Forest Walk

Our English teacher gave an assignment where we ran into a series of preplanned things/obstacles. You may have heard of this kind of assignment before. The emphasis of this assignment was to describe things, which I felt i could have done better.
The required elements were: path, clearing with house, key, path behind house, body of water, another path, two animals (male and female), another path, and a large wall as wide as the eye can see.

ENG 101 MW
Essay #1
Say, what’s beyond there?

Her shoe smelled like sap; she couldn’t get over it. Ever since the young, female traveler had walked through a clump of fir needles on the way into the forest every step had smelled like evergreen sap. It was driving her crazy. She pushed away another wet branch that hung into the loose dirt path at just eye height. As she released it, tear like droplets flew from the branch to her shoulder in bitter retaliation. She stopped. The bushy, narrow path had faded away into the grass again, as it had been doing off and on for the last couple miles. Yet, it didn’t continue down one obvious trail like it had the many times before. This time the path widened and split into three different directions. The one on the left was thick with shrubs and would probably take a machete to get through. The one on the right wasn’t as bushy, but the path itself looked muddy and unstable. She looked to the center path. On the left and right sides of it were well-tamed bushes and conifers, and she could vaguely see the return of her familiar dirt path. She took another quick glance to the extra bushy path and half wondered what could be hiding on the other side. First there was a step to the left, then a pause, and then a deliberate stride towards the center.

The center path was a lot wider then the path she had been taking. It wasn’t just the path either. The spaces between trees, the patches of afternoon sky that shone through the evergreen ceiling, and even the tree trunks themselves were all getting wider. Finally, it got so wide that a building could’ve been built in the center; and there was one. She looked on with curiosity at an unpainted, wooden shack, which was surrounded almost ceremoniously by circles of old tree stumps. She took a step further into the clearing. The ground was covered in dirt and old pine or fir needles, and every step collected more of them onto the bottom of her sap covered shoe. She stepped onto a rickety, half rotten porch, which stood about a foot and a half high. It creaked and sunk under her weight. She knocked gently on the single wooden, waterlogged door. It seemed to be made out of a different kind of wood then the rest of the house, though it was felt just as thick. She knocked once, twice, and up to three times. There was no answer. She turned to look over her shoulder thinking she saw something, but there was no one there. She turned, shrugged, and turned back toward the door. After a moment of contemplation, she decided to give the old door a swift kick. The door had small weeds growing out of the damper crevices of it, so she figured it must’ve been weaker than it had initially looked. Yet, all she managed to get from kicking the door was a bruised toe, and a rain of pine needles that fell from the moss covered roof.

She bounced off the door, fell backwards, and landed on the rickety old porch. The poor old porch fell apart under her weight, and she tumbled backwards into the pine needles. She groaned and cursed to the evergreen ceiling she was forced to stare up at. She brushed the fir needles beside her as she began to lift herself up. Her hair was covered in fir needles now, as well as the same sap that tormented her foot. Once in a sitting position, she brushed as many of the sticky needles out of her hair as she could. Then, she placed her hand down for a moment of relaxation, only to find it pressed against something hard and coarse. She looked down at her hand and pulled the item out of the dirt. It was a ring with two keys on it. One was tarnished green and had a crown shaped head. The body of it stuck out like a crude dagger. The second key looked much newer, and still had its original silver color. The top of this key was a typical octagon shape, and the edge was like any other house key. She looked over the tarnished key carefully. “This must go to the house.” She assumed. She looked up to said house and then realized there was a path behind it she’d never noticed. Her eyes widened with the realization. She glanced down to the keys in her hand, and pocketed them. No one was going to need them for that house. Thus, she walked behind the house and down the new dirt path.

The new path was narrower than the original paths, and it was lined with blackberry bushes that stuck out from each side. At point, she scooted sideways along the path to avoid being heavily scraped. After a few minutes, the blackberries finally thinned out. She discovered that she’d received many minor injuries along her arms. She sighed with relief for the fact that she’d cleared the bushes, but scrunched her nose upon inhalation. There was a foul smell wafting through the air from just up the path. She covered her nose with her long sleeve, which was covered in blackberry thorns. Within moments she found herself standing before a small, murky lake placed directly in the middle of the main path. Small bits of green scum floated atop the water, and rotting logs drifted from one end of the pool to the next. Underneath the surface, small tadpoles swam in wide circles. She cringed at the thought of walking across the murk; but when she looked to the left and right, she saw the all other paths were blocked by plant life. She looked over the lake and decided the best method of crossing was the floating logs. She hopped onto the first log; it was less stable then she’d anticipated. It rolled underneath her and she was forced to hop to the second. The second log didn’t roll, but it was rotten to the core and broke in two. She made a hop for the next log, but missed. She fell straight into the murky water and swallowed some of the floating grime. She made a mad swimming dash for the opposite shore. Within moments she was pulling herself out of the water and onto rocky pebbles.

She spent a silent moment mulling over her chaffing clothes. After a long sigh she finally felt ready to move. Then suddenly, a doe jumped out of the bushes and stopped directly in front of her. The does stared at her with alarm. It made no movements save for its eyes, which were as active as a burbling stream. The traveler started to get up, but suddenly froze stock still when a young, half-starved, male mountain lion lunged out of the bush at the doe. The traveler could only assume he’d been stalking the poor doe, who was now struggling under his powerful claws. His tawny mane shook as he went for the neck. The doe’s legs thrashed all over in a futile attempt to run. The traveler’s eyes grew wider and darted left and right with shear panic. Though the moment was only a few seconds long, it seemed like a very long time. Within moments the doe was done, and the lion carried it away with a threatening growl. It seemed like forever before the traveler could walk again. The sun was beginning to set and a pale gloom came over the thickened trees.

She stood up and started into the darkening wood. It was quickly becoming cool, on top of being dark. Her wet clothes weren’t helping any either. Suddenly, the forest that had looked so exciting before she walked in looked dark and gloomy. She rubbed her shivering arms and moved on. The path widened and narrowed randomly for the next half mile before finally widening out. A wider path meant that more light was coming through, and the gloom was replaced by a touch of gold on the horizon. The trees themselves had changed too. What was once a predominantly evergreen forest was quickly being filled with Maple and various fruit trees. The sun shone easier through these branches, most of which were covered in pink and white blossoms. It gave her a new, happy feeling that overcame all the bad feelings she’d had about nature before. Then a shadow fell over the path, and everything else around it.

She’d spent so long looking up at the sun and flowers that she didn’t really take note of the huge cliff looming into the path. Now that cliff was taking her sunshine away. She scowled. She stomped toward the cliff in hopes of finding an easy way to scale it. There was no easy way. It wasn’t even a cliff, really. The cliff turned out to be a huge brick wall that stretched out in both directions to the side. In fact, it was so tall and so wide that it made the wide path look narrow again. The dirt path had ended just short of the brick wall, and there were stubs of concrete lying on the ground near it. It seemed as if there might have been something standing there before. The girl thought for a moment. Since she didn’t feel like going back all that way yet, and there was no way through the wall, she assumed she’d have to go over it. She picked a fairly open cherry tree, the kind with large white flowers that bloom in clumps, and climbed up the branches. With every branch she touched a handful of petals would rain to the ground. Halfway up the tree, she saw something peculiar on the wall: a door. The door looked fairly new with little wear, much like the lack of wear or growth on the red wall itself. She placed her foot in a crevice that was filled with old leaves. The tight squeeze forced the fir needles, soft from the water, off of the bottom of her shoe and into the crevice. She leaned forward. The door must have come with stairs, she assumed. The concrete stubs must be a standing testament to them. Then what was beyond this door, and what opened it? Memory flashed before her eyes, and she reached into her pocket with a confident grin. From her pocket she pulled out the pair of keys. She took the new, shiny one into her hand, placed it into the lock of the door, and turned. Click! The sound rang like bells to her excited mind. It seemed like she was about to discover something big. She reached for the silver, round knob and opened the door. It swung open and hit one of the branches. The branch retaliated by slamming the door shut again, all while raining more petals. The sun set in complete stillness for roughly three seconds. The traveler made another attempt to open the door, this time taking the branch into account. The door was opened, and she jumped in with zeal.

She tumbled down a granite flight of stairs on the opposite side of the door. The steps must have been at least as wide as the path. She got up and looked over her new bruises and scrapes. These wounds were nothing compared to the falls and scrapes of earlier. No harm done. She looked up and saw one of the most awesome sights she’d ever seen. All before her lay a trim, bright green hill that rose with perfect roundness directly west. The sun was just setting over the hill and a gorgeous gold lining hit everything in sight. Strangely, the only other things in sight were a bunch of tombstones. The stones stood in a perfect, grim line just in front of the rise of the hill. Queer as a graveyard in the middle of a forest was, she got the curious notion to read the headings before the light faded. The first one, and the tallest, read the following:
Bad Rover
Bit Sarah
Shot Rover
She paled. What sort of bizarre place had she entered? She got ready to read the next headstone, a smaller one made of marble.
“Sarah,” she read aloud. By this point the light faded, and she squinted to read the next line.

Suddenly, a hand reached out from behind and grabbed her by the shoulder. She let out a startled screech that she wasn’t even aware she was capable of. When she turned around, and beheld a lanky old man with a long beard and gray clothes towering over her her.
“What are you doing here?” He asked her, with fury in her eyes.
The girl stuttered. The old man looked furious enough to eat her if he wanted to. He was so close that she could feel the humidity in his breath. She could see the remaining half of his long, crooked, yellow teeth. She froze on the spot, not sure what to say to him.
“How did you get here?” He demanded. Spit flew from his mouth into her face. It was worse then the murk lake. “Where are your parents?”
Fear changed to confusion in a flash. The question seemed a little out of place with the situation. She narrowed her eyes. “I….” She paused. The old man was still scary.
“Well?” He waved his arms impatiently. She stuttered for a bit longer before finally telling the man where she’d come from and what she’d done that day. He narrowed his eyes on mention of the key, but never asked her to show it to him.
“Wait here.” He told her, and he pointed to a spot next Sarah’s darkened grave. Nearly two hours of shivering later, a helicopter flew down into the clearing and a policeman came to take the girl home.

The hours that followed seemed like a long dream. By the next day, the whole trip felt like a dream itself. She wondered to the smell of syrup-covered pancakes. The smell brought faint memories of sticky tree sap. After breakfast, she went to remove her clothes for a shower and found the pair of keys dropping out of her pocket. She stared down at them, like she was looking at a bad dream. Then, after a thoughtful pause, she smiled knowingly. In the days and months that followed, she found a strange new appreciation for road maps and baths.

I thought the ending was a little rushed, but the 3-page requirement had already been stretched to 8 an page story. Imagine that with illustrations!

P.S.

Either the preview feature or Blogger itself is being screwy again, so please be warned against any possible ramming together of the paragraphs.

And that's why we share all we have with you, though there's little to be found

Lol, Ketchup! Lol, Ketchup! Lol, Ketchup! Lol, Ketchup!
Becca....
Lol, Ketchup! Yes, booming narrator? Lol, Ketchup!
What are you doing?
Obviously, repeating Lol Ketchup Lol Ketchup Lol Ketchup
I see......
Lol, Ketchup!
Did you not disagree with the use of "Lol"?
Lol.........
Very good, I said as I placed my reading glasses across my face. The bridge of them pressed against my nose, like pressure against a balloon. I opened up the tenth volume of "That's why my God is better!" and-
Did I ever tell you the story about those guys who wanted to discuss the Fate vs Freewill issue?
She interrupted. Why no, said I. I don't suppose it ever really matter to m-
It started with this old man who looked really old. Heh. But, that's a little redundant.
Becca did not wait for the booming narrator to finish. She smiled with confidence, all ready to tell her tail. She was also becoming increasingly fond of the word "redundant".
Where was I?
About to talk about an old man.
Yah, Fate vs Freewill.

She cleared her throat.
It started when this one man was waiting at the bus stop for his English class to end. It had been a really long learn something session, and he was just about ready to call it a night.
May I interject?
No.
Oh, fine then. Have it your way. She cleared her throat again.
The man waited at the bus stop a long time, contemplating why his life was the way it is. For sure, he must've been stuck with the ill fate of having to actually live his life, instead of someone else's.
May I just-
Uh, uh, uh,uh.
She shook a warning finger at me. I swallowed, and she cleared her throat for the third time.

Long story short, the man stood there, in the rain no less, for a very long time. I'm sure it was plenty dark too. Finally, just about the point the rain ended, another man came up to him and sat upon the bench beside him.
The other man looked at him and-
RRR! ReeeeeG! Flip flip flip flip flip flip

The sound of film, snapped in two, clicked and whirred on the old projector. Becca turned and glared at me with the most immature expression. It was quite obvious that she held me, Booming Narrator responsible for the loss of her mental film. But, fear not, weary traveller.
The booming narrator switched to a more... heroic narration style.
For the greater majority of the film was, in fact, salvaged. In time, the accompanying film came back on, and the story telling could commence.
Oh, no. Power plug!
She screeched, as the power cord for the laptop flew across the room, stopping only to dangle a foot and a half away. It had also become greatly evident that she had a sore throat, as she sounded rather horse.
Neigh.
We now return to our program.

Flip Flip Flip Flip
The man on the bench looked at the stand man and- Hey, this isn't the point we were at! What? Got munched? Taped back together with invisible tape!? No, this can't be it. We're missing the entire first part of the conversation! Oh, all my PowerPoint Skillzors, which I never actually used for the film in the first place, gone to waste. Or, maybe that was the Chocolate Eggs.
Oh, shoot. My film is going without me. Back it up a bit.

After a rather dramatic, insightful, and profound conversation segment, which recently met an untimely end, the two men were facing each other with complete disagreement.
"Fate is more powerful, because we cannot control what happens around us. Could you choose your parents?"
"Freewill is more powerful, because we can choose how to react to what happens to us. You can't choose your parents, but you can choose whether or not to take care of them when their old."
"That doesn't even count. Fate is more powerful! Can you stop yourself from being shot by a psycho gunner?"
"No. But that gunner chose to shoot people up, and that makes freewill more powerful."
"Really, it's all a matter of perspective, id'n it."
The two looked up towards the source of the sound. It was the bus driver. They had been so busy discussing the issue that they didn't realize the bus had already arrived, left, come back two more times, gone the other direction, and finally routed back on its way to the garage for the night.
"Get on," He motioned for the men to get on board. See, were using explanations instead of colors now to indicate who's talking. "and let me tell you a story."

The two men got on board the bus and seated themselves near the front, right on the seats reserved for elderly people. Oh, wait. They are elderly, aren't they. At least, one of them is.
"Once upon a time," The bus driver began.
Without stopping to think that the two may have had no wish to hear the story.
Sh-shush.
"Once upon a time, there was an old kingdom." The two men leaned in closer. "And they were ruled by a terrible tyrant, and evil, greedy (,stereotypical) king. The king would spend all his time taking taxes from the needy people. In this kingdom, ruled by the evil tyrant, lived a poor peasant man with a sick family. He cursed the king, and the world, because there was nothing he could do to help them, or himself. He was literally resigned to his options, and stuck with the fate the king had given him."
The man favoring the fate side of the argument put a rooting fist in the air.
"Then, one day, the poor man was called by his neighbors to a meetin'. They all got to together and talked about who needed the most help, who was made most miserable by the king. Turns out they all were."
Suddenly, one of the men sniffled. His eyes watered up. He was a very sensitive (fictional) man.
"Well," The bus driver continued, unhindered by the growing emotion. "The people all felt bad about it, but they still felt like they had to change something. So, they" All of a sudden, the bus driver changed his calm, sleepy tone to a wild, raving one. He thrashed about in the drivers seat and his fingers dug into the steering wheel. No pedestrians were harmed in the making of this blog. "all got together and stormed the castle! They found the king! They dragged him through the streets! They gave his family a terrible end right before his very eyes! They made him drink Grape
Kool-ade...."
The driver steered along solemnly for a moment, then picked up again in his calm voice once more. The men were wide awake now.
"The king met his fateful end, to coin the phrase, by guillotine." The driver rubbed the front of his neck. "You see, the villagers who had been given a terrible fate by him decided to give him a terrible fate to match it."

There was a moment of silence.
"Then..." One of the men started. "You believe Fate is the more powerful of the two?"
"What? No. I think it's a fair balance."
"How so?" The other was also interested in his theory.
"Well, see..." The driver rubber the back of his neck now. They were at a red light. "See, the king made the fate of each person, and none of them could escape it alone. But, when all of them made the same free choice, they managed to overpower the fate forced upon them by the other man's terrible choices."
The men paused, waiting for a final conclusion. The driver was actually regretting getting involved in the conversation now. He felt nervous.
"The freewill of one man may not be enough to fight the fate given to him by the world, but the fate of the world, and it's people, is created by the freewill of the masses." Another silent pause. "I don't know. You can take it, or you can leave it. That's just what I've figured out. This is the last stop."

The bus driver pulled over into a transit center, stopped the bus, and opened the doors. "Go on."
The first man walked out bewildered. The second stopped halfway through the door and turned to the driver.
"Who was the king?"
"What? I made him-"

Flip Flip Flip Flip Flip Flip
It started when this one man was waiting at the bus stop for his English class to-
Ah, the end cut off. Alright, that's it folks. Hope you enjoyed the show. Come back next week or so, when we take a predetermined walk through an undetermined forest.