Mockinjay - My View Of It

            In the prior year, I have found the Suzanne Collin’s The Hunger Games was a truly amazing and entertaining book. It was not spectacular, to be looked at as a literary classic, though held higher than most books out at the time. Then came the sequel, Catching Fire, was, yet again, entertaining.  As was commented on the back of the book, Suzanne accomplished something that nowadays is not commonly seen, she improved herself since her first book. And then I read Mockingjay. I advise that everyone who reads this finishes the post, goes to the nearest library, buys the three books, and cancels their day’s plan. Read The Hunger Games and read Catching Fire, but do not read them solely for an entertaining read. No, read them to later read Mockingjay. Collin made a perfect book, with a mix of strong symbolism, characterization, tragedy, love, mystery, and thrill. Every page moved you closer and closer to the edge of your seat. While I will admit that the beginning of the book, like all others, is rather slow. But make sure you pass that checkpoint in the day. I did not, and suffered lack of sleep which came back to bite me in the butt the following morning. The story, the action, the characters: they all keep you itching to find out what occurs next. The story had strong literary devices, it had wonderful characters with beautifully depicted personalities, it had symbols that strong and persistent, the mockingjay and flames to name two. It was exciting, it had a tragedy, relations, and all the essentials in keeping a reader from shutting the book. I will not speak of the actual content, seeing as to how it is the end of a trilogy, and I would ruin the prior books. I will say, however, the world in which the book presents itself is strong, reinforced, and the reader will be emerged into the story. Suzanne Collin’s Mockingjay was a truly spectacular book.

Short Story

                On a cold winter evening, in a street of no particular interest, laid a man on the street. His beard, which had grown to nearly resemble foliage in the dark light, was smothered in blood and snow. His breath, slow and heavy, was nearly run out, his life escaping with every breath. His clothes were ravaged and left to rags.

                The man had lost all hope in living, he accepted the inevitable. He began to contemplate on recent events, question what he had done to end up where he was. He didn’t want to remember, but the brain naturally remembers horrible memories best. He shed a tear as he relived the events through his head.

                “Run, Schmael, run!” yelled the man’s wife, fear and terror on her face, all happiness left behind. The man got up and looked around, saw the room, ravaged through as if by a beast. Then he saw the body, and he realized what had happened. There it sat, bloody in the chest, shards of glass sticking out from behind, an expression of hate on the face, as if the carcass was looking at them, as if it was still alive.

                “Come on Schmael, we have to go!” she yelled again, urging at him to run. But the fact was, he couldn’t. He could only stare at the corpse, and realize what had happened. The Nazi had come to their house, and started interrogating his wife and children. Half realizing what he was doing, he sneaked up behind the man, and stabbed him with a broken bottle. And he couldn’t move. He had killed a living being.

                His wife realized the man would not leave, and ran for her life with the children. The man sat there, in shock. Soon more Nazi’s came to check what the origin of the screaming was. Within a few minutes of walking into the room, Schmael was on the street, being bludgeoned by the hilts of their guns, to the brink of death. Then they left him there, in the cold, to die.

                The man shed a tear. He longed for one more moment to be with his family. He longed to live out his life to its full extent. The man was infuriated with himself, for lying there, by the corpse, shocked, naïve. He wished he had just run, and he would be with his family, at this very moment.

                “But I’d be cowering for the rest of my life in fear…”

                The thought going through his head was more painful than all the bludgeoning he had so recently received. He would be in fear, hiding in an attic or basement his entire life. Slowly, he came to the realization that dying was the best way out. By dying, there was no hiding, no fear, just rest. He still longed for his family, but he decided to wait, to allow them the life he would never have, and when it was their time, they would be reunited.

                With a tearful face and bloodied body, the last essence of living was sapped from the man’s body. The man breathed his last breath, and with no regrets, accepted Death with open arms, and let it carry him over to the next world.

               

                

Winter Break

          Across the world dread and remorse are found on the faces of workers and students, as the winter break comes to an end. An entire month of escaping the rut of our routine lives has ended, and now we all meet together again returning to our everyday lives. But in the end, we should not "cry because it’s over, [but] smile because it happened". 

           I hope all readers have enjoyed their month off, as have I. For my break, after an excruciating few weeks of unexpected closure in which I remained within the contents of my home a large portion of my time, I traveled to Vail, Colorado. Vail is a wonderful city situated between alpine forests and mountains. In the summer it is a great destination for hikers, rafters, and hunters, and by winter it is a grand ski and snowboard resort. 

         Skiing in Vail had been fun; all in all it was a worthwhile trip. There was a great ski school for newcomers, the gondola and chairlift rides were efficient, and the slopes were abundant and enjoyable. It had its downsides, however. The temperature in Vail this year was very much unpredictable. At times cold enough to give me minor frostbite, at times too hot to go out in ski clothes, it was a pain keeping up. The night of New Year’s Eve was especially dreadful. The blistering cold from the evening reached an amazing  -20* atop the mountain peak. And on the 8^th, the sun came out and showed its bright face, and combined with the major electrical issues causing chairlift delays, it made for a sweaty days. It was not only the temperature, however. The ski boots were unbelievably uncomfortable. They are literally solid plastic boots, made to fit into the ski, and walking across town in them from gondola to hotel was painful.

          Apart from sweat, frostbite, and blistered feet, however, it was an enjoyable vacation. Once one gets down from the chairlift and begins to ski, the prior mentioned inconveniences disappear. No, one does not think about the pain in the feet, the hot or cold in their face, no. One does not worry of such petty factors. One worries of going down the exciting black diamonds, not crashing into a nearby skier, falling off the mountain, seriously injuring themselves and being in bed for weeks to come.

Vail Mountain - Front Side

Vail Mountain - Back Bowls