid on the ground as the man grabbed the pistol out of his holster. The rain picked up and it became harder to see. I grabbed my rifle and cocked it. I took steady aim. I was definitely in range. I had to act fast, there were two men standing near the jeep with their automatic rifles ready in their hands. Click. The round exited my gun and I loaded another round and cocked the gun. I pulled the trigger a second time as the men reacted and drew up their rifles. Two men down one to go. I put the third round in the rifle and cocked the gun and took aim. This third man had dropped to the ground to take cover. I had taken out the first two men in under three seconds. The rain picked up and a heard a bullet whiz past my ear. I heard another pop. He hit a tree just a few feet from my head. I took aim, but the man blended in with the mud and debris of the land. I fired and heard return fire. I missed, and luckily he missed too. I saw some movement, and carefully loaded another round. I spotted him and fired. The air grew silent amidst the torrential downpour. The family still was on the ground. Had I hit him? Was he dead? Was he waiting for me to get up?

I couldn’t wait any longer, I stood up but I was hit by something, but from behind. I looked down at my chest and saw blood dripping down my shirt. Another shot hit me. I fell to my knees. I saw the family ahead of me run and get into the jeep and drive off. Another shot hit me from behind. I turned around and saw about fifteen men who were on my trailer. At least I had saved someone. At least I had done something. At least someone had done something.

Questions Answered

The implications for joining an actual event and the imaginary characterization is that it makes that event real, as opposed to reading a statement of facts. You feel what they went through. When you read about how many people died, it doesn’t have the same effect as when you learn about a person, and then they are killed. You become connected. I haven’t read (at least not that I can think of) authors that have done this regularly, but I have in film. Any war movie, like “Apocalypse Now” that created imaginary characters in a real event of the Vietnam War is just one example. To know how reliable a piece of writing (or a film) is, you just have to use common sense. If they were there, they can tell a better story than anyone else. You also have to do research to see if their stories line up with the ‘facts’ and also compare them to other accounts. I don’t think there a most ‘reliable’ way of telling the account of an event. You have to look at it from every angle if you want the whole picture. You look at from both sides, from the little man and the leaders and the historians and the autobiographies. The writings on the walls stir up passions, but for this piece I wanted to start from scratch. I chose this event because I wanted to write about someone who was torn about fighting back or running away, and this event gave an opportunity for both.

Writing Journal “If this is a man”

The opening poem puts you in a state of mind that forces you to try to understand the inhumanity. We must not forget the things we have, that we take for granted. Taking these things for granted will tear us apart, reduce us.

Poem: Don’t take for granted what you have and who you are.

The narrator is pragmatic, impersonal, poetic and very descriptive. Because he usually speaks in the ‘we’ format or the third person, and rarely speaking about himself, the narrator draws us more into the story, and to feel like one of his comrades. This is essential for us to sympathize with the narrator, because he is not telling us a story, he is involving us in the story.

Moment:

“Cleary they will kill us, whoever thinks he is going to live is mad, it means that he has swallowed the bait, but I have not; I have understood that it will soon all be over, perhaps in this same room, when they get bored of seeing us naked, dancing from foot to foot and trying every now and again to sit down on the floor. But there are two inches of cold water and we cannot sit down.”

This moment is the strongest in the story because this moment in a humans’ life that has been torn down so much that there is no hope for life. All humanity has been stripped away, he cannot even sit down. The sad part about this moment, is that it gets worse from here on out. At this point, though, he has accepted this. That is what makes it so powerful.

Dialogue (Assignment 7)

The morning sun rose. Judgment day had passed. Gennaro the bishop of Benevento, his deacon Fetus, and his other followers Proculus, Socius, Desiderius, Eutyches, and Acutius were all sentenced to death by fire. Gennaro awoke first in the cell and spoke to his followers.

“Praise to the Lord.” The other six men in the cell began to crawl off of their stone tablets and rub their eyes as the sun slowly enveloped the room. The light came through the three bars that were holding them from their freedom. “Now that we are all awake, let us pray in silence.”

They all prayed in silence for about ten minutes when a guard came by and knocked on the bars. The guard spoke to them and said “Get up you, time for your last journey, and then you can be with your gods.”

“We only have one God, the one true God.” Fetus said with great pride. Everyone in the cell except Gennaro who was still praying held him back from speaking anymore. The cell door opened and the seven men filed out of the cell and out of the prison. They were led by two guards on a path that ended on the horizon. The sun had risen a bit more since they left the prison and the day grew warmer and warmer.

“I wonder if God will spare us.” Proculus said. The others looked at him with acknowledgement.

“I am sure He will.” Socius replied and then looked around and marveled at the rolling country side and the pristine ocean. Socius ached, and did not want to leave this land and depart to the afterlife. Socius had not spoken to God as the others said they had done. Socius did not feel the bliss and ecstasy from prayer and mediation. He simply found the Christian religion to be the most logical.

“Do not test God Socius. He will deliver us from the fire of Hades and we shall ascend to Heaven, for it is written, and it shall be done.” Gennaro spoke with a very eloquent tone. The others were mesmerized, all but Socius.

“Why must the faithful perish, why can’t we fight?” Socius already knew the answer to this rhetorical question that none would answer. Socius had studied the New and Old Testament more than the others. “There are still so many to preach to. We are much more knowledgeable than others; there are still so many places to spread the word.” Socius words were lost on the followers.

“Only you can choose your own path. At the final judgment you may be tempted to take the easy, beaten path. The path to righteousness will be most difficult.” Gennaro spoke and the others nodded in agreement.

“Can one not choose the right path but also live a full gratifying life? Can we not enjoy the things that God provides for us? Do you not enjoy sitting in the shade on a hot afternoon Acutius? Do you not enjoy the pleasant sweetness of the pomegranate Eutyches? And you, Desiderius, do you not take pleasure in a warm bath?” Socius spoke, but noticed that the men were already dead set on their path. He applauded their diligence and faith, but scorned their lack of free thought.

“You keep posing questions to answers that you already know. There is no more philosophizing to be done, for it has already been done. But it is not philosophy, but inspiration from Yahweh. You know this better than most.” Gennaro stated in a peaceful manner, but was growing impatient with Socius ramblings as he feared that it would spread like locust among the group.

“Our end is very grim. Do you not fear death? If you do not fear death, surely you must fear pain. I have yet to meet a man that could stand a simple burn from flint let alone the fiery furnaces. You must under stand this.” Socius spoke as the others zoned out in quiet meditative state. Only Socius and Gennaro engaged in any human contact.

“God will be at my side now and always. Do not fear pain, fear God.” Gennaro spoke in a more forceful manner, eager to return to his meditative state, but did not understand that for every time he replied to Socius’ rants, it only made Socius want to continue.

“You fear God because it is written that you must fear God. I fear pain because I feel pain.” Socius said.

“The word is God. It is more real than life.” Gennaro said. As they continued to walk an amphitheatre came into view. Near the amphitheatre was a clay building with smoke billowing out of the chimney. The roar of bears and lions echoed from the arena. Upon hearing and seeing these things, Socius fell to his knees and began praying to God. When the others saw this, they also fell to their knees. The guards didn’t mind this, as they received a much needed break from their long arduous journey.

Questions Answered

I chose c at random. Surely there is no random. I think I chose it because I like lions and bears. Writing dialogue is easy. Writing convincing dialogue is very hard. Further, to make character development from dialogue is pretty easy because all you touch and all you see is all your life will ever be. That includes dialogue, because it is how we present ourselves and interact with others. They say that body language is 90% of dialogue or something like that. You can’t really write that kind of thing, it is all interpreted subconsciously. The visual work didn’t really help because we had to write about before the moment. Rome and Naples are different, Naples becomes a ghost town at night and Rome is always awake. I guess that means I would write at night in Naples because the city is gloomy at night which would have a solemnly affect.

Reading Journal 7

How is the concept of wealth developed in Juvenal’s satires?

Wealth for Juvenal in his time is of great excess, but that excess never trickles down. The rich are hypocrites, that they have no honor.

How is this different or similar to that of Twain’s development of the same subject in Innocents Abroad?

While both attack the rich for pretty much the same reasons, (Twain talks more of the excesses of the church), but Twain is more subtle and funny.

What role does hypocrisy play in relation to these concepts of wealth in both authors’ satirical works?

In Juvenal, it is about a lack of honor. The rich boast that they have it, but show they are base. The poor throw it away for scraps of food. In Twain, again it is about the Church, who are supposed to be helping the poor, the weak. Instead, the churches are overly lavish with gold while beggars are dying outside.

How are the themes of sedition and free speech in Juvenal similar/different to those in Twain’s satire?

Both feel that, even with free speech, neither would have anything worthwhile to say.

How are artists, poets, and patrons of the arts depicted similarly/differently by the two authors?

In both works, the poets and artists are slaves to the patron’s wishes. They are not really expressing their art so much as producing for bread.

What is “noble” according to Juvenal’s narrator?

Those that are noble are more than just a name and title; they must express good nature and chivalry. They are law abiding and faithful to the people.

Cite a passage from each of the four satires by Juvenal which amused you and say why. What literary mechanisms or rhetorical devices did Juvenal use for each?

“Of course I was born on the banks of Euphrates, that my earrings would prove, no matter how much I denied it.” – Sarcasm

“In comes a lobster, immense, in fact, too large for the platter.” – Hyperbole

“But should a god, or some chap who looked like a god.” – Sarcasm

“Nothing will bring you more friends than a wife who is certified barren.” - Sarcasm