Process Writing, Reader's Response, Block 3

Sudiksha Kochi 

Ms. Asuncion 

English 9H, Block 3 

20 Oct 2015 

      Night 

It was as if the light had forged into an upheaval of darkness, blood dripping down like tears of endless rainfall, and humanity itself destroying one another like hungry wolves without a care in the world. Dawn never broke. The hatred that tore apart the perspiration of courage, and brainwashed innocent souls was a prison with no escape. To survive in this cruel existence of life meant sacrificing every morsel of energy and unity into a whirlpool of echoing blizzards, that dipped each person's heart into a black coal sack. It was an inexplicable maze of chanting illusions that never seemed to distance from the infinite tenderness of love.  

Yet the unceasing nightmare swallowing the fury of dark flames had made him stronger, defeating all the nimble bones in his body, and being revived by the adversities of misfortune and trouble. He, whose name was as powerful as monsoon winds, forged like a river of trust and priceless courage; an ice of stone frozen in the time of the Holocaust. He, whom they disregarded as a tiny scoundrel, was one of the last people that stood in the war of vengeance and obliteration, and climbed the staircase of his destiny alone. His name was A-7713, not a human of flesh and emotions, but treated as though he were an inanimate object. No, his name was stronger. His name was Eliezer.  

Enduring the same legacy he went through, I imagine a stone-faced little girl, always being taunted by the other kids for being an avid reader, or constantly devouring information, synchronizing heartbeats with my knowledge and crystal clear determination. Who knew that the face of the Earth, which has brought upon many wounds and seizures, would carry the face of two faithful leaders, ready to change the world? 

“Were this conflagration to be extinguished one day, nothing would be left in the sky but extinct stars and unseeing eyes...” The world had been swept away for Elizeir, for his existence of life was being dominated by the omniscient masters of the universe, the greedy Germans. Constantly being dragged from one ghetto to another, his naked eye could only symbolize the pit of hatred that was burning in his skin, like raging beasts endeavoring for a chance of destruction. To be separated from those he loved, to be on a never ending rollercoaster with the sudden jerk of dead bodies was a life of crime, and once emerging from a dream of shining stars, had just turned into a fierce nightmare with a battlefield of opponents. When I look at my reflection in the mirror, I can see this cold hearted demon staring back at me, just like Elizeir's shadow full of darkness and churning rapids, and hate myself for every punishment I deserved, every blunder I cried over, and finally, how weak my love was that it had fell the conquerors of nefarious germs. For what was life if peace hadn't dominated our safe haven and turned this savage reality into an enigmatic wave of delusions? My life was a lie, controlled by the rulers of a parallel dimension, or so I thought. Elizeir had taken over my dark spirit, had touched my nerves so they sent fireworks of energy and optimism, and made me the person I now am. He had meandered into my brain, squeezed my memories like phantom ghosts whispering from the past, and taught me to never give up. His innocent was linked with mine as a million helping hands that helped shape both our destinies in the time of rough crusade.  

“Pressed tightly against one another, in an effort to resist the cold, our head empty and heavy, our brains a whirlwind of decaying memories...” Reality, I believe, is a precious gift that should be savored like honeysuckle on the eve of a white blanket of snow. However, my savior tore open his lungs that day of the fierce blizzard, protecting his weak father from the abyss of immortal enemies and walking through the approaching night of shivering dampness, cemeteries of broken bones that seemed to beat upon the howling winds like drums of a casket. So why do we exist in this infernal funnel of experiences? Legacies are derived neither from wealth nor marriage, but the steps one takes to success. Everybody in this diverse world are placed in situations where they are chosen for a feat; to be able to accomplish such violent and risky tasks are a gift of hope placed in our hands. Elizeir and I both push ourselves forward, ready to conduct such abstruse matters, and dusting away old photographs in which pain had sprung like the first hollers of a newborn baby. We aren't followers, we aren't drivers, yet an essence of dynasty pushes a force of prevailing winds that gathers enough bloodlust from the sunset to mark our footprints, for we walk alone, cherishing each step like the forgotten leaves on the trail. Each memory may record a simultaneous amount of emotions for each person, but how they are able to reach out of that bubble and into the crocodile filled lake of poison and sin, are ideas that only impossible phenomenon's created by humans are able to achieve. Only constellations are able to shine as brightly as the universe. 

“Two boys came to join our group: Yossi, and Tibi, two brothers from Czechoslovakia whose parents had been exterminated in Birkenau. They lived for each other, body and soul.” Being able to unite with others, holding hands connecting figures of compelling body strength, was Elizeir's true gift in this despised camp of achromatic visions. Friendship was valuable like a piece offering for the hard work that was coming their way. Their laughs were like minuscule tinkles of bells that rung in the distance, and collaboration became increasingly effective in order to survive in the harsh environments of the summit of bitterness. For a million memories that make up the universe cannot shape the relationship of real emotions and flesh from one person to another. Earth itself was holding a civilization full of laughing flowers, where Elizeir and his group were just among the blooming roses with tangled roots, guiding one another's direction towards the sun. Looking back at this cruel reality in which we live in everyday, I realized that I needed to create symbols of glaciers and snowflakes that come together, for the millions of bonds linked together in our hearts can create a lifetime of ecstasy in each others souls. Imagine looking at the white, fluffy cotton balls block the glowing sun from the evil ultraviolet rays, and imagine one of those clouds as yourself. For the Gods and Titans are sending us a message of condolences, of bittersweet sentiments mixed together where nothing is the same, and one wisp can change an entire lifetime of events. The heaven and the Earth connect the lives of the inhabitants that guide the rivers towards yin and yang. 

It was done. He was free. For the marching bands of unbearably painful minions collided with the darkness of the sky, which burst a thousand meteor showers into a flickering confusion of lights. The world was lightened by the first rays of radiant orange, the snow was going down the drains of Earth's crust, and the millions of innocent lives that had been captured to endless amounts of torture were left behind like worthless pieces of junk. There was a portal of forgiveness, for they were about to make a new destiny, in which they were the commanders of their higher beings. Elizeir was no longer the rotten weed within the group of fiery torches, but a stricken man of grief for the passing of his connected bonds, and eradication of vengeance that stayed stuck in the sweat of soldiers as they wiped the marks of evil curses onto their foreheads. The booming voices of the captains could not longer be heard in the integrity of life and death. Yet freedom was no longer true, for the victims knew they were alone, and that fear was like a bottle filled with shame and afterlife. However, Elizeir was like the nucleus to the clustered atoms of positive and negative silence. When Elizeir stepped into their new destinies, his own kingdom, he created not only the sun and the moon, but brightened the Earth as his dancing silhouettes were a legacy for all. His touch of words inspired the author's succinct, melodious twines of pealing anguish, as a role model for the hope of humanity.  

As for me, my path is still forming as I continue to walk in blizzards and run in rainstorms, and lead the millions of lost, helpless men and women into the graces of my chaotic intervention. I glide across the wind, just like Elizeir, and soar right into the shield of faith and potential. My mistakes follow me as I walk down these spiky roads of nails, and rivals trace me with whips of golden ribbons that fly into my life. My destiny is still an incomplete void of sensational glory, as I'm still color blind to see the truth of this rich world and the magic which lurks in the shadows of darkness. After all, what is art without a little bit of abstract variation?