The following is a satiracle essay I did for AP English. It has been published and, i assume, copyrighted.
Eddie Centofante 2-15-02
Satire
We are gods tonight. As I lounge on my throne of stained fabric, my eyes behold images I have never imagined before. I follow a shadow on the wall, dancing and swaying, attempting to escape the reach of light. I wish it luck in it�s futile struggle, but smile all the same when the shadow disappears, only to be replaced moments later with a cloud from the heavens.
�Hey, you still hittin?�
I nod an affirmative to the figure on my right, whose face
is obscured by the clouds. Even gods must suffer, though, and we labor almost every day for our rights to godhood. I relish the sensations of pushing my hand through space and time as I grasp the device of our struggles. Moments later I am staring into a flicker of fire, my eyes watering, my lungs burning with exertion as I struggle valiantly to complete my task. I cannot see the results of my struggle, my assurance of godhood, but I know it is there. I hold it deep inside of me as it lifts my body and mind into the divine as certainly as any Mandate of Heaven. Soon, I am sinking back into my throne, and the clouds thicken as we rise, together, towards the stars.
Hours, or perhaps seconds, later the door opens and the outline of a figure in the doorway appears. �Damn this garage stinks, what are you all doing?� The words cascade over my mind and I marvel at their maker. Surely this man must be a genius, to create words and phrases so complex and beautiful they leave my mouth empty of words. �Hello? Oh never mind, I know what your doing. Mind if I turn on the TV?� Not being certain who the figure is looking at, we all shake our heads.
As the TV flickers to life I find myself drawn to its glow and I am soon immersed completely in it. The reality of this new world is much stranger than the one I have left. I am at a loss to describe the events that are unfolding before me. I attempt, unsuccessfully, to understand the dialogues between the characters, but it is so far beyond me that I cannot hope to understand them. Surely this must be a masterpiece, a creation that pushes the limits of our minds, makes us look at our lives in whole new ways. Like all good things, it eventually does come to an end.
�Dood� Spongebob is the shit��
I nod my agreement at this statement, recognizing a universal truth when I hear one, as the TV is turned off and our attention focuses, somewhat, on the game at the pool table. The match is a good one, give and take, with neither of them having the skill necessary to insure a quick game. As my eyes lose focus, my mind begins to look past the game, into the game. I flinch every time a ball strikes another; the rolling is like thunder and the cracks like lightning. The balls become titans, battling furiously against each other, not realizing they are merely pawns to the gods who hold the sticks. I wonder what started all of this, what could anger the solids and stripes so much that war was declared against the white? Who was this mysterious white hero, so brave that he takes and dispatches fifteen balls almost single-handedly? Surely he must be a mighty wizard, sending the forces of wind and rain against his enemies, it would explain the thunder and lightning I still heard and felt from the table.
As the game ends I am pulled away from my dream by a voice. The words form up into the semblance of reason, but then crumble away. I cannot understand them. A numbing, painful sensation in my arm pulls me farther down and I finally understand the voice.
�Dood, cmon! Were gonna be late for school!�
Yes, even gods must suffer�
|
2003-10-29, 07:14 PM
nice
Linear Mode
