Param's Blog

My short story proposal is a disabled man facing hardship in life. He is unable to pay his rent because no one will hire him. He gets money from the government but it only covers the costs to buy new medication, maintain his wheelchair, and buy some food. The landlord will soon kick him out. When the disabled man Archer speaks people can't understand him, ridicule him, and sometimes just ignore him. Archer wasn't born disabled, he was made disabled. Archer was Asian and lived in Oakland with his family. He had one boy 14yrs old and one expected son.  He lived with his wife. One day his family was attacked and Archer was the only survivor. He made it out alive but with permanent damage. In my story i just say how Archer and his family got hurt then how he lived his live. Done. Sent from my iPhone

I know this is really late but heres my first page also it has nothing to do with my original short story proposal at all.

            I awoke to the sound of gunfire.  It was unbearably loud.  So loud, in fact, I couldn't hear the next words that came out of my mouth.
            “What the hell is going on?!”  I screamed, well at least I thought I screamed.  No response.  The gunfire had ceased but still nothing.  With life coming back to my eardrums I decided to remove myself from my bed and find the handheld pistol that Peter had put under my bed some three months ago.  “Only for emergencies” he had said, “I don’t want you shootin’ things unless you really have to” Peter was right, I was terrible with guns.  I had taken a small training class over a year ago but I still could barely even load it.  But this was definitely an emergency and I needed to find it.  I searched under my bed for what seemed like hours until finally I wrapped my hands around something cold and lifeless.  A feeling that could only resonate from a gun.  

Suddenly more gunfire rang through halls of the house.  This time it sounded closer, and louder than ever.  I wailed in pain, my ears felt like they were just blown out like a pair of speakers.  There was a knock at my door.  I fumbled with the gun until it was raised and aimed at the middle of the large slab of mahogany, which served as an entrance to my room.  

A voice howled from the other side. “Mr. Hennessy!  Mr. Hennessy!’  I recognized the voice immediately; it was Abe, the bodyguard who was in charge of security detail for this floor of the house.  He must have been awaken from his quarters by the gunfire too and decided to make a mad dash towards my room to see if I was safe.  I was wrong.  I grabbed the handle and turned it.  I swung the door open and found myself starting down the barrel of an M-16.  The bearer of the gun was Abe.  Except he didn’t look like the Abe I knew, this figure looked like some sort of evil twin. 

“Abe, what are you doing?”  He opened his mouth to speak, but before he made a sound his eyes rolled back and his head and a red liquid seeped from his mouth.  I watched as his lifeless body slumped to the floor.  A flash of metal stuck out from his back.  Behind him stood Peter.  

Jimmy's First Page

It was a typical foggy day in San Francisco. The wind was blowing across Clayton's face as he walked around abandoned cars on the lifeless great red bridge. Sweat was dripping down his forehead as he dragged a small refrigerator behind him. He was treading slowly, avoiding the pockets of radiation that still remain scattered across the road.
"If only these cars still worked" he thought to himself. "Then I wouldn't have to haul this damn fridge all the way back."
The only technology that still worked on the surface were weapons. Almost everything else stopped working after years of sitting in the weather and neglect. And plus, even if somebody were to try and fix something they wouldn't know how since almost all documentation has been lost.
He proceeded to walk down down the bridge towards the once great city of San Francisco. From where he was, he was only able to see the tips of the destroyed skyscrapers through the thick fog. He thought of how grand the city must have once been, but it now lay in irradiated ruins. He dreamed of how wonderful and easy life must have once been, of how it was before the Third War. But now here he was, dragging refrigerator across a 2 mile bridge, prepared to get ambushed by bandits at any moment.
By the time he got to the opposite side of the bridge the sun have already began to set.
"Dammit," he muttered to himself. He had to get back to the settlement while there was still sunlight or he would be unable to find his way back. He quickened his pace and headed towards the heart of the broken city.
Despite quickening his pace, he still wasn't moving as quickly as he would have liked to be. After all, carrying a thirty pounds of weaponry while hauling a small refrigerator up the San Franciscan slopes isn't an easy task. He had to be careful with the refrigerator though. It contained several packages of Nuka-Cola, the irradiated, thirst-quenching, tumor-enhancing soft drink of the wastelands. Nuka-Cola was one of the few substances remaining that doesn't cause a person to vomit after consuming. However, it also contains significant amounts of cocaine, a substance that Clayton is addicted to.

First Page

    My name is Hanna. Hanna Dunn. I am 16 years old. I guess you could say that I am a social misfit, like Bernard Marx from Brave New World. People don’t like me. I don’t know why. Maybe it’s because I don’t look like everyone else. I don’t have the luscious, luxurious salon-hair. I don’t wear anything that shows my midriff. I am plain and simple. I wouldn’t say that I’m ugly. My mom told me i was pretty all the time. Sure, I do wear glasses and I don’t have the most perfect teeth. That’s me Hanna Dunn. My life is the definition of hell. It feels like fate is not my side. When I was 10, my mom filed for divorce and remarried a young college graduate, named Dale, who has a thing for cougars. After 2 years of marriage, my mom and Dale had a pair of beautiful twins named Lori and Megan. It seemed like my father and I didn’t matter anymore. She never called me on my birthday and on holidays.She never sent me cards or never showed up to my 8th grade graduation. She never did anything that a parent is supposed to do. I was never invited to her home on weekends. I feel like she has disowned me.
    The bell rang and I sat in my English class watching all the students rush into the flooded hallways to socialize with their friends. I rolled my eyes and slowly gathered my things. My English teacher, Mr Diaz, tapped my shoulder.
    “I need to talk to you”, he told me signaling me to come to his desk.
    “Ok”, I responded quietly slowly walked over to his desk.
    Mr Diaz always smelled of coffee. He had a tiny scruffy black beard that is very appealing. He always played classical music and always hummed while grading papers. Majority of the girls find him attractive, but I find him annoying. He has that Im-so-cool-attitude. A more socially acceptable term is: Hipster.
    I finally reached his desk. “Yes”, I responded in a very annoyed tone.
    He walked to his cluttered desk and turned the volume down on his radio. I recognized the tune. It was Planets: Mars, The Bringer Of War by Gustav Holst. “Hanna,” Mr. Diaz pointed out, “You are failing my class.” He paused.
    I looked up.
    He continued. “If you do not bring up your grade, then you would have to repeat my class in summer school.” He stopped and waited for me to fight back.
    I shrugged my shoulders. “OK”.
    “Is that what you want?”, he cited
    I shrugged my shoulders again.
    I walked out the classroom and stood in the hallway for 10 minutes as if time had stopped and i was stuck motionless forever. I had a blank expression on my face, but on the inside my mind was swarming with many emotions and thoughts. I don’t want to go summer school. School is far worse than hell for me, why would I want to put myself through more hell? I stood there confused, unaware of the people passing me by as if I was caged rabid animal. I trudged to the front of the school occasionally sighing every 30 seconds. I noticed a familiar figure sitting looking up towards the sky. I realized it was my only friend in this hellhole.Lucia .

Sophie's 1st Page
         
          Peter Hanson was born in Sydney, Australia in 1981. He lived with his mother, a cheery, blond receptionist, and his father, a tall, handsome pilot. They lived together happily in a quaint little seaside house with a big porch, where they would sit and drink lemonade on hot days. Peter's favorite thing to do was listen to his father's stories about all the different exotic places he had traveled to. Peter loved the way his father's eyes lit up, and how he moved his big hands through the air when he was trying to describe some far off land- like India in the springtime, or some ancient ruins in Italy. His father's stories fascinated Peter, and he fantasized about one day being a pilot too, and having his own stories to tell. One fateful July afternoon in 1990, Peter's father was killed in a car crash, on the way to buy ice for lemonade. Peter felt as though his whole world had been shoved through a trash compacter. For the first month after the accident, he only left his bedroom to get food and go to the bathroom.  However, his room slowly began to resemble the nest of some sun-shy animal, and he decided that this would not an optimum living environment, if he wanted to grow above five feet tall. So instead, Peter vowed that he would become a pilot, and travel the world like his father. Unfortunately, Peter's mother was not able to pull herself out of her grief as quickly. She became rather ill, Peter would often find her lying in bed, with the blinds drawn, for hours or even days at a time. Because of this, Peter was forced to grow up very quickly. By the time he was seventeen, he was quite self sufficient. He cooked and cleaned for himself and his mother, and his grades were good enough to get into even the most prestigious of colleges. However, Peter encountered a shock when he discovered the cost of pilot school. He couldn't bear the thought of asking his mother to pour away what little savings she had. So he took on many loans, and part time jobs, until finally graduated. He landed himself a job at Australian Airlines, and at last, he was free to live out the rest of life as a pilot like his father.
            "Peter Hanson, please report to gate 6 for flight 3564. Peter Hanson" The harsh voice over the intercom shook Peter from his reverie. He glanced at his watch, swore loudly, and started at a run through the bustling airport.

First Page-CN

My mommy came to my school and picked me up early! Thats a good thing and a bad thing because I had just bit another kid so mommy is mad at me, but I get to leave and go home early. While we walked over to the car I saw a really cute rabbit by a tree. Quinby says that it looks weird cause it's pink, but I like pink it’s one of my favorite colors and Marvin agrees, I am even wearing it today. Mommy should wear more pink, Daddy should too! 
“ ..ve. Eve, are you listening to me?” Un oh, Mommy’s talking in her ‘mad’ voice, I guess I got distracted by the bunny, it was just too cute to ignore!

“Yeah...”Mommy sighs like she’s trying to make fog on windows, I do that all the time in the mornings. I make a contest to draw as many things as possible before it clears away. Darwin does it with me.  Oh, looks like I’m getting distracted again.

“Your Father and I are going to talk about this when we get home. Got it young lady?” “Okey-Dokey.” ‘Okey-Dokey!~’ Darwin’s copying me again, I hate that. But Quinby always tells him not and boops his head after words, and that's really funny so I guess its ok. By the time  me and mommy are in the car Quinby hits Darwin.

‘Don’t Mock Eve, You doo-doo.” Doo-doo is a funny word. But now Darwin and Quinby are fighting, they fight a lot.‘You need to loosen up, You're too serious’ Darwin says. I’ve heard this conversation before, so I just tune it out till we get home. Quinby and Darwin are always fighting, sometimes it makes my head hurt a lot.

“ Honey, we’re home now. Can you unbuckle yourself or do you need my help?”Mommy always thinks I need help with things, but I’m a big girl now so I can do things by myself.

“ I can do it!” As I hop out the car I grab my backpack and my lunch box, I still haven’t eaten out of it though, cause we left early. Darwin and Quinby stopped fighting right when mommy drove into the parkway, they both love being home cause I’ve got the coolest house.