Connery 1 : Beginnings

   I wondered to myself, could this world be saved from death? I learned the terrors in life at an early age, but I was also given the power to combat them. Power is a strange thing, a beautiful thing even. For it is too often that we will not act unless we have power. It is and always been my inherent belief that action comes first. The means to carry out that action can come later.
   I was cold and hungry when Father James Rubicume Connery found me; a condition that I had long forgotten. It was by a shallow creek that he had found me, asleep and bruised. I remembered escaping the clutches of my master as he bludgeoned me with a flail. My people, my kind, had been slaves since the Crusades of King Richard III, but I was the first to escape and live to tell the tale.
   They fed us as one would feed animals, broke us as one would break a horse, and neutered us as one neutered cattle. We were hated and they made sure that we knew that fact. But why? I asked myself. There were many possible reasons for this, but I could never get an exact answer. My people were different physically in comparison to the Scottish and the English. We had no pupils and we were, on average, much taller. But should this be a justifiable reason for the crimes committed against my people? I thought about this constantly as they forced me to work incessantly on the plantations. I was born a slave and had never known what freedom was, but I wanted to find out.
   So I ran into the darkness. Night encompassed the land and I ran towards the gate. My master, Henry Mason, was coincidentally by the gate and shattered my kneecaps. The pain was unspeakable for a boy of only 9 years old. Before Master Mason could extinguish what little life I had, one of my fellow slaves took his club and bashed his head with it. More men came to see what all the noise was, but I was already crawling on my belly, hoping to be saved by the darkness. They never found me in the darkness and I passed out by a creek with no idea how far I had crawled. Every now and then, I would awake for just a few seconds and find myself tied to a wooden board of sorts, moving up a hill.
   When I came to completely, I was on a soft mattress. The first thing that I noticed was my legs. I couldn't move them at all, and when I tried, it felt like they were being crushed from the inside out. I fell to the floor and closed my eyes, wondering if I was in heaven. I felt strong hands lifting me up and placing me back into the bed. I opened my eyes and saw a man wearing garments resembling that of a monk's. He had a beard encompassing the entirety of his jaw and shining aquamarines for eyes. We made eye contact and his blue eyes were burned into my memory. It was my first time seeing such eyes that were kind, but at the same time filled with regret. His gaze made me feel convicted, as though I had committed a grave error. They were filled with a cold sense of pity that made me feel as though I should be dead. Finally, he spoke. His first words to me explained why he had such a countenance upon his aged visage; a single observation that explained my very presence.
   "You're a slave, aren't you?" he said softly. His voice mirrored the wrinkles on his face. They sounded like a man who had gone through many tribulations and walked too far on his path. He had a voice that was fragile, like a bauble that would shatter any moment. I nodded in response to his question. Suddenly, I felt a sharp pain in my knee; the man pressed down on it with his hand.
   "Wrong answer. If you are a slave, who then is your master?" he asked. He released his hand. "You're free. Cherish this feeling. Many of your people do not have the privilege that is liberty. I am Father James Rubicume Connery. You may call me Father James. From this day on, your name will be Jon Connery." he said. He had shocked me when he referred to my people as people and not my kind. This was uncommon.
   He reached out his hand and helped me up. Father James handed me a set of crutches and helped me walk with them. We walked to a long wooden table and he gave me soup made from milk, cheese, potatoes and mushrooms. Once I finished my meal, I went outside and felt the sunlight shining on my face. It was the first time that the sunlight didn't burn.It was the first time that I ate without being afraid of expelling diarrhea. It was the first time that I slept without fear of the master coming to condition me. It was the first time I had lived.

Khyl-Arms Prologue: Part 1

Khyl-Arms hospital was a special kind of a hospital. It wasn't the kind that healed people with broken arms or broken legs. The doctors there worked with people that no one else wanted to work with- the outcasts. I say doctors, but it wasn't a hospital with doctors either. No one had a medical degree, nor was anyone a Doctor of Philosophy. They were all simply broken people who came by the building everyday to help broken people.
Alex's parents had both died the year that they found out their child had been accepted to the prestigious Amherst University. With no one to help pay for the tuition or plane tickets, Alex gave up on everything-college, becoming a lawyer, the future, everything. With no better option in mind at the time, Alex decided to take a walk. It was during this gloomy walk that Alex discovered Khyl-Arms hospital. The building's exterior appeared to be extremely dilapidated as though it was hit heavily by it's age. Flora was growing in strange regions and there was a curious stench all throughout the area. Alex walked towards the entrance of the building and kicked the door; it opened slowly. The hallways were surprisingly clean and hardly resembled the outside of the building. After just thirty seconds, Alex found a boy in a chair, staring at the ground. Before Alex could say anything, the boy diverted his attention from the ground to the wall, then stared straight at Alex. The boy tried to stand up, but fell on his face and winced. With his arms at his hips, he looked at Alex and said, "My name's August. Who are you?"
"I'm Alex. I was just walking around. Do you have any parents?" Alex said. The boy's face wasn't concentrated on Alex's face anymore, but her pockets. After a few seconds, he looked at her face again and answered her question.
"No."
"Well, neither do I. Do you have any friends? Does anyone else come by here?" Alex asked curiously.
Instead of answering, the boy simply lay on the ground and Alex stayed with the boy until it got dark.

On Holidays [1.1]

The Korean holiday of Chusok is just around the corner. I've always heard it described as Korean Thanksgiving, but I don't see any pilgrims, Indians, or turkey. Now from what I've gathered, the holiday is centered around the moon, rice cakes, and a tradition of visiting your relatives. Well, I say visit, but you're really more or less there for the whole day. This is what prompted this post about holidays. Why do we celebrate them? Because we've always celebrated them! Because we do this every year! Really. A response that is as logical as a shark has bones. It always has disturbed me greatly that holidays are so promoted and sought with no pragmatic or progressive value. If we are to celebrate, let us celebrate our victories then, not theirs. I do not put down the act of celebration. This means that if we celebrate, we should not celebrate holidays without knowing their roots, but celebrate with full knowledge of their potency.

On Dreams [1.1]

Dreams are one of the most peculiar things that we experience in our everyday lives. We sleep everyday(hopefully) and most people dream everyday. It's a common experience that most people share. Although we have the liberty to experience it everyday, it's not exactly something we can easily force upon ourselves at will. We dream about various things, including our past experiences, possible experiences, and the unknown. There seems to be almost no limit to what we can and can't dream about. I once had a dream where I was at Port Discovery on a school field trip. Two years later, I went on a field trip to Port Discovery and every detail was exactly the same as my impeccable memory remembered it. Very curious, is it not? But I propose a far-fetched hypothesis.

Consider the following. What if our dreams are visions of ourselves in different parallel universes? What if when we enter REM(Rapid Eye Movement; the period in which most of our dreaming occurs) sleep, we're viewing a version of ourselves or our lives in a parallel world? That would explain the various dreams in which it seems as though we're seeing the future and it comes true. Of course, this has just about no evidence or proof supporting; simply a ridiculous, but interesting hypothesis that came to my mind.

Jon Connery, White Wing

Recently, I've been concocting a fictional character named Jon Connery. Born in Edinburgh, Scotland, Jon Connery was found in a field by a recluse known to the reader as Father James. Father James raises him in a monastery with another boy named Xarhiel; the two of them become blood brothers and grow up together until they turn 15. Jon wakes up one day to see his Father James' dead body hanging by a noose from the ceiling and his brother is missing. Jon begins to search for Xarhiel, and because he lived isolated from society for most of his life, he has trouble in the nearby town, Freemass. He begins doing covert missions for the authorities which garners the attention of an order who call themselves the Gandathgard. A member of the Gandathgard, Red Volt, recruits Jon to be White Wing of the Gandathgard. Jon is granted a gargantuan sum of money and property and the order gives him superhuman abilities in exchange for his loyalty. The only real orders that the Gandathgard give him are to do whatever they ask him to do when he is called upon. Other than that, he can do whatever he wants now. So out of all the things he could do, he starts searching for Xarhiel again.

Tears of Valediction

Sometimes you love someone because you've known them for a long time and you've grown close to them. Sometimes it will feel like you've known someone for a lifetime even though you only met them a week ago. Words do not properly form when I try to think about this too much, but I understand it has affected me. I now realize how much I really valued her friendship and presence. Although it's selfish of me to say this, parts of me wish she was staying. Sometimes you think you're tough or that you're so smart, but everyone breaks eventually. We just need to put ourselves back together.

Crime and Punishment - Dialectical Journal 1

1.Quote:"I thought as much! This is worse than any of it! It is exactly this sort of nonsense, some vulgar trivial detail, that could ruin the whole plan! Yes, a hat that's too conspicuous...It's absurd, and that's why it's conspicuous...What I need to go with my rags is a peaked cap - any old flat-top will do, but not this museum-piece. Nobody wears things like this, it would be spotted a mile off, people would remember it...the main thing is that it would be remembered afterwards, and bang! - they'd have their evidence. In this sort of business you have to be as inconspicuous as possible...The details, it's the details that matter more than anything else!...It's that sort of detail that ruins everything..."
Page:8

This quote does a lot for the reader. It makes the reader think about what the plan could be. Obviously, we can see that the plan is something dangerous and the protagonist clearly doesn't want anyone to know that he is the one who carries it out. This indicates it must be something unlawful, a crime of some sort. But what is the plan? What is the crime? This is what the reader still does not know. The interesting thing that we learn from this quote is that for some reason, he can't go back and change his hat. There are many different ways to look at this. One could infer that the plan is something can only be carried out at a specific time. One could also infer that the protagonist has planned for this event for an extended duration of time and is simply impatient. It could be that he could go back and change his hat, but chooses not to because he has waited too long for this moment. The author uses this quote to make the reader curious about what the plan is and why he isn't going back. He only does so to show what kind of person this character is. We can see that he has thought about the plan extensively and is very dubious regarding it's success. He is constantly worrying, as seen in both this quote and when he talks about the landlady. This reminded me of the criminals in Sherlock because no matter how smart the villains are, they always slip up due to some kind of human flaw or error. The main character in C&P is very worried that this flaw(in this case, the hat) will ruin everything he has worked for.
2.Quote:"My dear respected sir, poverty is not a sin - that is a true saying. I know that drunkenness is not a virtue, either, and that's an even truer saying. But destitution, dear sir, destitution - that is a sin. When a man is poor he may still preserve the nobility of his inborn feelings, but when he's destitute he never ever can. If a man's destitute he isn't even driven out with a stick, he's swept out of human society with a broom, to make it as insulting as possible; and that is as it should be, for I will admit that when I'm destitute I'm the first to insult myself. Hence the beverage! Dear sir, a month ago Mr Lebezyatnikov gave my lady-wife a most unmerciful beating and that's not quite the same as if he'd given it to me, now, is it? Do you take my meaning, sir? Permit me to ask you another question, sir: have you ever spent the night on the Neva, on the hay barges?"
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Every character is in a work for a reason, so we must ask ourselves what Marmeldov's purpose in the plot is. I think his purpose is similar to that of Myriel from Les Miserables. He also foreshadows a key part of the plot. Marmeldov uses an his own life as an example to show Raskolnikov that destitution is not the way. Like the Bishop, Marmeldov shows Raskolnikov a way out, but in Raskolnikov, unlike Jean Valjean, seems to ignore Marmeldov's sentiment. Raskolnikov's tone when Marmeldov is speaking to him is often very dismissive, most likely due to his seemingly antisocial nature. Marmeldov speaks to Raskolnikov because he notices that he has an unhappy air about him to sticks out to him. Marmeldov most likely noticed this fact through micro-expressions exuding from Raskolnikov's anxiety after thinking about the plan. Another reason that Marmeldov doesn't hesitate to rush into helping Raskolnikov is because he realizes how his own vice is ruining his life. Although Marmeldov doesn't know the exact situation at hand or exactly what Raskolnikov is going to do, he somewhat conveniently warns him. At the same time that Raskolnikov is in thirst for a drink, Marmeldov(who has had his share of bad experiences) is there to appeal to him. I predict that Marmeldov because of this is simply in this section momentarily and will not have that big of an impact on the plot. It can be inferred from Raskolnikov's passive and dismissive attitude toward Marmeldov's speech that he will not heed the warning. During a plot point near the end of a book, Marmeldov may come up to remind the reader of his words, but I don't think he'll be prevalent or a main character. Marmeldov seems like a very interesting character in my opinion. He is contradictory in the sense that he continuously drinks, but longs to end the problems caused by his drinking. He is kind in the sense that he is willing to make sure that similar problems do not happen to Raskolnikov.