Swimming race

It comes down to the final ten meters at the end of the race to see who will win the Olympic crown. No one speaks a word, there isn’t even cheering. Electricity floods the atmosphere, as it is the one things that is keeping my skinny swimmer body going. Every split second and every millimeter left in the race could be the very birth place of my tragic fall. Gazing into the crowd I can see the frantic fans, just waiting to welcome a new champion in a profound few. Chlorinating the white waters is the smell of sweat from swimmers on my right and left, but only one person on my right has what it takes to beat me in these last ten meters. Winning this race would be like being born again, I would have a new beginning and everyone would love me. To be the underdog is always hard, but to be the underdog and to handle adversity is near impossible for a normal swimmer. My capabilities are beyond anyone else though, even if no one else knows it, but me. Now inches away from a photo finish and from being on top of the world. When hitting the touch-pad I can taste my victory as I have done the impossible and beat the all mighty Brit. Suddenly as I look at the times is see that I have lost by a hundredth of a second. All colors turn to gray and everything including the cheers in the crowd are now the sounds failure as I now sulk in disbelief. Loosing has never come easy; loosing is the single most depressing thing in me like. Losing has never come easy; Loosing this race defines me and all the stereotypes around me.

God Father Death

Thoughts fill your now bulging mind with endless possibilities. Then instantly the tables turn, which causes your future and dreams to plummet downward and dissolve into thin air. This is what happens to the main character in a simply perfect short story “God Father Death”, by Jakob and William Grimm. In the Grimm brothers exemplary irony there are specific symbols that give cause for the readers eyes to be glued to the pages below.

While venturing into the depths of this perfect piece it becomes apparent that it is a clear-cut irony. Beginning this text the reader realizes the father’s life is in complete confusion and chaos. To have five or six children is more than enough for most of mankind and this father is suddenly stunned with thirteen little devils running around. In lurking further the reader realizes the son’s struggle, when it becomes apparent to him that only a little bit of his already little life was still remaining. Death afflicts the son’s life when all light goes dim and only his sulking soul remains as he vanishes into the skies. Adding to the powerful plotline of an irony is that the son is not in control of the events that are occurring to him. This is because he did not choose his surprising sponsor of death, nor did he choose to receive his almighty herb like a gifted athlete receives his abilities. With no control there is no power and this holds true to this story because it is a traumatizing nightmare version of the world. No one is safe from the plague like sickness and only the gifted one with the herb can save everyone.

Symbolism slices through the pages like a hot knife through butter in the Grimm brothers thought-provoking irony. In this text the carefully condemned candles bring reality to the eagle eye of the son. While gazing into the frolicking flames he suddenly realizes all his shortcomings and failures in life. At one point he was thought to be unflappable, but he broke down and crumbled right before his godfather’s eyes, because of his shortened life. Representing temptation and power to the son is the life changing herb that only the son could get his holy hands on. To disobey someone once does not result in the diminishing of a friendship, but repeating the act is disrespectful and consequences are always right around the corner. This occurs to the son because the second time he broke a promise to his godfather, consequences lurked in the near future, death. When candles flicker in this sought after story it stands for fear and terror. Flickering candles show this because in seeing the flickering, the son’s blood runs cold and his bones tremble in disbelief of what is soon to happen to him.

When symbolism seep outs of pages in an irony the plot is usually gruesome. Not only does the Grimm brother’s masterpiece not have vivid details of death, but it has lessons that should be exemplified by any good person. Never take an unfair advantage; never be dishonest. Never expect a second chance; never forget that you will have to live with your past and always look forward to the unclear.

The final field goal

It is now fourth down and I am getting lined up for a field goal to win the Super Bowl. One tick remains on the clock and the only thing keeping me going is the adrenaline rushing through my vast veins. Everything rests on my single shoulders. The kicker is someone who doesn’t get any fame or any recondition for what they bring to the table; this is my shot to show the world who I am and see my name flood all the news papers in the country. I line up as my bones tremble in fear thinking about what would happen if I miss. No, I am going to make it. The smell of the wet grass and mood covers me along with a tint of wet dog tossed in. You can hear a pin drop in the stadium, with everyone’s eyes focused on my scrawny little kicker body. Tasting the alcohol run down my throat would be the ultimate goal that I have desired and worked for my whole carrier. When the snap hits the holders hand is goes right to the ground; perfect. I carefully creep forward as my shadow lurks over the piece of pig skin that makes the game keep going. To the ball my foot heads and as I hit the sweat spot of the ball it soars through the air like a jet through the atmosphere. As the ball hits the mesh between the now beaming goalpost my dream has been captured. Sobbing as though my mother died I collapse to the ground in joy as my teammates storm the field. Perfection has occurred as planned from the snap, to the ball through the uprights. The electric atmosphere makes my legs tremble with enthusiasm and I am now on top of the world. I can see tomorrow’s New York Times. “Never doubt the real field fairy.” I can feel the wet field under my boney body, which is now the body of a superstar. I can taste victory in the air. I have now won the game I have dreamed of since I was little.

The 9th hole

Matt and Parker both scored three’s on the horrifying and dreadful 9th hole. Adrenalin in my blood is going crazy as I get ready for the most meanigful putt of my life. Calming down is impossible with when my hands are filled with pools of sweat and there is an annoying buzzing noise going on in my head. To hear the annoying buzzing sound in one’s head might dismantle ones concentrations, but I am in a zone that is beyond everyone else. Not even the smell of the overly cooked hotdogs in the old run down club house can break through my focus; the smell leaves a stinging feeling in my nostrils as if passes through. My putter is slowly creeping its way towards the bright florescent pink ball with a white chip from dropping it on the pavement. Rolling slower and slower the ball inches it’s way to the hypnotizing hole with a half inch of water in it from the night showers. Worries flood my skull as I dreadfully picture the ball stopping millimeters short of the hole. I close my eyes so I don’t have to bear the sight; I hear a “Clunk”. When I raise my head cautiously the ball in no longer on the green turf, but silently sitting at its perch inside the hideous hole! The hot dogs in the club house are now the smell of victory and I can now taste the scrumptious ice cream that I am going to receive because of my victory. To see Matt and Parker weeping in disgust on the ground is priceless. Right now I feel like I can take on the world without thinking about it twice. The only aspect that Matt and Parker can take out of this is to never, never underestimate your opponents. Although I can take out bragging right and to never second guess what I can do.