6 words

The carnival tunes were rusting metals.

Bare handed and mute, not alone.

Shattered empty picture frames and ghosts.

"Welcome to Malus Point. population: 1"

Water seeped from beneath the doorway.

"Dinner for 31, anyone is welcome"

John Proctor: Hero or Stooge?

John Proctor: the adulterer, the man who plows on Sundays, the man who only attends church once a month. He is known for many things, and his presence in The Crucible is anything but silent. In the Crucible, John Proctor is definitely not shy about trying to show what is right. Sure he is a man of many faults, but then again who isn’t? In a time of desperation in Salem, where everyone else is too afraid to speak up for the truth and justice John Proctor does not hesitate.  John Proctor is truly a hero. Hundreds had died before John Proctor and hundreds had lived. Those who lived only gained the extra years to heir lives by stealing them from friends and possibly even family by framing them to have been with the devil. John Proctor did come close, which is admirable. He could have kept his life, but his honor meant more to him than his life. John Proctor died in attempt of keeping those that were still alive, alive. He refused to give in to the ignorance of the men accusing him. John Proctors actions speak many things of him and prove that he was a good man.

There goes the neighborhood

Slowly, steadily, I raise my spear.  Treading lightly, I continue to move forward careful to avoid any branch. I am the predator, stalking after my prey. This is it, my chance. Taking a few more steps, I slowly close in on the animal. It is brown coat glistens slightly in whatever sunlight pushes past the trees thick and leafy branches. Slowly, the animal proceeds with caution, and she lowers her nose to the forest floor, checking for any signs of a threat. I watch from a distance, carefully aiming my spear to puncture the animal. We have been blessed, for the animal sighting have been such a rarity. Ducks and beavers can feed a family for so long, for even the simplest of the animals know when a path is no good. The animal is waiting, ready. I aim my spear to just slightly pierce the heart, enough to kill it instantly. Heavy footsteps come barreling through the forest, behind me. I hear shouting, a panic.  In attempt to still catch the deer, I thrust my spear forward, but she is long gone.

“Avonaco!  Come quick!” I hear my brother Azeban calling from a distance. Shifting my gaze from the forest floor to my brother is no easy distinction. Muddy legs with twigs and leaves decorating his torso, and a look of panic on his face. “They have arrived brother,” he tells me hurriedly as he grabs me, pulling guiding me towards the open waters “The Gods, they come in floating boats like ours, yet they defy the great waters with size, and they wear skin like shine of the moon, hard as the rocks that sustain the mountains!”  What I see before me is all but true. Azeban, my brother who is named after a trickster animal and is equally known for deception and fraudulence's, has no mischief in his tales this time.  Our tribal leader welcomes these supposed Gods, the entire tribe flocks to the open waters in attempt to guide them to our land, or homes, our families…

Azeban tears through the shrubberies and I run after him. He is young, and unwise.  Upon reaching the shore, he dives into the water, graceful as a cripple bear. “Azeban” I call to him, warning him of the no good path. Like the brute he is, he begins to scale the side of the ship. I know of my dear brothers intentions, but I can see that they do not.  A chorus of fearful shouting erupts on the boat; Azeban has made his way toward the gods servants I assume. Horrified I look as the servants begin to dear weapons to my dear brother, he as well as I is afraid for his life. Diving out into the water, I hope to liberate Azeban from another reckless predicament he has himself in. Grasping for the side of the boat, I begin climb for fear of my brother’s life. Over the edge of the ship, I see the deck.  Rather than a god, I see a man. A man like no other who wears skin like the sun draws his sword, and slays my brother. These are no gods. They are murderers. 

Me

My name is Isabel Cristina Bravo. Something interesting to know about my name is that my middle name as chosen based off of a spanish talk show host that my mother was watching when she was in the hospital with me. I was also very close to being named Pearl, no thanks to my older sister who at the time was 3. Needless to say I am very glad that my parents did not take advice from a 3 year old. 

I was born in Chicago IL, more specifically a small hospital which I beleive was called "Ravenswood hospital" at 4:35 am. I am half Mexican and half puertorican and Spanish is my second language. As mentioned previously, I do have an older sister who is 19 (I think) and goes to UIC. I went to a dual language school called Inter American Magnet School grades k-8. It was a bit challenging due to the fact that every quarter our lesson plans would get flipped to/from English to/from Spanish. Although I wasnt much of a fan of the constant language switch, the program was a huge stepping stone to my being able to speak more fluent spanish than the majority of my cousins and has also led me to taking my current spanish class here at Whitney. As a sixth grader, I applied to Whitney Young for the 7th and 8th grade program but did not get in, but I am here presently as a sophmore. I thnk this school is great and English is one of my preffered subjects.