Friday, 28 October 2011

The Sleepy Hollow

                                       

The place where I live is a small separated sheltered inlet of Hudson in the drowsy valley of Sleepy Hollow. Once it was reverberated with stories of fantasies and superstitions.
        The people in the area are influenced by the tales of ghosts and evil spirits told by their ancestors.
        The most important fact of the haunted story is the statue of the headless horseman who played tricks on the people of Sleepy Hollow. These activities were interminable.
        My name is Ichabod Crane. I lived in Sleepy Hollow for many days where I used to travel from place to place as a schoolteacher and a music teacher for kids of farmers. Since I brought the local gossip and helped with the chores, my periodical visits were affable to the housewives.
        I am tall, thin,  have a unique personality (according to others), and lacking vanity. I used to tell the stories of which witchcraft, during wintry evening before a crackling wood fire.
        I felt my life is surrounded by phantoms and menacing shadows. Apart from these, I am profoundly impelled by the most bewitching of all witches, a woman, Katrina Van Tassel. Katrina is the only child of existing farmer, stunningly beautiful and famed for lot of expectations.
        I visited her as a music teacher frequently and became attracted by her wealth, her father has rich meadowlands, over flowing barns, farmhouse with old mahogany, pewter and silver. I became greedy and eager to marry her.
        My fearful rival is Brom Van Brun whose nick name was Brom Bones; he was the hero of the Sleeping Hollow. He is always irascible ready to fight or frolic.
        The old ladies of the sleeping hollow never treated him amiss. They never got angry about his tricks. He wanted to capture Katrina and on a Sunday his horse was tied to the fence of Van Tazel where this discouraged the suitors.
        In the name of teacher, I used to go to the Van Tassel’s farm frequently. But all my trials for her love felt difficulties.
Brom Bones declared a deadly revenge activity at me. Like a sage I avoided physical combat. Even I became a victim of his and his companion’s temperamental activities. They destroyed my school completely and gave a scary opinion to Katrina about me.
 One autumnal afternoon was in a despondent mood. The surrounding was standing still. That was until it disturbed by the entry of the galloping messenger. He gave an invitation for “Quilting frolic” in Van Tassel’s farm.
I dismissed the school, polished my only suit of rust black and soon rode forth a gallant’s cavalier to the bidding of the lady fair.
I went quilting frolic of by Gunpowder the bony old plow-horse borrowed from the farmer with whom I settled.
By evening I reached Van Tassels farm, the farmers surrounding the country gathered there. I was attracted not by the beautiful young ladies there, but by the big dinner table with delicious ham, chicken, doughnuts, crullers and ginger cakes. I made enough justice to my ample appetite. By seeing wealth around I felt that someday I would be the Master of it all.
Soon the dance began, and dancing with Katrina I felt victory over. But Brom Bones was striked by envy and kept himself reclusive. Later I joined sager folk to tell about ghost, goblins and of the headless horseman.
It was pitch black when started back home, all the tails of the ghosts was haunting my mind and situation was tremulous and the night became darker and darker when I reached the church yard, the scene of many fearful blood-curdling stories.
Suddenly I heard a clatter of hoofs. Something huge, shapeless loomed about the crouching shadows. I got terrified and dashed ahead some unknown followed me closely.
I could see the headless horseman through a rafting cloud and his head rested on the pommel of saddle.  I turned my head to look, what an abhorring sight it was! He was charging at me with full strength. For a minute I thought I should entreat him to spare me but it happened faster than I blinked my eyes.

Wednesday, 5 October 2011

the memory of the mitt


Jayanth Rao                                                        

Mrs. Meadows

 English G/H

5th October 2011

 Memory of the Mitt

         I was walking on the streets of New York when I looked around I spotted a local store. There were 15 gloves in the store. I asked the store owner how much a glove was and he said that each glove costs 3 dollars. I looked in my pocket and found only one dollar and fifty cents. I got the money out and asked him if he had any glove for that much.

 ” Just a second”, he replied as he walked out of sight. After a long wait, he finally appeared with a worn out glove.

He said “It’s a used one”. I had to get it for Jeffry since today is his birthday. He loves base ball and he is my brother. When I came home Jeffry was watching TV.

I told him, “Jeffry, I have a present for you!”

 He asked, “What is it?”

 “Nothing, just a base ball glove”, I replied.

 He asked, “Where is it?” I gave it to him and said “How is it Jeffry?”



He replied enthusiastically, “it’s just perfect!”

I asked “What’s stinking Jeff?”

He said “mom”. I went in the kitchen, I saw mom making dinner. It looked disgusting and smelled bad. When I went back to the living room, I saw Jeffry writing on the glove.

I asked him “What are you writing Jeff?”

He replied, “Oh! Nothing just a poem”. Jeffry was a good poet. I asked him why he was writing it on the glove. He said that if he got bored on the field he could read it. He was getting ready for a base ball game he has tomorrow.

The next morning I woke up and looked out of the window. Jeffry was practicing with the glove I gave. I went to eat breakfast. We had bacon and eggs. I called Jeffry to come and eat. He said he wasn’t hungry.

But my mom said “Jeffry, if you don’t eat you can’t play well”. So he came and ate.

It was 10:00 AM and we were already in the field. We sat on the last row. Jeffry was an outfielder because he was good at catching balls. He didn’t get many balls to catch .So he was reading the poems he wrote on the glove. While he was reading, a ball came in fast and hit his head and he fainted. My and I mom rushed him to the hospital. The doctors ran some tests and informed us that he had leukemia and may not have a long time to live. After five months my brother Jeffry died. The only thing he left behind was the glove and poems on it.