First and foremost, I apologize for the huge break on my blogging. School has been overpowering a bit, and I completely forgot about my blog. Since it is a New Year, I wanted to get back to making blog posts. But, unfortunately I forgot. I decided to start over during Spring Break, and so I am. For my first post, after a long time, I want to share a very big story I had written in the fifth grade. I might as well share it. It was for a Rutgers competition. All the fifth graders were allowed to choose a picture from the Zimmereli Art Museum in the Rutgers campus. I had chosen the picture below, and had won! It was a major accomplishment for me and I might write more stories. Other than the fact that I don't know what to write about. Anyway, so I hope you guys enjoy this, and please leave a comment to tell me what aspects of writing I should improve. Hope you enjoy!
The Woods
I have never had a permanent home. Somehow, everything always falls apart. For a number of years I have lived by the mountains, in a little brown hut, with no one else around. Every morning, I ate a hot crusty toast with butter, and walked a mile to the store where I worked as a cashier. I came back home at 5 pm with nothing else to do. “Life is so boring,” I kept thinking to myself. Apart from my daily routine, I went shopping on Saturday, and the week is over. It seemed to me that the same day came over and over again, repeating itself continuously, like the ticking of a clock.
Then came June 13, 1942. It was my 25th birthday. That brutally cold evening, with the bright orange sun setting behind the mountain gleaming with snow, changed my life forever. As I was pouring myself some cold, refreshing iced tea, I noticed the glass started to shake. A faint grumbling sound grew louder and louder. Chunks of white snow, rolling down the mountain was rushing towards the only place I could call home. I quickly slid under my polished, brown table praying I won’t get hurt. I was terrified I closed my eyes and covered my head.
When I opened my eyes some time later, I was buried under the freezing cold snow, with my heart pounding on my chest. I managed to slowly creep out of the snow, stood up and looked around. I was no longer at home. The avalanche must have pushed everything, including myself, some miles away because I couldn’t recognize my surroundings. I knew I would not survive without food or shelter, so I continued walking. The ground was frigid cold, covered with snow and ice. I also did not have my snow boots on. I had only one pair of sneakers on my feet. I walked for hours and my feet were bothering me, but I didn’t have time to rest.
I was starving; all I could think of was food, like an animal searching for prey. For days I had nothing to eat. I drank melted snow that kept me hydrated. My skin was chapped and it started peeling from the cold temperature. My whole body was achy, and I knew that the pain in my feet would soon be gone because frostbite would numb them.
One day, I found some company. It was a hazel brown, furry hound dog. His leg was injured and bleeding. I picked him up and continued walking.
Then, suddenly, I noticed a little log cabin. I couldn’t believe my eyes. I had mixed feelings and I could feel then jumping around what was left of my mind. Although I was overjoyed to finally find shelter for myself and my new companion, I also kept wondering whose cabin it was. Was the owner a mean person who would throw us out? Would he shoot us for trespassing? With my imagination running wild, I waited until the door slowly opened, and standing in the doorway was a wrinkled old man, with baggy eyes and arms.
“May I help you?” he asked with a pleasing tone in his voice. I frantically explained my situation, and he let me in right away. He made me some hot tea and brought me his dinner leftovers. I didn’t realize how famished I was until I smelled the hot food. After the feast, I was still freezing, so the old man covered me with extra blankets, and made me some hot chocolate. While I was sipping it, he took care of the dog’s injured leg, which he told me was luckily not fractured.
While I was feeling grateful for finding this helpful gentleman, I heard heavy footsteps thudding down the long hallway to my right. As I turned around, a tall Nazi soldier filled my view. He was carrying a shotgun in his hands, and had a satisfying smile on his lips.
“Well, well, well. If it isn’t Friedrich, the Jew known to live in these woods. I have been looking forward to meeting you. Your picture was in the newspaper recently, saying you are the only Jew in this area. This old fool is my father, and no matter how many times I tell him, he is always out helping others. My name is Hans Landa of the SS, and I have a special order from my Fuhrer to take care of you. Father, stay in this house while I take care of this Jew swine.”
My mind immediately filled with fear as I thought of ways to escape with my dog. Finding none, I realized that this was the end to my life, and all these years hiding were a waste anyway. With the shotgun pressed against my back, and my hands up in the air, I slowly walked out the door. I turned around to get a last glimpse of my one and only friend, my dog, as the door closed.
With a nudge from the shotgun, we started walking. I had no idea how long I was walking, and I realized that the only thing in this place was snow, twigs, trees, fallen leaves, and more snow. Hans Landa didn’t say a word throughout the tiring walk, and suddenly he pushed me to the ground. I fell on my knees, knowing that I had to accept defeat, and welcome Death into my arms.
“Auf Wiedersehen, Mr. Friedrich.” He pointed the shotgun barrels to my forehead. I closed my eyes, waiting for the moment. I heard a click of the reload of the gun, and knew it was going to be over. The last thing I heard was the click of the trigger.
