From Hero to Villain

Ichabod Crane, I am taken back in time every instance I hear that name. Back to days in which my life was different, much easier and enjoyable, with interminable days of parties and acclamation from the town of Sleepy Hollow. Back to the days in which I was a hero and yet, a villain because after traveling through my glorious memories, I am remembered once again of the night in which my life came to a turning point. The day when I turned from Brom Van Brunt, the agile handsome horse rider, to Brom Van Brunt, the man who could possibly have taken life away from Ichabod Crane. What an abhorrent man he was – if you could call that a man – not one thing was there to like. He was tall and skinny, just like a crane, big headed, greedy eater, superstitious, and what’s worse, he was in love with Katrina Van Tassel, my price to win back then but my spouse now. Ichabod, as jealous as he was, was seeking to marry her as well, and so the turning point develops around his final attempt to win over her heart.

It was a very normal day in Sleepy Hollow for Ichabod, he had tried his flirting with Katrina, I had performed my jokes and pranks on him, and everyone was getting ready for the party Katrina was hosting. Do not think of me amiss, although I would prank Ichabod, he wasn’t any close to being nice to me either. In fact, I was never able to understand why others said he was affable; to me he was anything but that. Anyway, that night was going to be very important to both of us, for we were going to try our final plan to win Katrina over. For me it was very easy, I’d courted to her several times now, and we both flirted a lot too, so all I’d do is propose to her. Regardless of what Ichabod’s plan was, I knew it would be well though, for he was a sage.

Throughout the long wait for the night, the idea of Ichabod winning haunted me. Confident as I was, for some reason, I couldn’t think of any way to propose to Katrina, it would have to be exceptional, so that when I’d show her the ring, she’d forget about Ichabod once and for all. Ichabod was no fool, I’ll admit. He was able to avoid physical confrontations with me and he avoided my pranks, and in the night, we had the final challenge.

Nightfall arrived, and many were at the party already. I soon learned were Ichabod stood, figuratively; he’d entreated a farmer for his horse, arrived fashionably late, and he was quite the man at the party. Anyone who didn’t know him before that night could have said that Ichabod Crane wasn’t tremulous, for the way he approached to everyone; he was mostly the center of attention. Every smile, every chuckle, every glance, every breath, every move that fool made was all being monitored by me. Whenever he approached Katrina, I felt the urge to run to her and propose, but she was never left alone. Time passed, and I became more and more irascible with every ticking of the clock.

Ichabod never let Katrina escape from his sight, and so impeded me to approach to her, as If he knew of my plans for the night. I grew more and more impatient with his game, and finally when Ichabod let his guard down to listen to one of the legends which he profoundly believed in, the one of the headless horseman, Katrina and I went outside, reclusive from the party. What a superstitious fool he was, he believed every word of that tale and shivered at its mention, and due to this, I was able to ask Katrina for her hand.

The moment I knelt down, and promised to admire her, to treasure her, to love her every moment forever, and live every single second I spend with her as if it were my last, in exchange of the extraordinary honor of her marrying me, her eyes grew wide and glossy, she trembled at my every word, and squeezed my hands as I spoke, that moment I knew she loved me; she always had, and always will. And as she accepted we both embraced each other, relieved that the wait was over, ready to enjoy the rest of the party spreading out the news, and I was ready to enjoy my victory against Ichabod.

As soon as he knew of our engagement, he left the party very despondent; head vowed, eyes watery, and he did not say goodbye. As I watched him mount his horse and look back as he left the Tassel household, I saw a tear slip from his eye. I felt victorious and joyful; Brom Van Brunt had once again defeated the man who dared to step up against him. I enjoyed the rest of the night next to my fiancée and let the night embrace me with the days of a new life that was to come.

Two days after my engagement, the words and handshakes of congratulations turned into silence and glances of accusation that pierced through my skin, and I understood what they all meant, without even hearing one word. They thought I was the cause of Ichabod’s death. Ichabod had disappeared after the party; no trace was ever seen from him again. Only the horse was found peacefully grassing next to the church and some pumpkin pieces near the bridge that let to it, but Ichabod left no trace behind. There’d been rumors that the headless horseman actually took him away, but due to my behavior towards Ichabod, people were impelled to believe that I dressed up as the horseman as a prank, and killed him once and for all!

Days passed, and people would not believe me when I told them I hadn’t killed Ichabod. I would have to give tirades over and over again every time their accusations and questions came up. Ichabod had turned me into the villain, the one everyone feared; Ichabod had put the town against me. What before was dislike, was now hatred. I despised Ichabod during those years of interrogation and fear; I hated him for what he’d left behind him. But what was then uncontrollable hate, is now gone, or at least in my outside. I put on pride every time his story is mentioned, and even cast a smile of victory, yet inside me, I relive this story to the very mention of the name. Now, mostly everyone does not mention the incident out loud, though I know it still reverberates in their minds swelling with a rising, rising sound until they finally mention it again. But what was left of Ichabod Crane, is gone now. Gone with the pieces of whatever happened to him, only to return with the cold breeze of the night, when the legend of the headless horseman is once again told, and Ichabod Crane is once again remembered.

The Treasure

                All red hair people are the same; they always get annoyed for anything you tell them. Well, at least I knew one who was the total opposite. He was the nicest ginger I’ve ever met, and he was incredibly smart too. His name was Zack, and he was my brother. Zack never got mad at anyone, and he was always in a good mood. He used to play baseball. He was a left-handed too. If you mixed those two things together, you’d get Zack’s most valuable treasure.

            Zack’s treasure was a left-handed fielder’s baseball mitt, which had poems all over the fingers and pocket written in green ink, so that whenever there was no batter up, he could have something to do. Like I said, he was smart. He really was. Zack had turned a used old mitt, into the thing he most loved, plus, he had a piece of his favorite things: baseball, poetry, and even me. I had given him that glove and that was why he valued it so much. The day I got that glove was just my very lucky day. It was like a miracle.

            We’d spent all morning looking for a lefty mitt and surprisingly, we had absolutely no luck at all in the 3 stores we tried. Zack wanted that mitt very badly; he needed it to join the team. After we checked the third store, he had no hope left. Old Zack was too disappointed by not finding his mitt, so he didn’t come to the movies with me that day.

            After I got out from the theater, I was lost in thought with poor Zack and his non-existing mitt, so I decided to go to this sports store down by central park. It was pouring rain that afternoon but I didn’t mind, I’d do anything for Zack’s happiness and the store wasn’t that far. I turned the corner and I noticed I was suddenly running towards the store, and I must have been very wet because when I came in the store, the man looked as if he wanted to dry me up as soon as possible. I sort of smiled at him, but my eyes searched the store for the baseball section and I felt extremely nervous. What if there were no mitts left? I wouldn’t want to think of seeing Zack disappointed when I got home, but there it was, sitting on the shelf along with ten others, a left-handed fielder’s mitt, as if I were meant to be here to find it.

            I bought the mitt with the biggest smile on my face-despite how soaked and cold I was–I dashed home across the wet streets. I kind of felt like Santa on a rush, taking the last present to the boy who most deserved it.  And indeed it was that way, Zack’s smile spread from ear to ear as soon as he touched the mitt. It sent the electrical current through his body and lit his whole face up.

            Zack played like a maniac. He loved that glove, and loved me for it. I noticed he had put some poems all around it and then later on I saw him reading on the field while no one was batting. He used that glove for every single game he played and even though it was getting weary, Zack seemed to value it even more. Zack was very brilliant. He knew that some things are more valuable than others, even though they don’t shine. At home, my mom always use to get letters from the teachers, saying what a pleasure it was to have a kid as smart as him in their classes. They really loved Zack, but then again, who wouldn’t?

            I bet you already noticed the “was” when I’m talking about him, that’s because he’s dead. He died at only eleven years old; he was only two years younger than I was. It happened in Maine, at our cousin’s house during the summer. It was devastating. Zack died from Leukemia. It completely broke my heart, and I was so pissed that I slept in the garage that same night. I was irate, furious, ten times as much as that. There are no words for how I felt. I took it out on the windows of the garage. I broke them all with my fist. It really hurt, but Zack’s loss hurt even more.

            I can’t make a good fist now because I broke my hand. So besides the mitt, I also have the permanent injury of my hand that reminds me of Zack, every single day. After the window incident, they wanted to send me to a psychiatrist, they thought I was mad, but I didn’t mind, all I wanted was to have Zack back. I really miss Zack, and the pain in my hand is nothing compared to the pain of going through Zack’s loss, it’s just too much. His treasure is now my treasure; it’s the only thing I have left from Zack, the only red haired I have ever loved.

Regards From Edward

Jamestown

September 15, 1607

Dearest Brother,

               

It has been long since I received your last letter, I hope everything is fine back home. How is Mother? Is Emily working on her music? Most important, how are you?

            I have been on my best mood lately, and so has Cedric. Perhaps due to the event that occurred two days ago: we were elected to be a part of the House of Burgesses! It was such a spontaneous request, and Cedric’s negative comments kept us both doubtful, and yet we were chosen! Sometimes I can see Cedric’s eyes watery with tears of joy, although he denies it.

            Speaking about Cedric, he sends his regards to all of you, and misses you terribly. We have been getting along so well lately, that sometimes I think that coming here was a great idea. Ever since I extricated him from a discussion with Captain Smith about his new idea; “He who does not work, does not eat”, he sees me more as a brother who is there to protect him, rather than a boss who only commands him. Cedric was in favor with the rule, and worked very hard for the settlement, but others opposed to it, and so he complained about them. It was a minor argument, but Smith’s rules do have to be obeyed, he does have the right to and imperative attitude.

            Some men in the settlement however, disobey to the rules. They are thoroughly despicable from Cedric’s and my point of view. They succumb to a lazy attitude which has pervaded thought the others. Their disposition consists in guile towards the youngest to encompass them into their poor working group. Those parasites think that Smith is oblivious to their lack of work, but Smith is no fool. He favors those who work hard, like Cedric and I, and honestly, we have forged a good friendship.

            After a few days, Smith’s point was made clear. Everyone was working, whether chopping wood, digging for gold, exploring or farming, there was not a single man who did not sweat. And soon more fortune crossed our way. John Rolfe had found out that we could grow tobacco as a cash crop. It grows almost on any kind of soil and we have been cultivating it on enormous quantities. Later after that, the idea of burgesses came to mind.

            So in business we are doing well, we have hard working people, riches, money coming in, and finally, we can make our own decisions with us, the burgesses. Yet there is something that has been ripping me apart slowly, day by day ever since we set sail. Thomas, brother, I want Rose to read this next paragraph:

           

Beloved Rose, I know you miss me, I miss you too. I don’t know how I have managed to live without you, but I know it must be hard on you too. That is why I must make this message concise. I’m fine, work is hard, but every day we improve. I am as healthy as a horse if that makes you calm, and I want you to remember that I love you. The agony of having to wake up without you by my side is excruciating. It won’t be long before women will be allowed to come, and then we will no longer be separated. You have my heart, for I have left it with you. I love you and I miss you.

            Well Thomas, I suppose this is all. Cedric will send a letter of his own; he says it would make mine look pathetic next to his. Thank Emily for the lovely anthology of poems she dedicated to me, and tell her I love her. Do keep an eye on her, for she is your responsibility as the man of the house now. Give mother a kiss for me, do what she tells you and take good care of her too. Thomas, I forgive you. I know you never meant any harm. I love you, and god I miss you. Have a happy birthday, Thomas and enjoy your present.

                                                                                              Sincerely,

                                                                                                              Edward.

The Frightening Night

It’s been a week since that frightening night I was electrified by the shriek that left me drawing predictions of what could have happened next door to me. Next door, were the kind old man and his strange care taker used to live. I’ve always believed the young lad to be abrasive, apart from my many other thoughts of his personality, but no one else seemed suspicious about him, as if they were oblivious to his behavior. I shuddered as the memory of the shriek echoed through my head, reminding me it had come from the old man with extreme terror in his voice.

            A week before this terrifying night, I remember the care taker’s over friendly behavior with the old man. Even then, he could not hide his grimace when he saw the old man’s vulture eye. I can agree that it was repulsing looking at that thing, but it was a sickness, there was no need for the hate the care taker held for the eye. It was easy to feel the tension of that mad man, the atmosphere around him would just make me shudder. I thought, no I knew he despised it, and he would endeavor to get rid of it, no matter what.

            That night as I lay in my bed I succumbed to my theory that the old man had been assassinated. I noticed my wife was awaken by the shriek as well but thought it was me and let her dreams flow again. I told her about my theory, about my fear for the old man’s safety, but she thought I wasn’t being reasonable, that maybe he’d screamed because of a dream. I doubted that. I deliberated no more, and called the police. I was getting nervous as I thought about my gruesome theory being true. My hands shook with every passing second.

            After what seemed an eternity of waiting, a police man answered the phone in a careless way. I started babbling out words too quickly and gave a cursory version of what had been going on. Due to the lack of details in my report, the incompetent man, who apparently didn’t quite get my message, surmised I had made this up. I was about to go insane! Trying to control my abrupt tone, I asked him to let me talk to his chief, for he was nothing but a brainless farm animal, this I kept to myself. When speaking to a decent human being, I corroborated to my story.

            I shook myself out of my flash back avoiding more nervousness, remembering that I had derived information from Mr. Blackwood, chief of the police, that I could examine the crime scene. I crept my way into the house feeling oddly unsettled. I saw various police men and analyzers gingerly examining something. I wanted to stop myself from walking closer to it, but my curiosity was more powerful than my will, and there it was. Cold as ice, stiff as stone, pale as snow, and very dehydrated, lying on the floor was the old man’s corpse! I thought I was going to be thoroughly repulsed, but instead I felt anger. I felt anger towards the care taker who was in charge of his murder. I was glad the cruel inhumane maniac was sentenced to death. I wanted to look away from the corpse, but I just couldn’t. Sadness stroke me and I finally looked away when the body was clad with a dark sheet. Taking a last glimpse of his face, I could swear he was eager for revenge in his expression.

Moving on around the house, I noticed other men inventory the evidence they’d found along with other observations. From the tiniest but of hair, to the broken boards on the floor were valuable hints. I imagined they would also make a simulation of the crime scene to draw even more theories and make the assassination clearer. I suddenly felt pity for the old man, and yet I felt relieved. I pitied him because his life was in vain, he shouldn’t have left just yet, I wanted to say goodbye. And I felt relieved because now he would no longer be sad. He was with his wife now, somewhere better, with no one to be repulsed by his eye. He’d still be vulture-eyed, but he would be so much happier. And as I left his house I whispered goodbye, with tears and a smile on my face. Let him be peaceful and joyful with no more worries of death coming for him soon, for he was free to fly away were the wind would take him.

Today...

I went to the basketball try-outs today!!! I had fun, and now I'm enjoying a cold Hawaiian Punch popsicle!!