An Apology by the Writer and her Narration

So before I give the audience  my English narration, there is something I’d like to say. First of all, if you’ve come to read this post, congratulations! Over the last summer, I’ve scarcely  (If at all) showed a morsel of dedication for this blog or its followers. And when school came around, I decided to pass off my AP English homework as an interesting  to read about. Unacceptable. If anything, my followers are only repaid in long, droning paragraphs with the speaker (me!) ordering them to find a motive or any literary devices within its content. For that, I am truly sorry. I do not wish this to be a student/boring teacher relationship, but rather of one between friends.

Secondly, I apologize for the lack of photos. Squiggles of ink on the computer screen alone do not constitute a story that would spur on creativity and divergent thinking. I will try to obtain (original) photos in the near future, but it will take some time.

Lastly, I’ve noticed how most of these posts are about me; boring, insignificant, me. This is not only disrespectful towards the audience in failing to acknowledge them, but to the purpose of using a blog in general: Which is to share something meaningful to the world. And I have utterly failed in accomplishing that simple task over the last few months. I will plan on improving on this in the near future, if I have any followers left.

Now with that being said, here’s my English narration essay.

“Ignorance is bliss,”- Thomas Gray


“I felt ______ when………..” is the topic of this week’s essay, which is to be a narration.  Times New Roman font, twelve size, and double-spaced? Probably. Use “I” as a speaker? Obviously. So what should I write about? Maybe my vacation to the redwoods, observing a foggy morning in solitude?  Sounds good. With a sound agenda in mind and a plan to format my essay, I set to work.


“The murky silence hung thick in the air and had enshrouded the campsite in a layer of fog that seeped through the overhead pine tree branches, and descended to embrace the damp soil…..”


“A poetic introduction is always a good start,” I think to myself, sipping a glass of  iced tea, gazing at the  various squiggles of ink on the computer screen.


After a half an hour, I take a break by checking up on one of my favorite Christian  blog sites. There’s a new post. One glance, one tap of the mouse, and the subject is all too obvious to comprehend; ISIS, the so-called Islamic State of Iran and Syria, has struck again, with its gruesome beheadings, rapes, and mass shootings of thousands of innocent people, Christians and Muslims alike,.


This time however, its victims are children.


One little girl, who looked to be approximately six years old wore a white lace dress and Mary Jane shoes. She looked ready to go to a party with her friends, where they would spend the day giggling, playing games, and munching on sweets.

However, she can’t anymore-her head has been hacked off her body- leaving a bloody, rotting stump in its place.

There are many like  her, as I soon find.

Yes, many more have been posted to numerous sites online by the Islamic State, who proudly parade these photos, these atrocities to humanity, all across the internet.


I can hardly bear to stomach it. Let alone mindlessly view films of these barbaric crimes. So I click out of my tabs-leaving only my essay draft open- I resume writing.


“Momentarily, a meadowlark bravely defies this solitude by emitting its casual yet eloquent song…”


After an hour, I only get as far as a few words.

I am writing a narrative, an instance meant to capture so small of an occurrence in so great detail.


A narrative is an essay designed by the speaker, and naturally, writing is meant to reflect the speaker’s thoughts and observations. Though with this in mind, the image of the headless corpse of a child continually haunts me-while I am here-devoting my time and effort to romanticizing the western meadowlark.


There are other reasons for writing, I realize- and in dire circumstances, such as the genocide of thousands of innocent people in Iraq and Syria by Islamic extremists, it is often times more useful as a tool to speak for others, rather than of personal interests.


“For the dead and the living, we must bare witness,”- Elie Wiesel


“I will not stay silent, nor, will I remain silent,” I say to myself. Courage to those depraved of ignorance! Ignorance of suffering, of hatred, of utter remoteness and terror, there is no puzzlement over the truth of the old saying: “Ignorance is bliss.”  In ignorance, I realized, we are masked from reality, and therefore remain oblivious to horrendous crimes. They say history repeats itself and its true; Our world is tilted on an axis towards repetition, and sooner than later, we can expect to see another Crusades.


So I began to write. Into the wastebasket goes my former draft; my fingers fly  across the keyboard in a blur of whizzing thoughts and emotions that soar through the intergalactical dimensions of my consciousness. I will lend my voice, I will lend my writing to those without a witness. I will speak out of the injustices that have been inflicted upon my fellow Christians, my fellow human beings, whom live in a country so far away, yet whose message urgently demands it being known. I refill my glass of iced tea, take a sip, and began typing away. A profound introduction is always a good start.


“I felt_____when…..”  was the topic of this week’s essay, which was to be a narration, a type of essay defined by the speaker’s personal thoughts and observations; I however, aim to accomplish the exact opposite. When people read this essay, they may think that it’s a story about me, a girl passionately against ignorance and crimes against humanity. Yet I don’t think that it’s a story about me; I don’t think it’s a story about me at all.



One thought on “An Apology by the Writer and her Narration

  1. Ali Rios says:

    I like the ending with the story seeming to be about you, I wrote about my self but half of the essay was about thoughts I had but were on everyones mind.

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