Alex Aberg-Riger

A historical fiction piece I wrote in seventh grade. The main character is in fact named after Ariel Aberg-Riger, a follower of this blog.
Enjoy!

“You fall away from your past but it’s following you.”

- Isaac Slade

October 29 1938

            Alex was talking. Talking to Frank. Like everything was normal.

            But everything wasn’t normal. Alex wasn’t like other people. Other people weren’t murderers. Other people didn’t spend ten years of their lives in prison.

            They were acting like everything was normal. And for the past six months it had been. But what they didn’t know was all that was going to change. All that they worked for. Trying to get Alex used to normal life again. Everything would go to ruin.

            And there they stood talking. Like everything was normal.

            “How about them Yankees, huh?”

           

            Like I said, normal. Normal as pumpkin pie.

October 30 1928

            Alex stood waiting for her. The one. He had to tell her. She was his mother. She’d understand.

            It was out of self-defense. She won’t stop loving him because of a man, he thought. She would help him through this. She wouldn’t turn her back on him in his greatest time of need. Ariel Alexandra Aberb-Riger was his one and only mother.

            As Alex stood with his velvet knee length coat, and dark hair blowing in the wind, his grey eyes staring straight ahead, he knew. He knew she would always love him. She had always said so.

            “No matter what.” That’s what she said.

            Even when you kill her boyfriend he thought. Yes, she still would.

            He was dead wrong.

October 30 1938

            Alex had been living with his Uncle Frank since he had gotten out of prison for good behavior. The deal was Frank gave Alex a home and Alex cooked for him. Frank was a very good man and forgiving towards Alex. Frank was trying to help Alex ease back into normal life.

            But there was a snake in the garden: Carter. Frank’s son. He detested Alex living with them. Alex was always his least favorite cousin, that spoiled brat. He just came in and took Frank’s attention from Carter. Carter loved to torment Alex. But it never seemed to bother him at all.

            On the inside it hurt him. He could not understand why Carter despised him so. He could not think of anything he could have done to make Carter hate him.

            Today was the day. And Carter knew it. So he was planning a party. Real classy. Tea sandwiches. Punch. Radio. All the food prepared by you guessed it: Alex Aberg-Riger. This way, Carter thought, Alex didn’t get to mourn or wallow in his sorrow. He would be too busy working.

            Frank came into the kitchen.

            “How you doin’ Alex?”

           

            “Fine,” he lied. 

            “Listen, I would be willing to take over,” Frank was interrupted by Carter.

            “I told you Dad, I want Alex to make the food. He’s the best cook here.”

            Frank dropped the subject.

            Alex could never understand why Frank let Carter walk all over him. It was like Carter was Frank’s father, instead of the other way around.

 October 30 1928

            “How could you Al? You knew I loved him!” His mother looked at him through teary eyes.

            “I’m sorry Ma. He attacked me.”

            “Don’t lie to me Al. Norval would never do anything like that.”

             “Ma, how can you not believe me? I’m your son! I thought you loved me,” said Alex on the verge of tears.

            There was a pause.

           

            “ Well Al, I can’t say I do any more. When I look at you, I don’t see my son. I see a killer.”

            “You’re going to choose a drunk over your own son?”

            “Get out of my house.”

            Alex turned around to walk out. “ I love you Ma.”

            “Get out,” She said it calmly, trying to control her anger.

            Alex walked out crying.

October 30 1938

            The party downstairs was jumping. Alex was alone in his dingy room in the top floor of 115 South Street.  Listening to the radio. That’s when he heard it. “We now return to a live eyewitness in…”

            He could not believe the words coming out of his cathedral cabinet radio.

            Aliens. They were talking about aliens. On earth. Alex had never in his life believed in Martians but now… people were doing radio reports about an invasion. Something inside Alex thought something was up. He recognized that voice …

            He shook it off. It was probably just because it was the normal newscaster.

            Alex ran downstairs. Everyone was still. They had obviously heard the newscast as well.

            Frank was the first on to react. “Barricade the doors and windows.”   Everyone stood still. “What are you waiting for?”

            Everyone started moving furniture against all ways of getting out and in. They didn’t get to finish.

            Frank tossed him a pistol. Alex tensed up. He had never held a weapon. Ever. Considering his past it wasn’t the smartest thing to hand him a gun without warning. Alex tried to give it back to Frank, but Frank waves him off. 

            “I want you to have it.  Shoot at whatever moves.”

            People don’t act normal in crises. I just thought I would tell you.

            Alex was nervous. Holding a weapon reminded him of that night. One of Carter’s friends, George, sneezed. Before you read more, remember what I told you before about people in a crisis. Alex shot without even thinking. Without really even looking. The sound was like a single drum beat.

            George then slumped over. The room went silent.

            “Go,” Frank whispered, after a minute.

            “What?”

            “Go. I’ll take the blame. You need to go.”

            “Hold on,” Carter started to say.

            “No, Carter.” The party guests looked shocked.

            “What did you say to me?”

            “No. You’ve undermined me for too long. I’m your father. I own this house. You’re my son. He’s leaving,” Frank said decisively.

            “But Uncle…”

            “Go. Or they really will have something to put me in the big house for.”

            “Thank you, Uncle.” Alex left crying.

October 31 1938

            Radio Listeners in Panic, Taking War Drama as Fact; Many Flee Homes to Escape 'Gas Raid From Mars'--Phone Calls Swamp Police at Broadcast of Welles Fantasy

        

            As Alex read the black letters, he got angry. He should have recognized the voice. He had listened to Orson Welles’ readings come out of his radio in the common room from jail. That voice had been a real comfort.

            The War of the Worlds. That’s why George had been killed. A book. A radio play.  A hoax.

            Alex had ruined Carter and Frank’s lives. He had been beating himself up the whole night. He now felt even guiltier.

            Alex started to cry.

One Hundred and Fifty Seconds

A piece I wrote for my creative writing class. I just read it at Perch Cafe in Park Slope, so I thought I might share it with the cyber-world.
Enjoy.

I didn’t hear the fall. I was listening to Eminem kill his wife. But the fall still happened. It took me two minutes and thirty seconds to run to the kitchen. Two minutes and thirty seconds to run in and see the blood. Could those one hundred and fifty seconds saved her life? The man says no, it was the Tumor that killed her, not her fall. Do I believe the man? No.

She was leaning over the stove on a chair she shouldn’t have been leaning on, reaching for a shelf she couldn’t reach. She should have asked me for help, the dumb shit. Not that I would have. She hit her head on the non-stick pan that he hadn’t put away from making eggs that morning. I still haven't gotten the blood off the pan. 

I called those three numbers. The first woman picked up, “9-1-1. What is your emergency?” 

She fell, I said. 

The ambulance came in ten minutes and twelve seconds. I asked them to take her to Mount Sinai, because that’s where Chris Martin’s second child, Moses Bruce Anthony Martin, was born. 

They said, “ It’s too far.” They took her from 756 East Seventeenth Street to 550 First Avenue, NYU hospital, where she died. 

He was at work. I called him when we got there. It took him four and a half rings to pick up. “Hello,” he answered in his generic voice.

She fell, I answered back . 

“Where are you?”

NYU Medical Center, 550 First Avenue, Seventh floor, third hallway, room 345. 

“ I’ll be there.”

Dial tone. Sometimes I wonder what’s like to have a father. 

The second woman came in and said the man wants to transfer her to the sixth floor. I started yelling at her, telling her no, this is where he is coming, she can’t move. The second woman said calmly, “I’ll make sure your dad knows where to go.”

I thanked her. 

The man said she would have had headaches or been moody, and that we should have known. I said, She fell. Did the fall give her the Tumor? 

He said, “The fall got her in the hospital. That’s all.”

Two hours and twenty-three minutes after I called him, he came. He asked me where the man was. I told him he wasn’t there and asked if he knew that Mick Jagger’s dad was named Basil. He told me to “Shut the fuck up Jeremy.”

The man came in one minute and eleven seconds later. The man told him she had a brain tumor. The man then asked to talked to him alone. He told me to “ Get the fuck out Jeremy.” 

I listened through the door. The man said, “The Tumor is lodged on the brain stem.” 

“She was complaining about head aches.”

“She should have been in at least a year ago.”

“Her doctor said there was nothing to worry about, the pain would pass.”

“She should have gotten a second opinion.”

“Stop telling me what we should have done. How long does she have to live?” 

“ A couple of days. The Tumor is huge and she also just sustained a head injury.” 

He came out seven and a third seconds later. “ She’s not going to live Jeremy.” 

He made me go to school the next day. I walked to school, walked to my classes, sat down at my desk. The teachers talked. I listened but didn’t hear. 

I ran to the hospital after school. I got there at three thirty-four and five seconds. I sat by her bed and held her hand all afternoon and night. I didn’t do any homework like I know she would have wanted me to. He got there at seven forty seven. We didn’t talk. We just sat and looked her bed. Our silence said what we couldn’t.

I fell asleep at twelve-o-two September Tenth 2004. She died at one fifty four and thirty seconds on September Tenth 2004. I was sixteen years old. 

He and I stayed until two forty-three, signing papers and shit. We left and walked to the Brooklyn Bridge, not saying a word. We stayed there, looking at the water till the sunset. I went home to get drunk, he went to a bar. I lost track of time. 

I never drank before. I was lost and as corny as it sounds that was the only way to get out. I got a bottle of something from my dad’s stash and looked at the family photo albums for the rest of the night. 

I cried when my parents divorced. I cried when they got married again. I cried when my dog got hit by a tractor. But on September Tenth 2004, the day my mother died, I didn’t shed a tear. 

I didn’t hear the fall. I was listening to Eminem kill his wife. But the fall still happened. It took me two minutes and thirty seconds to run to the kitchen. Two minutes and thirty seconds to run in and see the blood. Could those one hundred and fifty seconds saved her life? I don’t care. 

Thank You South Korea

As any writer out there knows, it feels good to have your work read. So the only point of this post is to thank all my readers. So here we go!

Thank you to the 805 Americans who have visited my blog. Thanks to the 19 South Koreans, 15 Russians,  8 blokes from the UK, and 5 from Down Under. That leaves 4 views from the Netherlands, and 3 a piece from Germany, India and The Philippines.

Thank you so much. I appreciate you views.

What up Denmark? Stand Up!

Appreciated

Another ELA project for your enjoyment.

I loved Charlotte’s Web when I first read it as a little kid. At the time, I thought it was a great story. When I read it again, I realized it’s so much more. It’s a book about love, friendship, trust, and the cycle of life among other themes. The last words of the book, “ It’s not often someone comes along who’s a true friend and a good writer. Charlotte was both.” just about sums up for me that the main theme is love.

            But whose love? And what kind of love? This is why E. B. White is such a good writer. He is able to incorporate so many themes and so many examples of these themes yet still write a beautiful story. Or maybe it is all these themes that make it a beautiful story.

            White is also so good at making one feel like you’re in there in the book, along side the characters. He is such a good descriptive writer that you can almost smell the cotton candy at the fair (pg. 130), or the rotten egg in the barn, (pg. 72.) It brought a whole new depth to the book for me, especially when I read it as a small child. 

            I really appreciate White’s creativity. He makes these great characters that we can relate to and appear in one’s everyday life. By making them animals, we can associate their personality with the type of animal they are. This adds a whole new level of fun. For example, Templeton the rat.  He seems like a person you might call a rat, greedy, sneaky, conniving. I also think its amazing how much research White did for life on a farm and all the animals in the book, like on page 55, when Charlotte is describing the parts of her legs to Wilbur.  It makes the book so much more authentic.

            Charlotte’s Web is E.B. White’s masterpiece. It is great book for people old and young. And it reminds adults and children of all ages to love and be a true friend. It is truly some book. Terrific. Radiant. Humble. 

2+2=4? or does it?

Hi all, Cullen here. Back from a six month hiatus. And finally posting something that's not homework (technically).
This response to a Radiohead song comes from a social action packet I did for ELA. I wanted to share it with my cyber world readers.

Enjoy.

Collect a Poem or lyric
 that expresses significant messages about social problems. Write an interpretation of it.

I chose the song “ 2+2=5” by Radiohead:

Are you such a dreamer?

To put the world to rights

I'll stay home forever

Where two and two always makes a five

I'll lay down the tracks

Sandbag and hide

January has April showers

And two and two always makes a five

It's the devil's way now

There is no way out

You can scream and you can shout

It is too late now

Because you're not there

Payin' attention

Payin' attention

Payin' attention

Payin' attention

yeah I feel it, I needed attention

Payin' attention

Payin' attention

Payin' attention

Yeah I need it, I needed attention

I needed attention

I needed attention

I needed attention

Yeah I love it, the attention

Payin' attention

Payin' attention

Payin' attention

Soon oh

I try to sing along

But the music's all-wrong

Eezeepeezeeeezeepeeeezee

Not!

I'll swallow up flies?

Back and hide

But I'm not

Oh hail to the thief

Oh hail to the thief

But I'm not

But I'm not

But I'm not

But I'm not

Don't question my authority or put me in the box

Cos I’m not!

Cos I'm not

Oh go tell the king the sky is falling in

When it's not

But it's not

Maybe not

Maybe not

            This song is from the Radiohead album “Hail to the Thief,” which came out in 2003. I chose this song because I think Radiohead is trying to make a statement about the beginning of the war in Iraq, corruption within the Bush Administration, and other world events that bothered them at the time.

            The phrase 2+2=5 comes from 1984 by George Orwell. In the book, it is the symbol of unreality, the expression for the things that don’t exist. Radiohead does a great job of incorporating this in to their song.

            In the first line, Thom Yorke sings, “Are you such a dreamer? To put the world to rights. I'll stay home forever, where two and two always makes a five.” I think these first lines state the message of the whole song. The world of the album is a mess much like the real world both the one Radiohead was writing about in 2003 and our world today (where the same war is going on etc). The song is about one guy waking up one day, realizing the dire situation we are in, and trying to fix it. The narrator of the song doesn’t want to believe there is anything wrong so he “stays home forever, where two and two always makes a five.”

            This song makes me want to be like the dreamer in the song, the one who puts the world to rights.  I am not sure Radiohead meant for people to take social action, but they wanted to call attention to the fact that “the sky is falling” (cause whenever it is, some kind of sky WILL be falling somewhere about something) and by doing that they give people a choice about what kind of reaction to have.  It’s up to you. I know what mine will be: action. 

Songs That Are About "Life" (Part 1 of 2)

In E.L.A the past couple of weeks we have been doing a poetry unit. And when Ms. Robbins was gone grading that god forsaken state test, she gave us a packet that was about exploring poetry as an art. Part of this assignment was to bring in the lyrics to our favorite songs to class, treat it like a poem, and analyze it (I picked "You Found Me by The Fray"). Because my class did a really good job and became very passionate about this, Ms. Robbins said we could write our reading entry for this week about a song. So that's what I'm doing. 


This time I chose what might just be one of my top two (constantly changing) favorite songs, "Good Riddance (Time of Your Life)."" Good Riddance" is by Green Day, a punk rock band from Oakland, California. Now like all bands, not all Green Day's music is great and not everyone likes them. I think this song is their best, both musically and lyrically. 


"Good Riddance (Time Of Your Life)"

Another turning point, a fork stuck in the road
Time grabs you by the wrist, directs you where to go
So make the best of this test, and don't ask why
It's not a question, but a lesson learned in time

It's something unpredictable, but in the end it's right.
I hope you had the time of your life.

So take the photographs, and still frames in your mind
Hang it on a shelf in good health and good time
Tattoos of memories and dead skin on trial
For what it's worth it was worth all the while

It's something unpredictable, but in the end it's right.
I hope you had the time of your life.

It's something unpredictable, but in the end it's right.
I hope you had the time of your life.

It's something unpredictable, but in the end it's right.
I hope you had the time of your life. 




I love this song, I can't say it enough. I will now explain why. 


The lyrics are open for interpretation. The song can be about so many things on multiple levels. And it is. 


For one, it can just mean: Live Your Life. "Time grabs you by the wrist, directs you where to go.
So make the best of this test, and don't ask why. It's not a question, but a lesson learned in time." I read this line to mean not to worry about everything, but take it as it comes. Just go with the flow. We're all going to grow old and die, (look at me, I sound so morbid!), so savor it while you can. 


It's also about remembrance and time flying. What they are trying to say is to remember all the good times you had, because they are not going to last forever. "So take the photographs, and still frames in your mind. Hang it on a shelf in good health and good time. Tattoos of memories and dead skin on trial. For what it's worth it was worth all the while." 


Take your pictures so you can look back and gaze at them longingly. When you turn back around, your whole life has gone by. You should remember things but don't spend your whole life focusing on one memory when you can make more.  Life is around you all the time, this is what we have, don't get stuck in your memories when you should be living your life.  Keep your memories with you, carry them along with you like a tattoo on your body, but do this while you are living, not just sitting on a couch staring at a scrapbook and putting the past on a pedestal. I feel like this is what Billie Joe Armstrong is saying in this verse. 


To me, this song may be about endings, beginnings, and choosing a course in life. (Not just your whole life like I've been talking about, but also shorter periods of time. For example, going into high school.) I think the line that constantly gets repeated, "It's something unpredictable, but in the end it's right. I hope you had the time of your life" helps say this. Tying it back to high school, you don't know what will happen to you in those four years, but in the end it will be for the best. I hope middle school was everything you hoped for, but it's time to move on. 


Another line that conveys this "moving on" theme is "Another turning point, a fork stuck in the road. Time grabs you by the wrist, directs you where to go." I think another thing Green Day was trying to say is you have choose something new. A new way of looking at things, a new job, a new school, whatever. Sometimes it might be by choice, sometimes it might not be at all. You've had your chance, time to move on. Another fork in your "life road." Time to go a different way. 


The biggest theme that is present in this song is "live your life." That's the deeper meaning. You shouldn't worry and analyze and stress about every little mundane moment in your life. You should realize that this isn't a dress rehearsal. This is the only life you have and you have to make the most of it.  Look at the bigger picture and see the good in it.  This is the TIME of your life.


Now on to the music. "Good Riddance" has this guitar rift that goes perfectly with the words. It's three chords that go up and down and keep repeating (Might sound simple, but very hard to play. Believe me, because I am trying.) It's very haunting and with the slow violins, it can make some people, like my mom, cry (Haunting lyrics+Haunting Music=Mother crying). 


I love "Good Riddance." I think it is one of the best songs ever written. It has beautiful music, haunting (my word of the day) lyrics, and loads of meaning. 


For "In My Life" analysis, tune in tomorrow. 


Good Riddance.

The Seven Types of Stories

I was having trouble coming up with a topic for tonight's entry. It seems like I wrote one just moments ago. When I asked my mom for ideas she said, "Didn't you just write one?" We started talking about previous blog posts to help spark an idea. My mom said, a little exasperated when I rejected every idea, "What more is there to write about? Aren't there only seven types of stories in the world?" So that's the subject of the night: The Seven Basic Plots of Stories:


1. Overcoming the Monster: In this story arc, there is a terrifying monster. The main character must have engage the monster in a fight to the death by the end of the story. They can also overcome "human" monsters like Voldemort in Harry Potter.  Examples of this are Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, The Inkheart Trilogy, Percy Jackson and the Olympians. The appeal of this plot is the suspense, followed by the triumph. It keeps you on the edge of the seat while you cross your fingers in hopes that the hero will survive (or not). You can also analyze this type of story to see if the monster symbolizes anything in real life and makes intriguing discussion group topics. 

2. Rags to Riches: This plot consists of a protagonist who goes from being poor to being wealthy. The "rags to riches" can be literal or metaphoric. Examples of said plot are Cinderella, The Prince and the Pauper, Harry Potter. The reason so many people like this plot is if the story is literal about "rags to riches" main character get what is rightfully his or her, or if the author is being metaphorical, the character under goes self-discovery.  It is also like watching one of those home improvement shows, it is full to see a transformation.


3. The Quest: The quest arc is when a character learns of a grand prize, and goes on a journey full of difficult obstacles to achieve it. The prize can be a princess like in Shrek, treasure like in Treasure Island, or defeating your enemy like Pendragon. Other examples of this are The Thief Lord,  Pirates of the Caribbean, Avatar. These are very popular because the reader/viewer feels rewarded when the hero/heroine mets their goal, or not.  Also, almost anything can be considered a quest, even it if it not very heroic, so lots of things follow under this umbrella heading.


4. Voyage and Return: This is when a character or characters venture out of a comfortable, familiar land to an unfamiliar land or setting to achieve or gain something, and then after a dramatic escape (and some antics) they escape and return home.  The most classic example would be the Wizard of Oz.


5.  Comedy.  This pretty much speaks for itself. Toy Story, Nick and Norah's Infinite Playlist, It's Kinda a Funny Story. People like to laugh. 'Nuf said. 


6. Tragedy: This is where everything that can possibly go wrong, does go wrong, and there are many deaths, usually all the wrong and unexpected ones. Of Mice and Men, The Boy in the Striped Pajamas, Milkweed. 


7. Rebirth: In this last one, a character undergoes change so that in the end he has a different view of life,    he is a new person, literally or figuratively.  Examples of this would be Breaking Away, To Kill a Mockingbird, King Dork. These are often crowd pleasers because of their feel good endings. 


Until next time folks.