Gentlemen of Rio En Medio- Literaly Focus

13. This story is told from the point of view of a narrator who is a character in the story. How might this story differ if Don Anselmo were the narrator?

I think this story might be a little different. The setting, time, and some of the characters will be the same, but probably the rising/ falling action, conflict, and resolution'll be a little bit different. The story's point of view changes entirely, too. It might talk more about Don Anselmo's feelings, and the characters might be different, because there may be more or less people, based on the relationships between him and others. We can also get a chance to find out the reasons why he does things his way, like selling the house and explaining what was going on to the customer. There's a possible that he would tell the pasts, how the trees of the village- or people- connects to the plot. In my opinion, the story will change, but there will be some things that stays the same.

Vocabs for Stop The Sun & Gentlemen of Rio En Medio

Stop The Sun:
1. There was a commotion near my house in the middle of the night.
2. He didn't organize his folder, that's why it got foundered.
3. All the work the group did was ruined because she lost the paper.
4. Dad's shoulder usually get inered, probably because he works too much. =]

Gentllemen of Rio En Medio:
1. The two companies negotiated with each other to not fight over something so silly.
2. I like how there are innumerable amount of stars in the sky.
3. I'm a descendant of my granparents! :D
4. The boundaries between countries isolated them.

Stop The Sun Assessment # 7

7. Do you think Terry made the right decision about questioning his father on his experience in Vietnam? Why or why not?

From my perspective, people usually get annoyed when someone tries to figure out something by asking them questions. They might even think those people are nosy, while what they wanted to do was just trying to understand something, like Terry and his mother. People wouldn't really ask private questions often, because they think it would disturb others.
But in Terry's case, I think it might be okay. It might even be good for him to be curious. He was just worried about his father and tried to find a way to get the idea. People usually say that talking to someone about something terrible might make you feel better, in a way. That was what happened to Terry's father, too. His mother- who didn't want him to know about anything in the Vietnam war- probably told him to be quite because she thought it was best for him, and for his dad. Also because Terry asked, his father told him all about the war and his sadness. In my opinion, he might feel a bit relieved, telling someone what he's been suffering. Terry's curiousness led to something good, I think.

Short story

It was a cool and chilly early morning, when the fog was fading away as the sun rose. Maryland- a state in USA- was always cold in the morning. All the places were peaceful and quiet, except for one. There was an area where the gangs and violent people surround, and I was one of them.

            My body was badly injured by all the wounds a group of boys made. They beat me up because they thought I was sneaking into their area, just because I looked like a wanderer, wearing black clothes with blood stains on it, and golden hair that I dyed on top of my tall body. It was normal, anyway. When I was ten I already fell in with the bad guys, and stayed like that until the current time- when I was about seventeen. We’d fight, start fire, and did other things that would attract the police to come to get us. Usually people would beat me, or I beat them.

I trotted tardily to a nearby school, where I was supposed to study in. The nurse office with the medicine smell was where I planned to go. All the students and teachers stared at me as I walked in the hallway, especially my wounds, and whispered to each other. They always said rumors about me. Even my parents didn’t care about me, saying I was a worthless daughter. Well, they’re the ones who made me this way. They never actually cared about someone other than themselves or ask me what’s wrong. We barely ever ate together or talk to each other. That was when I became hopeless and joined a gang. I had no friends in school, not a single one, in my whole life, because they were afraid of me. “Life doesn’t go smoothly…”, I once thought, “…but I’m used to it.”

            I went out of the clinic, having a bunch of bandages all over my body. It was irritating, therefore I took all of them off and threw it to the floor. “Good morning!” A voiced sounded behind my back. I turned around, identifying a girl my age with blue eyes and short brown hair. She was much shorter than me, but still gave out a bright smile, “Your name’s Kara Harney, right? My name’s Hope Aviary. Nice to meet you, Kara!” My name was common at that time, because I was the only gang in the school. “Your golden hair is really long! It’s so pretty! How about—“

            “What business do you have here?” I almost yelled, hearing the childish, innocent voice of hers.

“Oh, I just want to make friends with you. Can I?”

That was the first time anyone’s ever wanted to be friends with me. The girl was so stupid; she’d get involved in the fights and have other students say things about her. I glared at her with cold firing eyes and walked away. Was she just too nice, or just simply foolish?

“W- Wait!” Hope ran after me, panting heavily, “Please be friends with me!” She held out her hand, waiting for me to hold it.

“Why should I, idiot?” My voice was as cold as ice.

“Because I like you…” Her hand was still there, “…as a friend.”

“But I don’t!” I slapped her hand, “I hate you!”
 She was speechless, and I guiltily disappeared from her sight. I was just lying to her to make her give up, because she would really regret being near me. I closed my eyes and tightened my hands and mouth, letting myself walk freely out the school gate.

Bang!

My head hit something. I raised my head up, realizing the tall and strong boy I met this morning who injured me. The boy dangerously stared at me, and punched my face real hard when he finally identified the girl he met that morning. I fell heavily down the empty road and leaned my back on the wall, “Huh, such a slow person you are.” I teased and kicked him. I know that that just only raised his anger. He took an iron pipe off the corner and raised it high, readying to attack me with it.

Slap.

The boy stood still. I could tell he was hit by something kind of soft behind his back. We turned around, and I was deeply surprised: it was Hope, the girl who tried to be friends with me. She was holding her bag, looking terrified with her trembling hands and legs. Why did she even help me? I already said I didn’t want to make friends with her. An object hit my head, and I fell unconscious.

I opened my eyes and saw Hope standing there, shaking me.

“Are you okay, Kara?” She sighed in relief, “I’m sorry, I couldn’t stop it, and I can’t hold the blood either. He must’ve took the pipe and attack you. He ran away after that, thank goodness! I’m so sorry! I couldn’t be much more of help, if I was stronger…“

“Why did you help me?” I murmured softly, still feeling ill because of the wound.

“Eh?” She said, puzzled, “I couldn’t just stand there and let you fight alone. Oh and there’s one more thing,” Hope reached out her hand in front of me, “Would you still be my friend?”

I hesitated. I’ve never seen an innocent and gullible girl be so stubborn, “Stop, you’ll regret it! Do you know you’d get involved in stuffs like this if you go near me? I couldn’t change, when I reached this far.” I almost shouted, “Nobody ever loved me for who I am, and I have no friends…”

“You have one now, if you can just go a bit further.” The little girl smiled gently, “Nobody can change the whole thing. Just a little is enough.” I stared at her blankly. My hand slowly reached out to hers as the warm sun went down.