Big Kab
Pirate Master
Run ons and fragments were part of the assignment. the assignment was write a memorable event essay. You might want to change format, possibly. couldn't save it as a more reasonable file
It was hard to read in that format, Kab ... I hope you don't mind. Now it's easier to read. Propriety and all credits go to you.
Dear Mod, you could just plug this on to Kab's post up there. Thank you!
“It’s finally here!” I exclaimed as Pizitz dismissed for the last day of school for the year 2007. I made it through the first half of my last year as a middle school student, FINALLY! I now know what the term “Slow as Christmas” means. The time I spent counting down the days to that sacred break was like sand in an hourglass trickling down slowly, one grain at a time.
Christmas, what does it mean to me? It means 5 F’s to me: Family, Friends, Fun, Food, and Freedom. Those are great and all, but Christmas break also means something else to me; it means visiting my family in Mobile, which entails going hunting with my FAVORITE uncle.
As always, we go to the lake for Christmas. That has been the same ever since we bought our lake house. The singing, the family time, the food, Christmas Mass. All the same. But the presents, oh the presents. I was quite pleased with my gifts. You should have seen the look on my face when I opened up my new hunting clothes; it was like a ray of sunshine poking out from a cloudy sky. My cherubic grin only grew larger as I opened up my next present, my face lit up like the Christmas tree as I saw the glorious gift inside. My own pellet rifle! I have held guns before, bb guns, a 22, and a 30-30, but my own scoped rifle, come on. You see the happiest kid on earth and then me, outshining even the brightest star. I could not wait to try it out.
Just the same as any SUPER impatient, ADHD teenager, I read the instructions only to the point where I knew for certain that I could use that Daisy safely and responsibly… Who am I kidding I read to the part that says “Warning.” I’ve held guns since I was seven; I knew what to do; easily second nature. The minute presents were done, I bolted outside; scattering pellets as I went. I set up my gear, loaded my gun, put my hat, jacket, gloves, and last of all, my camouflage facemask on, then was on my merry way. I was shooting army men, leaves off trees by their stems, and cans, anything that was small and required precision. I quickly grew weary of my success at making the army men “realistic,” and moved on, looking into the treetops, on top telephone wires, anything that might be the perch of a squirrel or bird. I found several targets, but I never could seem to get a sure kill shot, so being the responsible young outdoorsman, I looked elsewhere. Finally, I see a bird land on a baring branch. It was a shot, clear as day. It was quite a ways away, but I was confident. I went down the checklist growing evermore impatient and excited; no one in the vicinity, check, safety off, check, loaded (Duh), check, controlled breathing rate, check, well sort of. I take aim, at my target, still atop that branch that will shortly be his last place of residency. I hold my breath look down the scope, FIRE! The bird dropped, I claimed my prize and returned home to find something useful to do with it. After the Christmas clean up tasks were accomplished, we packed up and headed home. Next stop Mobile!
The big day, the moment I’ve been waiting for since this time last year has arrived, the once a year opportunity to go hunting with my uncle. The weather conditions however, were not looking very promising for our outing.
As we neared my uncle’s hunting camp, he told me: “Don’t get your hopes up; the weather isn’t exactly in our favor. We probably won’t see a deer this time.”
I, being the optimistic kid, replied “You never know.”
I couldn’t help but grinning, as for there was nothing that could ruin this day, NOTHING. After we ate a light lunch -we fetched our rifles, thoroughly coated ourselves in scent lock, and loaded up the gear we’d need for the afternoon hunt- we moved out to do a little target practice. I was spot-on with my 30-30 no-scope.
Convinced I was ready, my uncle put our rifles on the 4-wheeler, put his orange hat on, and told me to do the same. “The hunt is on,” I thought to myself, as we departed for the fields that we would be sitting in for the remainder of daylight.
Now the much anticipated moment of truth was upon me. I finally got to hunt by myself. I went to the field I was to hunt for the remainder of daylight, ascended the treestand, shed my bright orange vest, and got myself situated. The minutes ticked by, the hours slowly passed, it was getting close to dark. The sunset was behind me, and I could tell my time for a safe clean kill opportunity was slowly fading with the setting sun. Then, suddenly, out of my peripheral vision I caught a glimpse of movement. I wanted to whip around and look, but I was too disciplined to succumb to that urge. I heard brush rustling. I slowly turned. Half-expecting a deer to walk out. I was extremely disappointed when I saw that blasted woodpecker that had slowly been chiseling away, not only at the tree, but at my patience not to mention my sanity, as well. Oh the things that raced through my mind… Then I remembered my uncle had only supplied me with a single bullet. A sure kill or don’t take the shot, he had instructed me. Reluctantly I returned to my original position and waited out the waning daylight. I was getting stiff, tired, and weary from sitting in that elevated chair in the bitter cold, and a winter wind, which had been buffeting my position all afternoon. I knew what I had signed up for, and don’t get me wrong, I enjoyed every minute of it. But sometimes those minutes just seemed to never end. Then again I heard movement. I glanced over towards the direction where the rustle originated from. And to my sweet surprise, a family of deer walked out. A doe and two fawns. The doe looked decent, as far as southern Alabama standards go. The fawns were mature enough, I convinced myself. I slowly slid off my gloves, shifted into a comfortable shooting position, set my rifle up, turned the safety off, and was ready. I slowed my breathing rate. I think I did pretty well, although my heart was beating like a war drum, but at the speed of a jackrabbit. I steadied my aim. Looked down the scope. Squeeze. A thunderous bang erupted from my position; disturbing the serene setting. The doe dropped, the littler deer scampered off, and I breathed in a sweet sigh of relief. The crisp evening air was refreshing. Now the hard part, sitting there and making sure it was dead.
Much to my amazement, my shot did not scare off other deer, even after I dropped the doe; several more ungulates appeared in my field. As the sun was saying his goodbyes, something incredible happened. A COLOSSAL 8-point buck emerged from the woods. My breathing and heart rate skyrocketed. Then my heart sank as I remembered I had been supplied with only one bullet. So I just sat there, with a strange, melancholy feeling nagging at me, like my mom telling me to clean my room.
At long last, after what had seemed like an eternity of waiting; my uncle returned.
“I heard a gunshot,” he said.
I replied, “Yeah, look. The weather held after all.”
Now that slow-creeping grin on my face took full shape. I was beaming. I felt like my proud smile could have replaced the newly risen moon at that moment.
We dragged the doe back to the 4-wheeler, headed back to camp, weighed her (a nice 108 lbs.,) then prepared to clean her. As we finished up, my uncle got me with the blood!
The drive back was pleasant. We stopped at a gas station to get ice and the people there made comments such as “congratulations,” “looks like you got one,” and similar comments, all to that effect. My response was a simple nod and a thank you.
As we arrived at my grandparents’ house the garage door opened and we were greeted with warm hugs, hellos, and the sweet, savory smell of my grandmother’s cooking. News travels fast. They already knew of my recent accomplishment. A wave of questions and comments hit me. One I particularly remember was from my little brother. “I feel happy for you, but sad for the deer.” We all laughed.
I went to bed that night with the sole thought looming in my head, “BEST CHRISTMAS BREAK EVER!”
It was hard to read in that format, Kab ... I hope you don't mind. Now it's easier to read. Propriety and all credits go to you.
Dear Mod, you could just plug this on to Kab's post up there. Thank you!Expect the Unexpected
“It’s finally here!” I exclaimed as Pizitz dismissed for the last day of school for the year 2007. I made it through the first half of my last year as a middle school student, FINALLY! I now know what the term “Slow as Christmas” means. The time I spent counting down the days to that sacred break was like sand in an hourglass trickling down slowly, one grain at a time.
Christmas, what does it mean to me? It means 5 F’s to me: Family, Friends, Fun, Food, and Freedom. Those are great and all, but Christmas break also means something else to me; it means visiting my family in Mobile, which entails going hunting with my FAVORITE uncle.
As always, we go to the lake for Christmas. That has been the same ever since we bought our lake house. The singing, the family time, the food, Christmas Mass. All the same. But the presents, oh the presents. I was quite pleased with my gifts. You should have seen the look on my face when I opened up my new hunting clothes; it was like a ray of sunshine poking out from a cloudy sky. My cherubic grin only grew larger as I opened up my next present, my face lit up like the Christmas tree as I saw the glorious gift inside. My own pellet rifle! I have held guns before, bb guns, a 22, and a 30-30, but my own scoped rifle, come on. You see the happiest kid on earth and then me, outshining even the brightest star. I could not wait to try it out.
Just the same as any SUPER impatient, ADHD teenager, I read the instructions only to the point where I knew for certain that I could use that Daisy safely and responsibly… Who am I kidding I read to the part that says “Warning.” I’ve held guns since I was seven; I knew what to do; easily second nature. The minute presents were done, I bolted outside; scattering pellets as I went. I set up my gear, loaded my gun, put my hat, jacket, gloves, and last of all, my camouflage facemask on, then was on my merry way. I was shooting army men, leaves off trees by their stems, and cans, anything that was small and required precision. I quickly grew weary of my success at making the army men “realistic,” and moved on, looking into the treetops, on top telephone wires, anything that might be the perch of a squirrel or bird. I found several targets, but I never could seem to get a sure kill shot, so being the responsible young outdoorsman, I looked elsewhere. Finally, I see a bird land on a baring branch. It was a shot, clear as day. It was quite a ways away, but I was confident. I went down the checklist growing evermore impatient and excited; no one in the vicinity, check, safety off, check, loaded (Duh), check, controlled breathing rate, check, well sort of. I take aim, at my target, still atop that branch that will shortly be his last place of residency. I hold my breath look down the scope, FIRE! The bird dropped, I claimed my prize and returned home to find something useful to do with it. After the Christmas clean up tasks were accomplished, we packed up and headed home. Next stop Mobile!
The big day, the moment I’ve been waiting for since this time last year has arrived, the once a year opportunity to go hunting with my uncle. The weather conditions however, were not looking very promising for our outing.
As we neared my uncle’s hunting camp, he told me: “Don’t get your hopes up; the weather isn’t exactly in our favor. We probably won’t see a deer this time.”
I, being the optimistic kid, replied “You never know.”
I couldn’t help but grinning, as for there was nothing that could ruin this day, NOTHING. After we ate a light lunch -we fetched our rifles, thoroughly coated ourselves in scent lock, and loaded up the gear we’d need for the afternoon hunt- we moved out to do a little target practice. I was spot-on with my 30-30 no-scope.
Convinced I was ready, my uncle put our rifles on the 4-wheeler, put his orange hat on, and told me to do the same. “The hunt is on,” I thought to myself, as we departed for the fields that we would be sitting in for the remainder of daylight.
Now the much anticipated moment of truth was upon me. I finally got to hunt by myself. I went to the field I was to hunt for the remainder of daylight, ascended the treestand, shed my bright orange vest, and got myself situated. The minutes ticked by, the hours slowly passed, it was getting close to dark. The sunset was behind me, and I could tell my time for a safe clean kill opportunity was slowly fading with the setting sun. Then, suddenly, out of my peripheral vision I caught a glimpse of movement. I wanted to whip around and look, but I was too disciplined to succumb to that urge. I heard brush rustling. I slowly turned. Half-expecting a deer to walk out. I was extremely disappointed when I saw that blasted woodpecker that had slowly been chiseling away, not only at the tree, but at my patience not to mention my sanity, as well. Oh the things that raced through my mind… Then I remembered my uncle had only supplied me with a single bullet. A sure kill or don’t take the shot, he had instructed me. Reluctantly I returned to my original position and waited out the waning daylight. I was getting stiff, tired, and weary from sitting in that elevated chair in the bitter cold, and a winter wind, which had been buffeting my position all afternoon. I knew what I had signed up for, and don’t get me wrong, I enjoyed every minute of it. But sometimes those minutes just seemed to never end. Then again I heard movement. I glanced over towards the direction where the rustle originated from. And to my sweet surprise, a family of deer walked out. A doe and two fawns. The doe looked decent, as far as southern Alabama standards go. The fawns were mature enough, I convinced myself. I slowly slid off my gloves, shifted into a comfortable shooting position, set my rifle up, turned the safety off, and was ready. I slowed my breathing rate. I think I did pretty well, although my heart was beating like a war drum, but at the speed of a jackrabbit. I steadied my aim. Looked down the scope. Squeeze. A thunderous bang erupted from my position; disturbing the serene setting. The doe dropped, the littler deer scampered off, and I breathed in a sweet sigh of relief. The crisp evening air was refreshing. Now the hard part, sitting there and making sure it was dead.
Much to my amazement, my shot did not scare off other deer, even after I dropped the doe; several more ungulates appeared in my field. As the sun was saying his goodbyes, something incredible happened. A COLOSSAL 8-point buck emerged from the woods. My breathing and heart rate skyrocketed. Then my heart sank as I remembered I had been supplied with only one bullet. So I just sat there, with a strange, melancholy feeling nagging at me, like my mom telling me to clean my room.
At long last, after what had seemed like an eternity of waiting; my uncle returned.
“I heard a gunshot,” he said.
I replied, “Yeah, look. The weather held after all.”
Now that slow-creeping grin on my face took full shape. I was beaming. I felt like my proud smile could have replaced the newly risen moon at that moment.
We dragged the doe back to the 4-wheeler, headed back to camp, weighed her (a nice 108 lbs.,) then prepared to clean her. As we finished up, my uncle got me with the blood!
The drive back was pleasant. We stopped at a gas station to get ice and the people there made comments such as “congratulations,” “looks like you got one,” and similar comments, all to that effect. My response was a simple nod and a thank you.
As we arrived at my grandparents’ house the garage door opened and we were greeted with warm hugs, hellos, and the sweet, savory smell of my grandmother’s cooking. News travels fast. They already knew of my recent accomplishment. A wave of questions and comments hit me. One I particularly remember was from my little brother. “I feel happy for you, but sad for the deer.” We all laughed.
I went to bed that night with the sole thought looming in my head, “BEST CHRISTMAS BREAK EVER!”
). Maybe your teacher was expecting the element of surprise as a dramatic ending? Which can't always be expected in all cases. Anyway, great job, Kab ... and keep writing!
