Jonathan's+Writing

media type="custom" key="238625" 10/11

Warm Up

In the heat of the moment, I guess we all make some mistakes. Mine was trusting //her.// She was fierce and bright, but a wanderer, and not inclined to take up a companion. Those kind never stay, and never get attached. By those, I mean demons. This one in particular was a fine specimen. Fanged with eyes as bright as headlights, an unyielding gaze, and the putrid odor that marked her as a Chieftan. I hoped to kindle a friendship with her, as any self respecting Demonologist would, but she scorned my advances and roared when I came close. I suppose I shouldn't have expected any better. We had taken her from her tribe, even if she was searching for her birthright at the time. In demon culture, when a chieftan turns to her fourth year, they go on a search for their brthright magic, a spell which give them a name. Until a demon has a name, the have no respect. Shreraya was hers eventually, and a fine one it was, meaning "saber flame" in the ancient demon cant. Shreraya put up a strong front, but sometimes when I stayed late I heard her low crooning lonsome melody, like the pitter patter of rain. I had reached a bend in my career. my trainer would be upset at my indesicion. Demons shouldn't be kept as captives. But this one was near the end of her search, her birthright couldn't be found now. It might be kinder to put her down.

10/31 "How did a girl born and raised in the suburbs wind up like this?" wondered Bobbie Redford, boostng her "buisness partner" through a window. The partner in question, Robin "Rat" Alston, was Bobbie's polar opposite. While Bobbie was on the honor roll of Jefferson Middle School, and the vice president of the eight grade class, Rat had been in juvie hall twice, for armed robbery and grand theft auto. Bobbie's mom was constantly nagging her to take the trash out, while Rat's mother... well, Rat didn't know his mother, she was in jail for possesion. Bobbie's contemplations were cut off as she backed up to jump for the window sill. She cleared it, thanks to her gym class n the high jump. Bobbie mentioned this to Rat, who made a blank face. "He probably never was in a gym class," thought Bobbie. Not that he as missing anything. The girls locker room was no fun, permeated by the stench of stale sweat. But the odor's from the boy's locker... let's just say Bobbie was lucky not to have a Y chromosome. Bobbie and Rat split up, and pawed through the house for valubles. They grabbed everything to give to Rat's "associate" for safe keeping. Within a few weeks, they heat would cool and the jewelry could be pawned. Suddenly, a shrill alarm pierced the air, followed by a chorus of barking. Bobbie froze, and ran. Again, thank you gym class. Rat wasn't as quick. Two german sheppards caught him, but Bobbie didn't look back. She jumped into the stolen Chrysler Sebring, and put her foot on the gas. The dogs chased the cars for one block, then stopped, blocked by an electric fence. Bobbie didn't slow down, even passing a speed trap. She silently resolved as she pounded up the stairs, not to get into anymore "operations." Bobbie slammed the door shut, thankful that chapter in her life was over.


 * Personal Narrative**

The best day of my life to this point is undoubtedly my Bar Mitzvah. It was also one of the most horrifying. My twin brother, Daniel, and I, had to study Hebrew for eight years to be ready for it, not counting six months of tutelage with the Rabbi. Then, on the day itself (which also happened to be my thirteenth birthday) I was paraded around like a show dog for my parent’s friends, whose names I can never remember. The best part of the day was definitely the party afterwards. I didn’t want the “hotel party” a lot of my friends from Hebrew School had had; I just wanted to have fun, and to get out of my suit. I woke up at my normal time, six thirty, and in my normal room, but it was not a normal day. I was thirteen. Oh, and I was about read a language that I don’t even understand to eighty “almost” strangers. Yeah, I was a little terrified, but everyone I knew who had already been Bar Mitzvah-ed said adrenaline was good. I came very close to throwing up twice before I even got my suit on. When we finally got into the car I had twenty minutes between home and the synagogue to stew on everything that could go wrong with the service. For those who don’t know, a Bar Mitzvah is the Jewish rite into adulthood. It’s very different from a confirmation, as the Bnai Mitzvah has to lead the entire service. Maybe now you understand why I was so anxious. When we got to the temple, I fell out of the car (literally) and walked quickly to the room the service was to be held in. The Cantor, who leads most of the singing prayers, helped Daniel and I get the microphones working. Of course, mine was dead. A problem before the service even started made me want to call off the whole thing, but with all the people filing in like a steady stream of water made this impossible. My aunt and Uncle from New York were here, and my parent’s friends from California! There were a few of my friends at the service too, but the overwhelming mass of dark gray suits quickly enveloped them. The service started- Mah tovu ohaleha ya’acov mishkinoteha, yisrael. The two hour service went by faster then I thought possible, and soon we were back home for the adult party. With all the old ladies pinching my cheeks I thought they’d fall off. The worst part was, I had to keep on my suit (in the 90 degree heat) for the whole thing. The kids party (or teens now as I had to keep reminding myself) started soon after the last old person left. It was awesome. We had a van come with laser tag equipment, including portable barriers, and they set up in our front yard. The tetherball pole was up, my mom had procured several giant Frisbees, and everyone seemed to be having a pretty good time. I don’t really remember the food, just what we had for desert. The best chocolate cake I’ve ever had, and a huge bowl of chocolate fondue. I should stop talking about that now, or my drool will short out the computer. Like I said, the day was the best of my life, but I wouldn’t have another Bar Mitzvah for a million dollars. Never. I can’t read anymore Hebrew, or I’ll explode. Just try me.