Month: October 2014

The Cube

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My challenge was capturing this cube. I had to solve this cube within 30 minutes, and if I did not complete it within the given time period, I would have failed this mission.

Let me start from the beginning. A month ago, I was given the mission to complete this relic in order to have some fun. I thought it was cool. And without knowing, I shuffled it up. The ticking bomb started. One problem though. I didn’t know it was ticking. 

Originally I thought, It’s going to be alright. I have lot of time to figure it out.

I picked it up once in a while and looked at it. I could get through one part of it, but I could never figure out the entire puzzle. So I put it down and came back to it later. This was on repeat for days and days.

I also first thought that there was no importance in this mission. I had more important things to do such as slay my grades with material stronger than any sword or build my blueprint for my fortress within 20 seconds. But defusing a bomb that I had no idea was a bomb? That was the least of my priorities.

Days and days this occurred. I saw it, I attempted to solve it, failed solving it, threw it across the room and picked it up the next day. And everyday, I was getting more curious on how it worked and how to solve it

I then saw an article about it talked about how it was sucking in the minds of many kids, teenagers, and adults.

“Oh no!” I was shocked. This bomb, this cube, this object, was  becoming a world wide toy and it was brainwashing the students all together.

“Hey Harish, can I check out that cube?” I promptly heard my sister say.

I was shocked but it was too late. The bomb had exploded and many more would come again if I didn’t stop this one.

With more panic within me, I grasped the cube with my sweaty hands. I turned each of the panels and layers on it and matched up the colors.

My hands felt frozen.

My teeth were chattering.

And all of this led to the moment I am in right now.

Right freaking now.

Each turn was more important than the last, and if I made a mistake, I would have to start this all over again.

My sister asked me 15 minutes later, “Can you help me with this puzzle?”

I responded in a panic that may have turned into a shout, “NO! THE WORLD RELIES ON ME SOLVING THIS CUBE SO DON’T DISTURB ME!” My sister went back to her workspace trying to find the missing piece of the 300 piece puzzle. 

After a countless number of twisting and turning, I saw the end of the cube near.

I also heard the mission leader in my ear say, “H you have one minute left.”

Adrenaline rushed into me and my hands started moving faster, and faster, and faster. The colors on the cube started to become a blur and I could only hope that I knew what I was doing. Then, my hands started slowing down to see what was happening. 

My finger moved as the final turn in my Rubik’s cube completed the simple colors on each side.

“Yes!” I thought when another thought dawned upon me.

“Can you help me now?” my sister said with her 300 puzzle pieces scattered over the floor.

“Agent H, your mission, do you choose to accept it?”

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Allergic reaction
Personal narrative
Jacob Cohen
Mr. Koch
Allergic Reaction
After a grueling football practice on a warm August evening, I began to relax in the passenger seat of my dad’s white Audi.  The smell from my rancid football gear was beginning to take over the car.  My stomach began to grumble as the hot breeze hit my face.
“You hungry?” my dad asked.
“Yes, I am so hungry that I could eat a horse, “ I replied.  
“Good because we are going to La Cucinia for dinner.”
As we entered the restaurant my stomach growled with hunger as I smelled the fresh Italian food and listened to the pizza crackle in the brick-oven. We took our seats at the pizza bar staring at the menu and looking at all my options. I decided to get the meat calzone while my dad ordered the filet mignon. As a precaution,  we reminded the waiter that I am severely allergic to shellfish. No cross contamination whatsoever. 
“Ok, yes, of course,” confirmed the waiter. 
When we finished ordering, my dad and I had a long discussion about sports while watching some college football. In addition, my good friend Tyler texted me if I could pick him up to go to our friend Grace’s house. 
I replied, “Sure bud, once I’m done eating.” Immediately after our conversation ended our food came. 
Mouth watering, sizzling, cooked golden brown, scent of fresh tomato and basil, I took my first gulping bite into my calzone. Sauce and cheese dripped down my face. Relieved after a long day of school and football I finally had a nice warm meal inside me. During the beginning of my meal my dad realized that his steak was undercooked so he asked our server to take it back. As a favor they brought out some mozzarella sticks that tied his stomach over as the steak was cooking. After all he didn’t even want any so with the crispy mozzarella sticks sitting there and waiting to be eaten, I quickly questioned the server if they are safe to eat. 
“Oh yeah, without a doubt.” 
Instantaneously I took a miniature bite into the golden mozzarella stick, delish! We finally finished off our meals, and soon after we payed the check and headed out to get Tyler.
On our way there, I started to feel a little throb in my throat. I tried to ignore it while unknowingly that was the start of a long night. We finally got Tyler and started driving towards Grace’s house. About 10 minutes later, still in the car, I began to feel even worse. My hands started to sweat. In the back of my mind I asked myself, “am I having an allergic reaction?” 
 Quickly I told my dad to pull over. Screeech, as my dad slamed on the brakes. 
Immediately after, he asked, “why? Whats up, are you okay?”
Stuttering, “I, I, I think I’m having an allergic reaction.” 
“What! No, how? Everything was safe,” insisted my dad. 
“Ehh, I’m scared, I think this is for real!?” 
“You got your Eipipen?” 
“Yes, yes of course, but I’m scared, I don’t want to do it!” 
“Stop being a gigantic whiner and just stick the damn thing in!” 
At that point anxiety was taking me over. Consequently, I sprinted out of the car on to the shoulder of Evergreen Mill running my anxiety out, with my dad and Tyler yelling at me to get back in the car. Weirdly enough, I started asking for things like gum and mints to make my throat feel better. While Tyler was laughing hysterically, he got a text from Grace saying that her mom is a pharmacist. For some weird reason I would have rather had her sticking the Eipipen in me instead of myself or my dad, so as soon as I heard that I told my dad and Tyler to roll out of there and head to Grace’s. Making fast tight turns we finally got there. After my dad slammed on the brakes I sprinted out of the car to Grace’s front porch where her mom was waiting curiously and ready to help me. At this point in time it became insanely hard to breath. Tyler walked inside to some more of our friends wondering on how I was, at the same time my dad and I stayed outside with Grace’s mom. 
She was asking questions to help calm me down, “are you okay? Is this your first allergic reaction?”

About two minutes later it became almost impossible to breath as she stuck the Epipen in me. It felt like a new life was put into me. Immediately after I was full of energy and I could breath again. Lastly, I thanked Grace’s mom for every thing. Minutes later my dad and I decided that it would be a good idea to get a check up at Loudon hospital. When we arrived we quickly met up with a nurse that took us back in the ER for a post allergic reaction exam. As she told us what had happened to me we found out that we were very lucky for thinking of coming there because I had to take a steroid to prevent my throat from closing again. Once we got that taken care of we drove back to our house to get some well needed sleep.  

Oh Yum, Pumpkin Pie

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Ethan McFerren
Mr. Koch
English 9H
October 27, 2014
Oh Yum, Pumpkin Pie
            Have you ever had pumpkin pie, on Thanksgiving, or just a special occasion,
Do you remember cutting a really, really huge piece with the silver cutter, with the chatter of people in the background, and you are oblivious to them,
Do you remember getting a spotless white plate, porcelain or plastic, and putting the pie on it with giddy excitement, and collecting the silver spoon,
Do you remember spraying and spurting whip cream, that wonderful whip cream, on to the back of your pie for five long seconds near the crispy crust,
Do you recall the first bite, where you take a third of the pie into your spoon, and attempt to chew, but swallow so quickly because you can only chew a few times, and the memories of walking to Michael’s on a wintery day come flooding back,
And do you recall the second bite, where the flavor of pumpkin invades your tongue, that gentle pumpkin flavor spreading inside your mouth reminding you of autumn,

And do you remember the last bite, the very last bite, where you scoop the rest of the pie and savor the moment, the cool whip cream, the piping crusty crust, and the last chunk of pie, and chew twenty times, and then swallow very, very slowly, inch by inch, until the last has gone down your throat, and you stare in mourning at the pumpkin stained plate and spoon? I do. 

The Story and the Storyteller – Holly Nguyen

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Holly Nguyen’s “Story and the Storyteller” Project

My “Story and The Storyteller” Project 🙂


Alma – Animated Film #1

Literary terms found in this film:
Foreshadowing:  The ending with the next victim.
Protagonist:  Alma
Antagonist:  The doll shop
Symbolism:  The dolls are the victims; the doll shop is a monster eating up the children.


Mr. Hublot – Animated Film #2

Literary terms found in this film:
Situational Irony:  When he reassembles the dog and buys a larger home in the end.
Topic:  Dedication/Sacrifice

The Story of a Slave

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Ethan McFerren
Mr. Koch
English 9H
October 6, 2014
The Story of a Slave
            “No, nooooo,” I scream in anger, sadness, shock, confusion! Though I shouldn’t be confused. I know what’s happening. The white people are leading me away from my family. My mother cries and my brother looks away, not wanting to show his emotion. My father died when I was young, so he isn’t here. I watch in despair as I am lead further and further away from my home, my life in Africa, and to someplace I do not know.
            The white man shoves me in with a bunch of other black slaves. Mehimbo, a girl who I knew since I was born, is also on the ship. The white man yells an order, and we start to move. No warning. No goodbyes. My family is stripped away from me like that. Our wooden ship skirts smoothly into the Atlantic Ocean. I watch it churn like soup with teary eyes. Will I ever be able to see my family again? No. That’s for certain. I will be alone with just me and my master. Or masters. I probably go to a rich family, since I think I’ll sell for good money. I dismiss the idea from my head. Maybe I can run away.
            The first day is awful. They give us bread and water for dinner. The beds in the ship are overcrowded and too small. I have nightmares of leaving my family forever. The rest of the week goes on the same way. Look at the water, occasionally talk to Mehimbo, although both of us prefer to be left alone, and of course bread and water. People vomit their meals out on deck. I pretend to vomit my food so I can get some fresh air, but they soon find out and I get whipped. People that don’t make it through the voyage are simply tossed at sea. One boy even fell overboard. I grow thinner and thinner, even though I was always skinny. Everybody is cold, or sick, or hungry, or thirsty. We are all miserable. The voyage takes us three weeks straight. I don’t know if I should be scared, or excited, or nervous. After all, I am halfway across the globe with nobody I know except for Mehimbo. One by one, we are lead out into the cool, misty morning. I breathe in fresh gulps of air like water. Then we are half led, half pushed to a wooden block in the middle of a town. The buildings look nothing alike to the small huts at home. The place is surrounded with white men and women. I feel like I don’t belong.

            Someone starts the auction. One by one, slaves are carried away with their new owners. The sounds are filled with men shouting out. Ten! Fifteen! I bid twenty-five! Thirty! On and on. Around midafternoon, Mehimbo and I are selected by our masters, a kind-looking man with a beard, and a fierce, angry, and annoyed woman who has icy cold eyes filled with hatred. I’m frightened, but at the same time, I am very grateful that Mehimbo and I were both selected by the same owners, maybe because we were standing next to each other. We are slowly led down the wooden auction block. Our masters pay money in gold to the slave trader and lead us away. Forty gold pieces. That is it. That is what Mehimbo and I are worth. Forty gold pieces.   Will I have kind owners? Not by the look of the lady. Will I be treated fairly? Doubtful. As I am led down a dirt path, I mourn. My new life is about to begin.