Post Apocalyptic Scenario

Patrick looked through a small opening in the door. Swearing he could see something or someone outside. Nobody was supposed to go to another person's house, nobody would do that who wasn't looking for trouble. That was how society had been for years now, every person for themselves, if somebody wanted something you would  have to get it yourself. Everyone knew that there were other people around, at least Patrick thought they did. How could you trust anyone, when there was nothing to lose and everything to gain from a fight?
Patrick would only rarely leave his "house", (it was more of a bunker made out of scraps) if he did it would only  be to get water he collected or repair the outside of his "house". After all, everything Patrick needed was inside, his books (which he studied religiously), some plants which feed off sunlight through a very thick piece of glass, and the rare rodent for meat.
What need is there for people when, the voices kept him company? The voices of writers long dead, just like everyone else, and thinkers whose ideas were destroyed outside of Patrick's home. Nobody else would understand Patrick thought, so he would enact all of them by himself, Shakespeare, George Orwell, Robert Burns, they were his companions.
Patrick would let nobody take his books, his friends. What mattered other than the friends, Patrick would ask them, they always said nothing matters more than them.
So Patrick went back to his library, where he would recite his friends words. Patrick then got lost again in his works, forgetting the noise.

 

 

Blog #1 Page 150 of Autobiography

I was given another English assignment. It was another one of the typical "write in a different way" pieces where we were exploring another skill which is used "all the time". All I have to do is come up with a topic and write about it for a certain amount of words. It was my FAVORITE activity, I love forcing a certain number of words out of my head about something I don't spend time thinking about. Next to learning the specific names of clouds, and identifying rocks, this was a highlight of my day.

Of course, this project was different from all of the others, this one was about my life. I have never been forced to write about my life before, it's honestly a rare topic in English classes. I needed to wrack my mind for 200 words describing that time I ate a sandwich. All the while I do nothing but stare at a clock, wishing it could go faster. My heart was pumping with excitement as I typed at a break-neck pace of one word per minute. When I hung my head in my hands, it was out of sheer joy, not because I was desperately looking for more words to put into text.

After all, what kid doesn't grow up wanting to write about their life? It's a favorite topic especially for kids that want applicable jobs later in life. As my eyes glazed over while vaguely looking in the direction of my English teacher, it was out of a complete engrossment in the topic.