May 9th

Publishing my piece was a rather difficult task, finding the correct magazine or publisher was not as easy as I thought. I sifted through several local magazines and couldn’t find the right fit, writing a trend article about a specific timeline doesn’t offer many options in terms of publishing. Finally I decided to give it a shot and submit my piece to the Pittsburgh Magazine. Surprisingly the magazine responds to me and advised me to place my piece within a daily newspaper or a website that deals with trends. I didn’t tailor my piece to the specifications of the Pittsburgh Magazine, it would of changed the piece completely since the magazine does not accept trend articles. I decided that I would make an attempt to contact The Herald Standard, a local newspaper that is remotely close. I have yet to receive a response from the newspaper and I expect to probably never hear from them. I feel I have written my paper to its best, I could unload several more pieces of information into it but would start to feel unnecessary and drawn out.

Being a novice writer and trying to penetrate the world of writing is a exciting and terrifying experience all rolled into one. You become so subconscious of your own work that you start to edit it to tailor to everyone or a specific group. After this tailoring, it becomes a mess pile and you end up pleasing no one with it. Delving into other genres can be a headache as well, I personally write a great deal of fiction, so a class that is more so journalism is rather difficult for me to transition into. The positive in this of course is people to an extent understand you’re a novice and accept you as such. they expect mistakes, nonsensical writing and overall foolishness. The negative of course could be you are always perceived as a novice writer not matter what you do. This is a challenge you face, you have transcend your novice level and reach another until you become an expert or a master. Everyone has to begin somewhere, the “master” writers you see today didn’t crawl of the womb that way, they had to endure and face ridicule just the same. The fear can be crippling though, a looming shadow at every corner. But once you overcome that fear and face the challenges the reward will be ever so satisfying.

Adaptation of Lit 2nd Story

Adam Croftcheck


Adaptations of Literature


The Life and Times of Indrid Cold

Indrid was sitting on the edge of his mother’s ten foot wide bed, looking down into his palms with inattentive glee. Indrid’s mother at the time is spewing forth several words into Indrid’s ear, none of which he seems to care for or notice until his mother’s lips muster the sentence “Indrid, I’m dying and need medicine.” Indrid immediately snaps out of his resting stature to address his mother’s symptoms, asking her questions such as “How much longer do you have?” and “Do you think the funeral will be expensive?” Indrid’s mother, a skeleton of a woman draped in a violet nightgown has a grim frown morph onto her skull. She takes what little strength she may have and leans over to swat Indrid’s head. Indrid, all too familiar to his mother’s ritualistic abuse immediately raises himself from her 10 foot wide bed, leaving an image of a skeleton wailing its boney arms back and forth, laying in a comically oversized coffin. Indrid then peers down at his bag of bones for a mother and quietly utters “Well what do you want me to do about it?” Indrid’s mother, now annoyed with her son’s vague, sarcastic comment begins to rant and rave as to why Indrid is such an incompetent son and at this rate will die alone and the Cold legacy will be no more. The ghoul finally let’s forth the sentence from her boney face “Seek out some medicine for me Indrid, please.” Indrid, now even more annoyed with his mother, begins to contemplate the idea of what would happen if he didn’t get the medicine for mother. Indrid thought long and hard about this with his abnormally large brain, he came to the conclusion that his mother would die a slow, painful death and he would inherit all her belongings, but most importantly the shamble of the house he and his mother lived in. Indrid thought to himself that he could finally fix up the house a little bit and then invite that nice girl, Mary Sue What’s Her Name that lives just a few houses away from Indrid’s. His thought process was interrupted though by a small boney finger that was flung at his cranium; his mother had broken off one of her boney fingers to get her sons attention. Indrid bent down to pick up the finger when his mother continued on about her condition. According to the Felix cat clock with two heads on the wall, hung beside the 10 foot sized bed it was 5pm before Indrid’s mother finally sent him out on the mission to find her some medicine. Indrid was dressed in a black coat, with pockets lined on each side that were 10,000 leagues deep. Indrid pants were grey and beaten. The pants matched his grey and beaten dress shoes that he received from his late father, Augustus Cold when an anvil was dropped on his head. As he stepped outside the door of the shamble he called home for thirty years, his mother yelled to him “Indrid, make sure to stay on the path.” Indrid looked back and shook his head violently at his mother, his silver hair bouncing up and down on his pale cranium, until finally he felt a crack in his neck to which he responded with a harmonic yelp. After this strange scene occurred in the doorway of the Cold residence, Indrid was on his merry way.

It was about the time the sun began to disappear behind the crooked trees and mountains that Indrid could no longer see his mother’s house from the long, concrete path. He would instinctively look back every five minutes to see if he could gaze upon the various pipes that protruded from his mother’s house. The pipes didn’t seep out anything in particular; the late Augustus Cold simply thought they made for wonderful decoration. Indrid felt tired on his walk towards Boon Town, the long, concrete path had many cracks in its spine. As Indrid looked from left to right all he could see was crooked trees for miles, every now and then he would see a metal boulder or two, planted into the earth and protruding like large dull knives. Eventually, Indrid came to a fork in the path, the dark, cracked serpent now spilt into two. In the middle of the divide sat a small stand, makeshift in appearance but not overly mediocre. The stand had a sign, raised high above that read “Cheap Coats.” Indrid gazed upon this stand, intrigued to see what was lurking behind it. As he crept closer and closer to the stand a stench most foul made tenant in his nostrils. This gave Indrid a pause, but he pressed on to eventually make out the sound of flies buzzing and noticed that the text on the sign was written with sticky, crimson ooze. Indrid slowly peered over the counter to see what he could see and in an instant a great fleshy figure rose from the stand and came face to face with Indrid. The creature was fairly tall, around 7ft or so and resembled that of a wolf, the only difference about this wolf that Indrid could tell was he was furless. As the foul smelling wolf peered into Indrid’s deep silver eyes he eventually broke away from Indrid’s gaze to ask “Do you want to buy a coat?” Indrid in a fumbled responsive blurted out “I don’t know, maybe!” Indrid then watched as the massive, furless wolf bent down behind the now tiny in comparison counter to reveal several human skins. The wolf then tied what appeared to be a blood splattered crimson hood onto his bottom half and then asked Indrid in a suave voice “What size do you take my boy?” Indrid, now somewhat horrified but curious as to this character in front of him thought it best that he didn’t ask any more questions regarding the wolf’s supposed business. Instead Indrid finally mustered up the courage to speak “I’m sorry dear wolf, but I don’t think any of those fine skins will fit a man of my demeanor, I was sent out to retrieve medicine for my dying, ungrateful mother.” The wolf, pink as a mole rat with veins and bones protruding gave an immense, toothy grin and asked Indrid “My dear boy, whatever medicine are you looking for?” Indrid was hesitant at first but responded “Well any kind really…my mother’s condition is somewhat of a mystery in her mind, she has sent me on my way to Boon Town.” Upon hearing this information the wolf immediately sprung over his tiny stand and blurted out “My dear boy, I have a special tonic that could cure your mother’s woes instantly!” The furless abomination then adjusted his little red hood apron and continued “You don’t need to go all the way to Boon Town to get some medicine that probably won’t work anyway, just point me in the direction of your mother’s house and I’ll there and cure her myself, my pleasure!” Indrid of course, was no fool; he knew the wolf was going to travel to his mother’s shamble of a house and most likely murder her in some terrible fashion. But this horrible manifestation of events had a silver lining in Indrid’s book, the wolf would get rid of his nuisance of a mother, Indrid would clean up and fix the house and then finally invite Mary Sue What’s Her Name over.

“Just follow the path I was coming from and look for this house with the pipes extending from it” proclaimed Indrid with a smile. “When you get to the weak and easily breakable door just tell her Indrid sent you with the medicine.” The wolf, intent with his sickly urine stained colored eyes. Immediately took off for the Cold residence at an alarming pace. Indrid just simply watched in a distance and thought to himself how nice it would be to get acquainted with Mary Sue What’s Her Name after his mother’s untimely demise. At the last minute before the wolf was out of sight, Indrid called out “Which path will lead me to Boon Town?” the wolf responded, quick as ever “Take the left path.” Indrid was no fool though and considered the option that the wolf was lying to him and wanted Indrid to stall on his journey. That way when Indrid eventually came back home the wolf would pounce upon him and rip him to bloody confetti. Indrid decided to take the right path and figured that he would purchase some kind of fantastic weapon once he reached Boon Town to slay the wolf with.

Once again Indrid found himself down a cracked, black trail looking from left to right but only seeing crooked trees to each side. The sun had buried itself into the void of space and by this time Indrid was wandering around in the veil of night, cold, alone but not frightened. What eventually felt like an eternity of following darkness, Indrid could see a small light in the distance. As he approached this strange light in a sea of black, he could make out what appeared to be beautiful young woman encased in a glass tube. The girl’s lips were as red as the ooze on the wolf’s sign, her skin as pale as the snow that covered the mountains and her hair as black as the night itself. Indrid was mesmerized by her beauty, and he came closer and closer to her lighted glass tube before he stopped, hearing a large buzzing noise. Indrid looked around in the darkness, but couldn’t make out where the buzzing was coming from. Before Indrid could take any more steps towards the contained beauty he was met by several sets of large, red eyes emitting from the night. Indrid called out the creatures “Hello? My name is Indrid Cold” the eyes remained along with the intense buzzing noise. Indrid began to felt uneasy and almost decided upon running away but before he could send the message from his brain to his legs, an immense, and grotesque mosquito-like creature emerges from the thick blackness of night. The mosquito is about 6 feet in length, covered in legs and accompanied by two large yellow tinted wings that keep it suspended in the air. The buzzing emitting from the insect is loud and menacing, its grey exoskeleton contrasts its round, red eyes that seem to glow neon red. Its brethren also appear from the shadows and are identical to the first and make up a total number of seven. Indrid by this point is terrified as he can feel a strange sensation make his way up his intestines and into his chest, he believes it to be fear. With a sudden gasp of desperation and instinct Indrid begins to frantically speak “I-I was looking for trail that leads to B-Boon Town, I need some medicine for my sickly m-mother.” The ensemble of disgusting beings simply continue flapping their rhythmic wings as a unit until suddenly they make a movement towards the glass tube containing the sleeping girl. The mosquitos form a circle around the glass tube and then insert their long, needle like noses into holes which make contact with the young girl’s body. The slurping noises alone are enough to make Indrid begin to project his dinner from his mouth he had before leaving earlier today. As the monsters conclude their frightening feast, one of them flutters over to Indrid and precedes to hand him a vile of blood. Indrid looks in shock and awe at the vile but then decides to take it. As he reaches out for it with his long, pale fingers he trips and immediately falls into the buzzing menace which in return drops the vile of blood that bursts upon the ground into as thousand red pieces. As Indrid begins to rise from the forest floor drenched in the color of night, he is greeted by an intense buzzing noise as the seven abominations surround him in an attack formation. Stingers protrude from the bottom of their torsos, sharp and brown. Indrid comes to the conclusion that he has somehow offended these blood suckers by wasting some of the precious blood they oh so delicately extracted from some poor girl comatose within a glass prison. Indrid then with the speed of a gazelle pushes two of the buzzing parasites out of the way and then runs for his very life as the seven insects pursue him in a single file format.

Eventually, Indrid manages to out maneuver the bugs as he jumps and rolls over various fallen trees and bushel. Indrid, exhausted from the ordeal immediately collapses once again to the floor of the forest. As Indrid lays there on the thick, cold grass he begins to ponder about his latest encounter with several large insects and captive girl. Did he dream this experience? If Indird were to tell this story to anyone would they it? The answers to these questions remain unseen as Indrid begins to feel his nerves and muscles relax, they retract to the realm of sleep. Indrid eventually begins to dream of the day that he can invite Mary Sue What’s Her Name to his new and improved house, without the small squadron of unnecessary pipes extending from the roof. Right before Indrid can put the moves on Mary Sue, he is awakened by a scream. The scream itself was that of what Indrid believes to be a girl, but he is not entirely certain so he rises from the dirty ground and begins to investigate his surroundings. It is now daylight and the only thing Indrid can see for miles is crooked trees, their sickly colored orange and burgundy leaves block his sight. Indrid decides to try and retrace his steps back to the concrete trail but is met with no satisfaction, before long Indrid’s eye is caught by a house off in the distance. The house appears to be built from white, withered wood but upon further investigation it is actually compiled of human bones. Indrid stops himself before entering the house and accesses the situation and his predicaments prior. One incident has worked out for the best; the other almost granted him a slow, painful death by the work of overgrown mosquitoes. Indrid is now at a dilemma, but before he can act upon the decision it is made for him a sweet old lady emerges from the house made of human bones. The little old woman is what Indrid wishes his mother would be: grey hair, large glasses and cute little flowered patterned dress. Unlike Indrid’s mother who is nothing more than a skeleton covered in a violet robe. The little old lady asks Indrid if he is hungry.

Indrid replies, “Yes.” As he enters the house constructed of bones he sees that the house only has three rooms, a bedroom, a bathroom and a kitchen with a dining room table. All the furniture is composed of various human bones, yet one of the chairs at the dining room table appears to be made of some kind of flesh substance. The old woman implores Indrid to sit, “Please, please make yourself comfortable and sit in the special guest chair, I’m making a fine stew that’s to die for.” Indrid could obviously see this was a trap; a nice old woman living in a house made of bones was a dead giveaway that something was wrong. As he began to rise from the table, the chair suddenly emitted a mass of ghoulish tentacles to keep him confined to the chair. Indrid struggled and struggled but to no avail could he break free. The little old woman made her way from the kitchen to the table, stew in hands contained within a black pot. She looked over at Indrid with her beady eyes and then said “Now, now young man it would be rude of you to leave without trying some of my famous stew.” She then poured him a bowl of the stew, it was brown in appearance, but as Indrid began to traverse his spoon of bones through it he noticed several eyes and ears floating amuck. Indrid thought to himself how he was going to get out of this predicament, so he resorted to the line that had saved him twice before “Hello miss, my name is Indrid Cold and I have lost my way on the path to Boon Town, I have been tasked to fetch my mother some medicine for she is quite ill.” The old woman stopped slurping her human stew and seemed very curious of Indrid’s story, she then rose from the table and stated “Well young man you came to the right place, I have just the thing in the medicine cabinet, you don’t go anywhere and eat you stew like a good boy.” As the old woman rose from her chair, Indrid made a desperate attempt to shift his weight on one side of the chair that bound him. As he did, the chair toppled over and let out a horrid scream, alerting the old woman to Indrid’s escape. Indrid then immediately acted by ripping off a bone from the wall, it was sharp like a machete he then began to flail it around at the old woman who responded by hissing and revealing her true face, which was covered in eyes, like that of a cat and had two mouths. Indrid then bashed through the door made of bones and then dashed all the way back to the concrete path.

By this point Indrid had enough of the big wide world; he had a weapon now to deal with the furless wolf: Indrid could now live his fantasies that in the past he could merely dream about.   He would come back home, find he mother slain, kill the wolf, fix the house and finally invite Mary Sue What’s Her Name over. Indrid finally reached his house during the time in which the sun was once again disappearing from the sky. As he opened the door he was met by the furless wolf, Indrid was ready for this moment, he had his swinging arm equipped with the human bone he ripped from the old woman’s house, but before he could swing he heard his mother’s voice, like a sharp pain in his side “Indrid is that you, Oh Indrid thank you for sending this sweet wolf to come and cure me with his tonics.” The wolf simply grinned at the now glaring Indrid and then dashed away into the deep bushel of the forest. Indrid could feel the sensation of rage burst inside of him like a thousand dirty pins. The encounters he had were most unpleasant, the wolf was intimidating enough yet the incident with the insects was terrifying, not to mention that Indrid had stumbled upon a house made of bones and inside waited a horror in disguise of an old lady. Had all of these strange and bizarre events been a product of Indrid’s deluded mind and overwhelming desires?” it mattered not to Indrid at this point since his treacherous plan had gone sour, his mother is now up and walking, healthy thanks to a furless wolf. His dream was caught in a net and now had its wings plucked off from a sociopathic child. Indrid lifted the cold human bone up to his forehead and began smacking it violently; he was hoping to enter a coma where he could forever dream about a nice house and putting the moves on Mary Sue What’s Her Name.  

Adaptation of Lit 1st Story


Adam Croftcheck


Adaptation of Literature





The Prophet of Nothing


Ethan rises from his slumber every night at the exact same time, 3:15am. His weary eyes gaze upon the digital clock at the bed side until finally he closes them again and begins the process of slumber for a second time. Ethan finds himself restless since the passing of his wife, the freak accident that occurred keeps replaying in his head yet he feels no despair or sympathy to his wife’s demise. This lack of emotion keeps him awake all day and night, not even the legion of prescribed pharmaceuticals at his bedside can quell this unusual state of being Ethan finds himself in. When the digital clock eventually reaches the time of 8:30am its alarm begins to sound which consists of an ear piercing screech that Ethan listens to for about 15 minutes before silencing it with the faintest of movement. As Ethan rises from his bed, he stares into the mirror placed right in front of the bed. He stands idle until the memories of his wife fade away, yet there isn’t any pain, anger or despair. Ethan then proceeds down the stairs to the kitchen where he prepares a simple meal of cereal and juice then begins the process back up the stairs to cover himself in proper work attire which consists of a pale white dress shirt accompanied by a red tie and gray pants. Once Ethan has properly placed his garments upon his being, he proceeds once again down the stairs and emerges from the front door of his quiet town house he and his wife purchased a few years ago from a very sleazy salesman. Ethan recalls every detail of that day in pristine acuteness yet he cannot link a single emotion to it no matter how much energy or concentration he musters. After this internal struggle Ethan starts the engine to his rusted automobile and begins the journey towards his establishment of employment.


Ethan arrives precisely at 10am and is greeted by co-workers and friends alike. All of them are aware of the freak accident that occurred several weeks ago involving his wife, in effort to comfort and empathize with Ethan many of them bring gifts to his cubicle or attempt to hug him each day yet Ethan is unresponsive to all manner of pleasantries and simply responds to them in a monotone fashion of “Thank You.” Cellphone calls, text messages, social profile messages are all met with the same response each day from friends and family of Ethan. Social activities Ethan once participated in met the same fate, Ethan is a shell of the man he once was. This soulless embodiment wanders the world of which he exists each day and is not bothered nor indulges in the art of being human. Ethan’s personality is comparable to that of a stone that is withered by weather, they exist and nothing more. Much like Ethan the stone has scars and chips, but unlike Ethan this soulless object carries them on the exterior.  Ethan rises from his cubicle when the digital clock on his computer screen reaches the time of 6pm, as he makes his exodus from the building various co-workers once again try a noble effort to communicate with Ethan but are met with no satisfaction. Jane from cubicle 237 near the end of the floor springs from her seat like a cadaver connected to a car battery to confront Ethan on his way out. As she approaches the twisted figure that makes up Ethan, her comically red lips open to let a huge “Hi Ethan! How are we doing today?” Ethan begins the process of lifting his head to finally reach Jane’s eyesight. With a look of complete indifference Ethan answers a simple “alright” that feels as cold and emotionless as the deadpan expression embedded in the iris of Ethan’s eyes. As Ethan makes his way from Jane who is still bewildered from his response, he passes a cubicle most foul which belongs to the office pest and snoop Randall. Randall, huddled over his desk pecking away at his mundane office reports that are due by Saturday caught Ethan from the corner of his eye. The ever so slippery and conniving Randall began to spew a toxic dialogue that not even Ethan could ignore. “You know the boss is considering firing you due to all the moping because of your wife’s accident.” muttered Randall. Ethan, still visibly emotionless simply begins to stare at Randall typing away in his little confined cubicle. Ethan takes in every detail of this Gollum’s cave, the red swing-line stapler placed neatly to a fresh stack of printed reports. The cubicle is sterile, even more so than an operating table after a brutal amputation. His gaze on Randall eventually catches the wretched creatures attention in which Randall turns and meet’s Ethan gaze yet does not speak a word. Before Randall’s forked tongue can flicker anymore torturous slander, Ethan proceeds to descend the gray staircase to the massive concrete parking garage and collect his poor excuse of a vehicle.   Once Ethan exits the building the co-workers and acquaintances will flock to alternative means to comfort and communicate with Ethan via cellphones calls, text messages and Facebook messages but are still greeted with the same response, nothing. Many worry that Ethan will kill himself in some brutal manner, others worry he might orchestrate a shooting at work and others simply worry that they may appear cold and uncaring to their fellow co-workers, so they make an effort to prove them wrong by being as supportive and talkative as they can towards Ethan, but inside they don’t really care about Ethan’s condition. They are more so about their appearance to others. Such is the way of the work environment.


Back home, Ethan cooks a prefab meal, turns on his television and sits on the couch for several hours until his desired sleep time. During the local news broadcasting of murder and crime, Ethan feels his eyes start to become heavy, he then feels a sensation he has not felt in so long, that which is sleep. The dream begins the same; Ethan and his wife are traveling towards their favorite spot near the river one bright and tranquil Friday afternoon. Ethan can recall the scent of perfume she was wearing that day, it smelled of Amaryllis and was very overpowering but Ethan enjoyed the scent. He recalls her blue eyes that were like blue crystals illuminated with a fine light. Her eyes contrasted her hair which was a fiery red as if it were some great phoenix that sat upon her skull. Ethan then gets to the unpleasant part of his dream, his wife’s demise. As the couple are making progress towards their destination a rogue branch from a tree bursts forth from the sky and lands exclusively on the passenger’s side of the automobile. Ethan’s wife at the time is oblivious to the falling limb and is immediately killed when struck. As Ethan swerves to keep the automobile steady and on the road he finally succumbs it to a halt only to look upon his wife’s mangled, bloodied corpse. Ethan will never forget her twisted and blood drenched face looking up at him in horror, he awakes from his slumber in a loud shriek of terror, it is the most emotion Ethan has experienced in several weeks. He begins to feel an array of emotions wash over him in a tremendous wave which he responds to screaming and sobbing to the extent in which he is now on the floor of his house screaming out his wife’s name, cursing every god in every religion he can recall for removing his spouse from his existence. Ethan now emerges from the floor, broken, beaten and distraught only to encounter what most mortal men could not or would not bear to witness.


The foundations of Ethan’s house begin shake in a violent manner, suddenly the roof begins to peel off as a horror of unexplainable peers through the opening between the house and the roof. The creature is massive in size, and appears to have various faces protruding from its body, one takes form of man that seems to be writhing in pain, the other some form of goat that is wailing, the third is of an ox, huffing and puffing as if it is trying to escape and finally there is a head of appears to be an eagle or bird that is constantly screeching amidst the chaos. Ethan begins holding his ears from the pain of the screaming from these heads; to even look upon this abomination causes Ethan a great sensation of pain, somewhat like a sickness of the greatest caliber. The creature begins to turn violent, it begins to flail it’s tremendous sets of arms back and forth as it flaps it’s wings but suddenly four circular saucers surround the horror, one for each head and the saucers emit a blue spectrum of light that seem to quell the creature’s anger and suffering. As the monster begins to settle a strange floating chair appears from behind it. The chair resembles that of a throne; it is a dark green in appearance and is covered in an array of circuits and lights. Sitting in the middle of the chair is what appears to be a man, dressed in an elegant white robe that is decorated with various stones and trinkets not of this world. The only visible part of the man’s face is the mouth, which appears human in nature. But as the throne floats closer to the now distraught Ethan the man opens his mouth and several rows of teeth can be seen. Ethan is now on the verge of tears, he has not felt this way since the day of his wife’s demise and as the being in the floating chair gets closer, Ethan begins to feel even more of his emotions rising. The being in the chair finally stops face to face with Ethan; Ethan rises from the floor once again and begins to stare at the being in the chair. The sensation of fear turns into frustration for Ethan as he asks the being what is his purpose for visiting him. The being sits mute for a small time but then answers in a mighty voice “Son of man you have been selected to be the prophet of your people, warn them of the impending doom they will experience before it’s too late.” Ethan is taken back by this statement, he has so many questions constructed in his mind at the time but only one makes a vocal birth “What impending doom?” states Ethan, the being removes what appears to be a visor from it eyes and then looks upon Ethan. The being’s eyes seem glowing a luminous yellow as Ethan feels himself overwhelmed by them.


Ethan now feels himself disembodied; he cannot feel his arms, legs, or any other sensory components other than his eyes. The sensation overcomes Ethan, he wants to scream but he cannot. The image of a golden temple is presented to him, the temple is made of a beautiful gold that calm’s Ethan’s troubled mind. As Ethan is infatuated with this marvelous architecture a stunning white light bursts forth from the inner most entrance. The light feels euphoric to Ethan but as it slowly progresses towards him he begins to feel intense emotions of anguish and fear. It’s as if this holy light beckons a more sinister purpose, right before it engulfs him Ethan is transported to what appears to be modern day New York City. Ethan still cannot feel his appendages or other senses, yet he doesn’t feel upset or despaired in fact he feels as if he is being held and nurtured by a force greater than he. Ethan glimpses at the modern day New York, people bustling along the streets, the traffic is horrendous yet making slow progress. Suddenly, a dark portal emerges from the sky with a thunderous might. The people on the street gaze above to watch as this portal begins to spew several large tendrils accompanied by bulbous yellow eyes.  The people begin to scream and panic as the otherworldly horror begins destroying building with its mighty tendrils. Ethan, paralyzed by some ominous force can only look on in horror as this beast destroys the very foundation that is New York.  The horror does not end, the creature then begins letting out a horrible cry similar to the creature Ethan encountered earlier and the people on the street begin screaming in holding theirs ears in pain. Shortly after this the people on the street begin to decompose in puddles of carnage, men women and children alike are susceptible to this horrific fate. Ethan observes in sheer horror to this scene, nothing but blood, organs and bones remain on the sidewalks and vehicles within the city.


Ethan feels a sudden pull at his spine, it is faint at first but then very forceful the second time and he feels a sudden sensation of tranquility, then darkness. Ethan awakes on the floor of his living room, his house still intact. Ethan is still weary from his experience so he adjusts himself to his sofa and is still trying to comprehend the visions he just experienced. Ethan stares out from his sofa, feeling an array of emotions he doesn’t know whether to begin laughing or sobbing uncontrollably; it is at this moment his eye is drawn to a scroll laying upon the coffee table in front of the couch. The scroll looks fairly old and appears to be emitting a red light. As Ethan stares intently at the scroll he can feel a presence in his mind speak. This soft yet commanding voice sounds similar to the being he encountered before and is telling him to devour the scroll. The voice implores him to eat scroll and assure him that he will know the word of god once he has consumed it. Ethan lunges from his sofa begins to eat the scroll, at first it tastes foul but as Ethan begins to swallow it has the faintest taste of honey. An hour passes and Ethan’s confusion of emotions wash away; he now feels a sense of purpose in his life and is content. Ethan gazes upon the portrait of his wife he mounted on the wall many weeks ago after her passing, while he feels a despair looking upon the picture his sense of duty and motivation overcomes it. Ethan once again repeats the process of his daily routine, only this time Ethan begins to share his insight with his fellow coworkers. Most of his coworkers are happy for Ethan since they believe he has found some new form of religion and is channeling his negative emotions into positive ones. It is only when Ethan after several weeks of preaching comes to work with a scruffy beard and stitched robe do his co-workers believe it may be time for an intervention. His friends, co-workers and advisor try to break Ethan of this affliction but are only met with Ethan’s preaching and impending doom verses. It is after months of this Ethan’s advisor fires him in which Ethan does not seem to care or is concerned. After some time has passed after Ethan’s termination at his office, his friends decide to have at home intervention. As his friends make their way to Ethan’s house, they greeted by an unrecognizable building. The house appears to be in shambles as if Ethan has vacated it sometime ago. The next morning many in Ethan’s former business of employment are shocked to find out that Ethan has made the local news. The headline reads “Prophet of Nothing is finally arrested.”  Apparently Ethan had left his house some time ago to begin his preaching on the streets. Ethan made his way to another county in which he was nicknamed the “Prophet of Nothing” because his preaching for the most part was deemed absolute nonsense. Many believe that Ethan’s state of mind was his way of coping with his wife’s accident. Others believe that her death just simply made him lose his mind entirely. As one of Ethan’s fellow coworkers raises the newspaper from his face he notices that the sky appears very overcast at the time, knowing that the local weatherman called for a bright, sunny day. Another co-worker comments on how the how the weatherman always get it wrong and maybe a storm will appear sometime this afternoon.

Tony Norman’s Opinion on the boys in blue of Pittsburgh

I was asked to read either two stories coming from the semi-famous Tony Norman of the Post Gazette, one dealt with black children having a gap in learning in inner city schools and the other was a particular case in which a black man was beaten by Pittsburgh police.  The one I chose to read and write for this blog was of course the one of gross injustice on the part of Pittsburgh police. Norman’s point in this article is to outline the injustice Pittsburgh police usually distribute to people of color within the city of Pittsburgh. He supports his point by giving a particular example in which a black man was severely beaten by police under the suspicion he was a criminal and then presented ridiculous accusations against him in order to justify this severe beating. His opinion piece is rather harsh on the other side of the argument, he paints a picture that the police force in Pittsburgh are emotionless drones or crooked cops, to quote  “While in general, cops here aren’t remotely as corrupt or brutal as they are in, say, Philly or New Orleans, there are far too many on the force who lack even basic empathy for the people they’ve sworn an oath to protect.”

While amidst reading this story I couldn’t help think to myself that Tony Norman should follow up with with a solution to this police brutality and the solution is a rather simply one that is being implemented now, have the police officers wear cameras on their persons. This technique has recently been developed to combat police brutality one hears about. Overall I felt this article was on the spot with what I have experienced in the past, the Pittsburgh police are rather cold and stern if anything this article would strengthen my belief that police officers should wear cameras.



A blog entry for March 26th

For my Writing for Publication class in this spring semester, the class has been asked to do an assignment in regards to a certain issue or occurrence we have encountered or dealt with. My selection of occurrence is that of the anti-abortion protesters that swarm the streets during the annual Labor Day Parade which takes place in Pittsburgh each year. These individuals flock in droves on the already crowded streets of Pittsburgh to proclaim their beliefs to others. They come accompanied by large signs in which they wave around depicting a handful of grotesque images which usually involve a dead fetus of some sort. While some reading this post my be influenced and support such a philosophy as this group does, it seems rather unfitting given the time and place for these individuals to make their point. The labor day of Pittsburgh is usually a family oriented event, many come with their small children and are expecting a pleasant experience.

To overcome this problem, one might search out guidance on the internet or take advice of others to help them. I personally simply asked my father at the time what would the natural course of response would be. He simply stated to ignore them as most do yet in some cases individuals become upset and annoyed with the behavior of the protesters that can turn to violence. Yet this solution cannot apply to everyone, small children who see these signs of aborted fetuses will surely not remain silent and even be effected in a negative way by them. If I were to compile article on the protesters and this problem they can present I would interview a handful of individuals. These individuals would consist of someone who has seen these protesters at the parade and has children, a child psychologist and maybe even of the protesters themselves to get a better understanding as to why some individuals partake in such an activity.

Now with such information as my disposal I could three very distinct writing for this occurrence. The first and most obvious could be an opinion piece as to how I think the protesters should only be allowed so close the individuals participating in the parade. The title could read “Anti-Abortionists, an Inconvenient Time and Place,” an excerpt could read: “During the course of 2007-2010 I have attended the annual Labor Day Parade in Pittsburgh and each year the anti-abortion protesters have a new sign to hold that will surely disgust and traumatized adults and children alike. While I believe these individuals have a right to freedom of speech even on such a day that doesn’t really pertain to their abortion argument, I think it’s in everyone’s best interest that these protesters be moved a little further away from the sidewalks as they can cause trauma in children and spark violent rage in adults.” The piece would also mention the simple fact that most people ignore them. I believe the benefit in this form of writing is that I can be as slanderous and harassing as I want, chances are the other side isn’t going to budge anytime soon on their ideals so I could write this piece in the format similar to a propaganda piece for pro-choice. This comes a with weakness though, that of which it can become extremely one-sided and isn’t really making a difference or getting people to think about the problem at hand. It could actually agitate the conflicting sides even further.

The opinion piece approach is just one and a writer could approach it in a narrative manner, that doesn’t express one side more so than the other. If I were to write a narrative on my experience the title would run along the lines of “My encounter with pro-life activists in Pittsburgh” and read “From the duration of 2007 to 2010 my father and I use to attend the annual Labor Day Parade within the heart of Pittsburgh, each year many individuals would come to celebrate Labor Day and participate in the parade. Some individuals though were there to make a political statement as I would find out when walking through the street of Pittsburgh I would encounter some individuals rooted in the crowd carrying large signs depicting aborted fetuses.” Writing a narrative on my encounter has some perks, one being that it is devoid of opinion and anyone reading it will simply be reading a story, not an argument or slander against them. The negative of course is that it’s just a story, no one has to believe the story I am telling some may even think I am simply lying to add a drama effect to the situation. The story itself does not burden an appropriate amount of weight.

The third choice one can choose upon in the format of this material is a magazine writing type of direction. This is where the people I interview would be beneficial in the creating a consistent relation to the issue at hand. I can envision the title being something along the lines of “Pro-Choice and Pro-Life enthusiasts of Pittsburgh” and could read “Many individuals that reside in the city of Pittsburgh participate in the annual Labor Day Parade, but for some there is more at stake than annual festivities, some like Indrid Cold, 23 of Pleasantville come with a message that abortions are an abomination in the eyes of God.” The article would then have a followup with an individual whose has witnessed the other sides argument and then a follow-up with the child psychologist to see if these protester’s signs would have any effect on the small children who participate in the parade. The positive that can be gained for this form of writing is you get to hear bother sides of argument and that you get to here from a source or individual who has actually experienced it. The negative could be the dialogue in which the people you are interviewing give you, some who read the pro-life supporter’s words may become disgusted and simply stop reading altogether.