Passive Voice/Transitive Verbs
Abstract Subjects
Linking Verbs (S-LV-SC)
The warden threw question after question at me, but I just threw them right back. Though she was in complete control, I knew her scheme had a weakness: counter-questions. This made the warden very angry, and the reality of the situation was that she was never going to let me out. According to G, the plan was to not break out of prison--but to talk out.
G was the warden’s angel, but really he was merely a sheep in wolfs clothing. When I returned to the cell last week, G wanted me to know something important. There was a little secret no one in the prison knew--he was teaching the warden too. I once was lost; but now I am found. At least that is how it felt when I knew the warden was mortal. This new information changed everything, and as with new information comes a new game plan.
The warden and her panel of demons were all but pleased with how I was making a mockery of our meeting, but I was ready to reveal the secret weapon. I asked her, “Warden, do you know what a linking verb is?” As she looked to her colleagues, I knew G left out this major element of writing while tutoring the her. “I...I...do not know Mr. Stew.” The warden was found.
I said, “Warden, how could you not know such a basic part of writing when my cell mate G was teaching you without the prisons knowledge? Is this not a prison of the mind?” As she began to blush, the warden could not believe her darkest secret had been revealed. I had to hit her with a final knockout punch, “You see warden, how can you run a prison--that is filled with those who are guilty of illiteracy--when you are just as guilty as everyone of them?” I said. “If you are just like me why am I in this jumpsuit, and you’re in a suit?” She became angry.
The panel could not believe their ears. As the warden began to be belittled with questions, I was informed by the prison guard to return to my cell. G met me at the doorway with a giant bear hug, but nothing was yet set in stone. The warden, cold and broken, carried a brown box of office items out of the prison. When she passed my cell, I smiled at her with a silent reminder--I won.
There is one lesson we can all take from my time inside this prison, don’t take someone like G for granted. The lesson seems simple, but without experiencing it first hand you will never know its true impact on reality. When I exited the prison, I knew I was no longer partially whole--I was finally complete. Life is good.
Saturday, October 20, 2012
Sunday, October 14, 2012
The Plan
Participles
Absolutes
Appositives
Adjectives out of order
Transitive verb (past,present)
Because my meeting with the warden is fast approaching, I could only dream about one thing: freedom. The warden, gritty and steely-eyed, does not let her prisoners out easily. You can merely sit in your chair, scared and tense, and pray that she sees the light inside your black hole of a soul. Not many people see this light, but I know she has seen a change in me since G arrived.
As I returned to my cell, I knew G would be waiting for me. I could see his shadow, long and burly, as I slowly creeped up to our cell door. His eyes, wide and blinding, glared down at me as if I was in some kind of trouble. He wanted to know why I hadn't been studying with him the last few weeks. I explained that my review was coming up and I had a lot on my mind. G was not pleased, but there was nothing I could do to make him happy. So I washed my face, and went to bed. I lie in bed, wondering what tomorrow will bring--if anything.
Three days went by before we finally talked again. And I knew there was only one person who could prepare me to get out of this hell--G. Though we did not know where to start first, we had to have a plan. Should I show her all of my writings from the last six weeks, or beg for my pathetic life? I figured she would enjoy watching me suffer, but G and I worked too hard for this to end so guttlesly.
I waited outside the wardens office, knowing the fate of my life rested in the hands of a corrupt system. The door so loud, deafening my ears with every swing, slowly creeped open. As the warden approached me, I could see my life flash before my eyes. Mind racing, heart booming, I gazed out the nearby window one last time. I approached the lone chair in front of the panel of prison officials--their eyes evaluating my every move--and nervously sat down.
After each question, I took one deep breath and said a silent prayer. The warden praised me for attempting to help the other inmates with their grammar in the previous weeks; though, she was not fully convinced I was doing it all out of good will. What was my real plan, she asked. I answered the question, and took a deep breath.The warden looked to her colleagues, and then stared back at me. She was not satisfied.
After that, I knew there was no hope for me. It became a game to her, as if I was a puzzle she was trying to solve--quickly. Though she did not know, I was also playing a game. The warden knew I would slip up, but so did G. He said that all I had to do to make him happy again was to follow one last lesson: the plan.
Friday, October 5, 2012
It's A Beautiful Day
Participles
Absolutes
Appositives
Adjectives out of order
As G and I sat on a courtyard bench, there was one word that came to my mind: happiness. Finally, for the first time in almost twenty years, I was actually enjoying myself behind these prison walls. Maybe it is the addition of G into my life, I cannot say exactly. But since he has arrived it feels like the world makes sense again.
The courtyard is a relatively simple area, wide and rectangular. You can see the prisoners, battered and broken, sitting along the walls and benches that scatter across the open field. It is a rather melancholic site if I have ever seen one--but not today. No, today is a day of rejoice. A day to admire all that is beautiful in the world, even though our world is only 6500 square inches. There are so many things I miss about being free.
I remember as a young man I would scroll through the “Pictures of the Week” on my favorite website and admire all the beautiful images caught throughout the world. Though, one picture sticks in my mind more than any other: Wheelchair Dancers. In this picture we could see a man and a woman dancing in a classic ballroom style; however, their bodies are being withheld by wheelchairs. The woman, frozen and distorted, looked deeply into her partners longing eyes. The man, overwhelmed with love, stares right back into hers.
Because of these pictures, I wish they would allow me to show you the true elegance of the world from our yard. The sky, a giant canvas splattered by blue and white, was simply majestic. The sun so bright, burning our skin with every passing second, gives a sense of life back to the prisoners who once never felt anything at all. When there is so little to look forward to, it seems that the courtyard is a place I can relate to.
The courtyard, a bland and simple design, is a mirror image of what I represent. There is nothing special about who I am. I too am a bland and simple design; though, sometimes G can make me feel like I am more than just inmate number 99019. Sometimes G shows me there is something good inside me. If he was not here to keep me level headed, I would be one place right now: six feet under.
These memories are the ones I cherish the most. I looked to the courtyard clock, two steel arms slowly ticking, reminding me of the few minutes I have left out here. If there was ever a day to cherish with a gorgeous picture--this was it. As we are all called back into the building, I could only look at G and smile. It truly was a wonderful day.
Absolutes
Appositives
Adjectives out of order
As G and I sat on a courtyard bench, there was one word that came to my mind: happiness. Finally, for the first time in almost twenty years, I was actually enjoying myself behind these prison walls. Maybe it is the addition of G into my life, I cannot say exactly. But since he has arrived it feels like the world makes sense again.
The courtyard is a relatively simple area, wide and rectangular. You can see the prisoners, battered and broken, sitting along the walls and benches that scatter across the open field. It is a rather melancholic site if I have ever seen one--but not today. No, today is a day of rejoice. A day to admire all that is beautiful in the world, even though our world is only 6500 square inches. There are so many things I miss about being free.
I remember as a young man I would scroll through the “Pictures of the Week” on my favorite website and admire all the beautiful images caught throughout the world. Though, one picture sticks in my mind more than any other: Wheelchair Dancers. In this picture we could see a man and a woman dancing in a classic ballroom style; however, their bodies are being withheld by wheelchairs. The woman, frozen and distorted, looked deeply into her partners longing eyes. The man, overwhelmed with love, stares right back into hers.
Because of these pictures, I wish they would allow me to show you the true elegance of the world from our yard. The sky, a giant canvas splattered by blue and white, was simply majestic. The sun so bright, burning our skin with every passing second, gives a sense of life back to the prisoners who once never felt anything at all. When there is so little to look forward to, it seems that the courtyard is a place I can relate to.
The courtyard, a bland and simple design, is a mirror image of what I represent. There is nothing special about who I am. I too am a bland and simple design; though, sometimes G can make me feel like I am more than just inmate number 99019. Sometimes G shows me there is something good inside me. If he was not here to keep me level headed, I would be one place right now: six feet under.
These memories are the ones I cherish the most. I looked to the courtyard clock, two steel arms slowly ticking, reminding me of the few minutes I have left out here. If there was ever a day to cherish with a gorgeous picture--this was it. As we are all called back into the building, I could only look at G and smile. It truly was a wonderful day.
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