Monday, January 4, 2016

Short Story: The Three Little Pigs

Once upon a time . . . there were three little pigs, who left their mummy and daddy to see the world.
The three little pigs started to feel they needed a real home. Sadly back to their usual jobs, and preparing for winter. Autumn came and it began they knew that the fun was over now and they must set to work like the others, about what to do, but each decided for himself. The laziest little pig or they'd be left in the cold and rain, with no roof over their heads. They talk eid he'd build a straw hut.
"It wlll only take a day,' he said. The others disagreed. Lazy, the second little pig went in search of planks of seasoned wood.
"It's too fragile," they said disapprovingly, but he refused to listen. Not quite so third little pig did not like the wooden house.
"Why are you working so hard? Why don't you crain, and snow, and most of all, protect us from the wolf!"
brick. From time to time, his brothers visited him, saying with come and play?" But the stubborn bricklayer pig just said "no".
The little pigs rushed home in alarm. Along came the wolf, scowling fiercely at the laziest pig's straw hut.
"Come back!" he roared, trying to catch the pig as he fell down in the great blast. Excited by his own cleverness, the wolf did not notice that the little pig had slithered out from underneath the heap of straw, and was dashing towards his brother's wooden house. When he realized that the little pig was escaping, the wolf ran into the wooden house. The other little pig greeted his brother, shaking like a leaf.
Luckily from the window of his own brick house, and he rapidly opened the door to his fleeing brothers. And not a moment too soon, for the wolf was already hammering furiously on the door. This time, the wolf had grave doubts. This house had acmuch more solid air than the others. 
He blew once, he blew again and then force had seen this ploy, and he quickly said:
"Quick! Light the fire!" With a third time. But all was in vain. For the house did not budge and launched. The three little pigs watched him and their fear began to fade. Quite exhausted by his efforts, the wolf decided to try one of his tricks. He scrambled up a nearby ladder, on to the roof to have a look at the chimney.However, the wisest little pig with his long legs thrust down the chimney, the wolf was not sure if he should slide down the black hole. It wouldn't be easy to get in, but the sound of the little pigs' voices below only made him feel hungrier.
"Never again! Never again will I go down a chimneyl" he squealed, as he tried to put out the flames in his tail. Then he ran away as fast as he could.
Now safe and happy, the wisest little pig called to his brothers:
"No more work! Come on, let's go and play!
All summer long, they roamed through the woods and over the plains,playing games and having fun. None were happier than the three little pigs, and they easily made friends with everyone. Wherever they went, they were given a warm welcome, but as summer drew to a close, they realized that folk were drifting rain. 
The three little pigs started to feel they needed a real home. Sadly back to their usual jobs, and preparing for winter. Autumn came and it began they knew that the fun was over now and they must set to work like the others, about what to do, but each decided for himself. The laziest little pig or they'd be left in the cold and rain, with no roof over their heads. They talk eid he'd build a straw hut.
"It wlll only take a day,' he said. The others disagreed. Lazy, the second little pig went in search of planks of seasoned wood
"Clunk! Clunk! Clunk!" It took him two days to nail them together.
"It's too fragile," they said disapprovingly, but he refused to listen. Not quite so third little pig did not like the wooden house.
"That's not the way to build a house!" he said. "It takes time, patience and hard work to buiid a house that is strong enough to stand up to wind, a chuckle:
"Why are you working so hard? Why don't you crain, and snow, and most of all, protect us from the wolf!
The days went by, and the wisest little pig's house took shape, brick by brick. From time to time, his brothers visited him, saying with come and play?" But the stubborn bricklayer pig just said "no".
"I shall finish my house first. It must be solid and sturdy. And then I'll come and play!" he said. "I shall not be foolish like you! For he who laughs last, laughs longest!" mouth watering. I want to speak to you!"
"I'd rather stay where I am!" It was the wisest little pig that found the tracks of a big wolf in the neighbourhood.
The little pigs rushed home in alarm. Along came the wolf, scowling fiercely at the laziest pig's straw hut.
"Come out!" ordered the wolf, his replied the little pig in a tiny voice.

"I'll make you come out!" growled the wolf angrily, and puffing out his chest, he took a very deep breath. Then he blew wlth all his might, right onto the house. And all the straw the silly pig had heaped against some thin poles,drew wild with rage.
"Come back!" he roared, trying to catch the pig as he fell down in the great blast.
Excited by his own cleverness, the wolf did not notice that the little pig had slithered out from underneath the heap of straw, and was dashing towards his brother's wooden house. When he realized that the little pig was escaping, the wolf ran into the wooden house. The other little pig greeted his brother, shaking like a leaf.

"I hope this house won't fall down! Let's lean against the door so he can't break in!"
Outside, the wolf could hear the little pigs' words. Starving as he was, at the idea of a two-course meal, he rained blows on the door. The wisest little pig had been watching the scene.

"Open up! Open up! I only want to speak to you!"
Inside, the two brothers wept in fear and did their best to hold the door fast against the blows. Then the furious wolf braced himself a new effort: he drew in a really enormous breath, and went......WHOOOOO! The wooden house collapsed like a pack of cards.
"Quick! Light the fire!" With a third time. But all was in vain. For the house did not budge and launched. 
The three little pigs watched him and their fear began to fade. Quite exhausted by his efforts, the wolf decided to try one of his tricks. He scrambled up a nearby ladder, on to the roof to have a look at the chimney.However, the wisest little pig with his long legs thrust down the chimney, the wolf was not sure if he should slide down the black hole. It wouldn't be easy to get in, but the sound of the little pigs' voices below only made him feel hungrier.
"I'm dying of hunger! I'm goin to try and get down.", and he let himself drop. But landing was rather hot, too hot! The wolf landed in the fire, stunned by his fall."
From that terrible day on, the wisest little pig's brothers set the flames licked his hairy coat and his tail became a flaring torch. The three happy little pigs, dancing round and round the yard, began to sing:
"Tra-la-la! Tra-la-la! The wicked black wolf will never come back to work with a will. In less than no time, up went the two new brick houses. The wolf did return once to roam in the neighbourhood, but when he caught sight of three chimneys, he remembered the terrible pain of a burnt tail, and he left for good.

Sunday, January 3, 2016

An Affair of State

by Guy de Maupassant (1850-1893)

Paris had just heard of the disaster of Sedan. The Republic was proclaimed. All France was panting from a madness that lasted until the time of the commonwealth. Everybody was playing at soldier from one end of the country to the other.

Capmakers became colonels, assuming the duties of generals; revolvers and daggers were displayed on large rotund bodies enveloped in red sashes; common citizens turned warriors, commanding battalions of noisy volunteers and swearing like troopers to emphasize their importance.

The very fact of bearing arms and handling guns with a system excited a people who hitherto had only handled scales and measures and made them formidable to the first comer, without reason. They even executed a few innocent people to prove that they knew how to kill, and in roaming through virgin fields still belonging to the Prussians they shot stray dogs, cows chewing the cud in peace or sick horses put out to pasture. Each believed himself called upon to play a great role in military affairs. The caf├ęs of the smallest villages, full of tradesmen in uniform, resembled barracks or field hospitals.

Now the town of Canneville did not yet know the exciting news of the army and the capital. It had, however, been greatly agitated for a month over an encounter between the rival political parties. The mayor, Viscount de Varnetot, a small thin man, already old, remained true to the Empire, especially since he saw rising up against him a powerful adversary in the great, sanguine form of Dr. Massarel, head of the Republican party in the district, venerable chief of the Masonic lodge, president of the Society of Agriculture and the Fire Department and organizer of the rural militia designed to save the country.

In two weeks he had induced sixty-three men to volunteer in defense of their country--married men, fathers of families, prudent farmers and merchants of the town. These he drilled every morning in front of the mayor's window.

Whenever the mayor happened to appear Commander Massarel, covered with pistols, passing proudly up and down in front of his troops, would make them shout, "Long live our country!" And this, they noticed, disturbed the little viscount, who no doubt heard in it menace and defiance and perhaps some odious recollection of the great Revolution.

On the morning of the fifth of September, in uniform, his revolver on the table, the doctor gave consultation to an old peasant couple. The husband had suffered with a varicose vein for seven years but had waited until his wife had one too, so that they might go and hunt up a physician together, guided by the postman when he should come with the newspaper.

Dr. Massarel opened the door, grew pale, straightened himself abruptly and, raising his arms to heaven in a gesture of exaltation, cried out with all his might, in the face of the amazed rustics:

"Long live the Republic! Long live the Republic! Long live the Republic!"

Then he dropped into his armchair weak with emotion.

When the peasant explained that this sickness commenced with a feeling as if ants were running up and down his legs the doctor exclaimed: "Hold your peace. I have spent too much time with you stupid people. The Republic is proclaimed! The Emperor is a prisoner! France is saved! Long live the Republic!" And, running to the door, he bellowed: "Celeste! Quick! Celeste!"

The frightened maid hastened in. He stuttered, so rapidly did he try to speak" "My boots, my saber--my cartridge box--and--the Spanish dagger which is on my night table. Hurry now!"

The obstinate peasant, taking advantage of the moment's silence, began again: "This seemed like some cysts that hurt me when I walked."

The exasperated physician shouted: "Hold your peace! For heaven's sake! If you had washed your feet oftener, it would not have happened." Then, seizing him by the neck, he hissed in his face: "Can you not comprehend that we are living in a republic, stupid!"

But the professional sentiment calmed him suddenly, and he let the astonished old couple out of the house, repeating all the time:

"Return tomorrow, return tomorrow, my friends; I have no more time today."

While equipping himself from head to foot he gave another series of urgent orders to the maid:

"Run to Lieutenant Picard's and to Sublieutenant Pommel's and say to them that I want them here immediately. Send Torcheboeuf to me too, with his drum. Quick now! Quick!" And when Celeste was gone he collected his thoughts and prepared to surmount the difficulties of the situation.

The three men arrived together. They were in their working clothes. The commander, who had expected to see them in uniform, had a fit of surprise.

"You know nothing, then? The Emperor has been taken prisoner. A republic is proclaimed. My position is delicate, not to say perilous."

He reflected for some minutes before the astonished faces of his subordinates and then continued:

"It is necessary to act, not to hesitate. Minutes now are worth hours at other times. Everything depends upon promptness of decision. You, Picard, go and find the curate and get him to ring the bell to bring the people together, while I get ahead of them. You, Torcheboeuf, beat the call to assemble the militia in arms, in the square, from even as far as the hamlets of Gerisaie and Salmare. You, Pommel, put on your uniform at once, that is, the jacket and cap. We, together, are going to take possession of the mairie and summon Monsieur de Varnetot to transfer his authority to me. Do you understand?"


"Act, then, and promptly. I will accompany you to your house, Pommel, since we are to work together."

Five minutes later the commander and his subaltern, armed to the teeth, appeared in the square just at the moment when the little Viscount de Varnetot, with hunting gaiters on and his rifle on his shoulder, appeared by another street, walking rapidly and followed by three guards in green jackets, each carrying a knife at his side and a gun over his shoulder.

While the doctor slapped, half stupefied, the four men entered the mayor's house and the door closed behind them.

"We are forestalled," murmured the doctor; "it will be necessary now to wait for reinforcements; nothing can be done for a quarter of an hour."

Here Lieutenant Picard appeared. "The curate refuses to obey," said he; "he has even shut himself up in the church with the beadle and the porter."

On the other side of the square, opposite the white closed front of the mairie, the church, mute and black, showed its great oak door with the wrought-iron trimmings.

Then, as the puzzled inhabitants put their noses out of the windows or came out upon the steps of their houses, the rolling of a drum was heard, and Torcheboeuf suddenly appeared, beating with fury the three quick strokes of the call to arms. He crossed the square with disciplined step and then disappeared on a road leading to the country.

The commander drew his sword, advanced alone to the middle distance between the two buildings where the enemy was barricaded and, waving his weapon above his head, roared at the top of his lungs: "Long live the Republic! Death to traitors!" Then he fell back where his officers were. The butcher, the baker and the apothecary, feeling a little uncertain, put up their shutters and closed their shops. The grocery alone remained open.

Meanwhile the men of the militia were arriving little by little, variously clothed but all wearing caps, the cap constituting the whole uniform of the corps. They were armed with their old rusty guns, guns that had hung on chimney pieces in kitchens for thirty years, and looked quite like a detachment of country soldiers.

When there were about thirty around him the commander explained in a few words the state of affairs. Then, turning toward his major, he said: "Now we must act."

While the inhabitants collected, talked over and discussed the matter the doctor quickly formed his plan of campaign.

"Lieutenant Picard, you advance to the windows of the mayor's house and order Monsieur de Varnetot to turn over the town hall to me in the name of the Republic."

But the lieutenant was a master mason and refused.

"You are a scamp, you are. Trying to make a target of me! Those fellows in there are good shots, you know that. No, thanks! Execute your commissions yourself!"

The commander turned red. "I order you to go in the name of discipline," said he.

"I am not spoiling my features without knowing why," the lieutenant returned.

Men of influence, in a group near by, were heard laughing. One of them called out: "You are right, Picard, it is not the proper time." The doctor, under his breath, muttered: "Cowards! " And placing his sword and his revolver in the hands of a soldier, he advanced with measured step, his eye fixed on the windows as if he expected to see a gun or a cannon pointed at him.

When he was within a few steps of the building the doors at the two extremities, affording an entrance to two schools, opened, and a flood of little creatures, boys on one side, girls on the other, poured out and began playing in the open space, chattering around the doctor like a flock of birds. He scarcely knew what to make of it.

As soon as the last were out the doors closed. The greater part of the little monkeys finally scattered, and then the commander called out in a loud voice:

"Monsieur de Varnetot?" A window in the first story opened and M. de Varnetot appeared.

The commander began: "Monsieur, you are aware of the great events which have changed the system of government. The party you represent no longer exists. The side I represent now comes into power. Under these sad but decisive circumstances I come to demand you, in the name of the Republic, to put in my hand the authority vested in you by the outgoing power."

M. de Varnetot replied: "Doctor Massarel, I am mayor of Canneville, so placed by the proper authorities, and mayor of Canneville I shall remain until the title is revoked and replaced by an order from my superiors. As mayor, I am at home in the mairie, and there I shall stay. Furthermore, just try to put me out." And he closed the window.

The commander returned to his troops. But before explaining anything, measuring Lieutenant Picard from head to foot, he said:

"You are a numskull, you are--a goose, the disgrace of the army. I shall degrade you."

The lieutenant replied: "I'll attend to that myself." And he went over to a group of muttering civilians.

Then the doctor hesitated. What should he do? Make an assault? Would his men obey him? And then was he surely in the right? An idea burst upon him. He ran to the telegraph office on the other side of the square and hurriedly sent three dispatches: "To the Members of the Republican Government at Paris"; "To the New Republican Prefect of the Lower Seine at Rouen"; "To the New Republican Subprefect of Dieppe."

He exposed the situation fully; told of the danger run by the commonwealth from remaining in the hands of the monarchistic mayor, offered his devout services, asked for orders and signed his name, following it up with all his titles. Then he returned to his army corps and, drawing ten francs out of his pocket, said:

"Now, my friends, go and eat and drink a little something. Only leave here a detachment of ten men, so that no one leaves the mayor's house."

Ex-Lieutenant Picard, chatting with the watchmaker, overheard this. With a sneer he remarked: "Pardon me, but if they go out, there will be an opportunity for you to go in. Otherwise I can't see how you are to get in there!"

The doctor made no reply but went away to luncheon. In the afternoon he disposed of offices all about town, having the air of knowing of an impending surprise. Many times he passed before the doors of the mairie and of the church without noticing anything suspicious; one could have believed the two buildings empty.

The butcher, the baker and the apothecary reopened their shops and stood gossiping on the steps. If the Emperor had been taken prisoner, there must be a traitor somewhere. They did not feel sure of the revenue of a new republic.

Night came on. Toward nine o'clock the doctor returned quietly and alone to the mayor's residence, persuaded that his adversary had retired. And as he was trying to force an entrance with a few blows of a pickax the loud voice of a guard demanded suddenly: "Who goes there?" M. Massarel beat a retreat at the top of his speed.

Another day dawned without any change in the situation. The militia in arms occupied the square. The inhabitants stood around awaiting the solution. People from neighboring villages came to look on. Finally the doctor, realizing that his reputation was at stake, resolved to settle the thing in one way or another. He had just decided that it must be something energetic when the door of the telegraph office opened and the little servant of the directress appeared, holding in her hand two papers.

She went directly to the commander and gave him one of the dispatches; then, crossing the square, intimidated by so many eyes fixed upon her, with lowered head and mincing steps, she rapped gently at the door of the barricaded house as if ignorant that a part of the army was concealed there.

The door opened slightly; the hand of a man received the message, and the girl returned, blushing and ready to weep from being stared at.

The doctor demanded with stirring voice: "A little silence, if you please." And after the populace became quiet he continued proudly:

Here is a communication which I have received from the government." And, raising the dispatch, he read:

"Old mayor deposed. Advise us what is most necessary. Instructions later.

"For the Subprefect,

"SAPIN, Counselor."

He had triumphed. His heart was beating with joy. His hand trembled, when Picard, his old subaltern, cried out to him from the neighboring group:

"That's all right; but if the others in there won't go out, your paper hasn't a leg to stand on." The doctor grew a little pale. If they would not go out--in fact, he must go ahead now. It was not only his right but his duty. And he looked anxiously at the house of the mayoralty, hoping that he might see the door open and his adversary show himself. But the door remained closed. What was to be done? The crowd was increasing, surrounding the militia. Some laughed.

One thought, especially, tortured the doctor. If he should make an assault, he must march at the head of his men; and as with him dead all contest would cease, it would be at him and at him alone that M. de Varnetot and the three guards would aim. And their aim was good, very good! Picard had reminded him of that.

But an idea shone in upon him, and turning to Pommel, he said: "Go, quickly, and ask the apothecary to send me a napkin and a pole."

The lieutenant hurried off. The doctor was going to make a political banner, a white one, that would, perhaps, rejoice the heart of that old legitimist, the mayor.

Pommel returned with the required linen and a broom handle. With some pieces of string they improvised a standard, which Massarel seized in both hands. Again he advanced toward the house of mayoralty, bearing the standard before him. When in front of the door, he called out: "Monsieur de Varnetot!"

The door opened suddenly, and M. de Varnetot and the three guards appeared on the threshold. The doctor recoiled instinctively. Then he saluted his enemy courteously and announced, almost strangled by emotion: "I have come, sir, to communicate to you the instructions I have just received."

That gentleman, without any salutation whatever, replied: "I am going to withdraw, sir, but you must understand that it is not because of fear or in obedience to an odious government that has usurped the power." And, biting off each word, he declared: "I do not wish to have the appearance of serving the Republic for a single day. That is all."

Massarel, amazed, made no reply; and M. de Varnetot, walking off at a rapid pace, disappeared around the corner, followed closely by his escort. Then the doctor, slightly dismayed, returned to the crowd. When he was near enough to be heard he cried: "Hurrah! Hurrah! The Republic triumphs all along the line!"

But no emotion was manifested. The doctor tried again. "The people are free! You are free and independent! Do you understand? Be proud of it!"

The listless villagers looked at him with eyes unlit by glory. In his turn he looked at them, indignant at their indifference, seeking for some wore that could make a grand impression, electrify this placid country and make good his mission. The inspiration came, and turning to Pommel, he said "Lieutenant, go and get the bust of the ex-emperor, which is in the Council Hall, and bring it to me with a chair."

And soon the man reappears, carrying on his right shoulder Napoleon II in plaster and holding in his left hand a straw-bottomed chair.

Massarel met him, took the chair, placed it on the ground, put the white image upon it, fell back a few steps and called out in sonorous voice:

"Tyrant! Tyrant! Here do you fall! Fall in the dust and in the mire. An expiring country groans under your feet. Destiny has called you the Avenger. Defeat and shame cling to you. You fall conquered, a prisoner to the Prussians, and upon the ruins of the crumbling Empire the young and radiant Republic arises, picking up your broken sword."

He awaited applause. But there was no voice, no sound. The bewildered peasants remained silent. And the bust, with its pointed mustaches extending beyond the cheeks on each side, the bust, so motionless and well groomed as to be fit for a hairdresser's sign, seemed to be looking at M. Massarel with a plaster smile, a smile ineffaceable and mocking.

They remained thus face to face, Napoleon on the chair, the doctor I front of him about three steps away. Suddenly the commander grew angry.

What was to be done? What was there that would move this people and bring about a definite victory in opinion? His hand happened to rest on his hip and to come in contact there with the butt end of his revolver under his red sash. No inspiration, no further word would come. But he drew his pistol, advanced two steps and, taking aim, fired at the late monarch. The ball entered the forehead, leaving a little black hole like a spot, nothing more. There was no effect. Then he fired a second shot, which made a second hole, then a third; and then, without stopping, he emptied his revolver. The brow of Napoleon disappeared in white powder, but the eyes, the nose and the fine points of the mustaches remained intact. Then, exasperated, the doctor overturned the chair with a blow of his fist and, resting a foot on the remainder of the bust in a position of triumph, he shouted: "So let all tyrants perish!"

Still no enthusiasm was manifest, and as the spectators seemed to be in a kind of stupor from astonishment the commander called to the militiamen:

You may now go to your homes." And he went toward his own house with great strides, as if he were pursued.

His maid, when he appeared, told him that some patients had been waiting in his office for three hours. He hastened in. There were the two varicose-vein patients, who had returned at daybreak, obstinate but patient.

The old man immediately began his explanation: "This began by a feeling like ants running up and down the legs."

Saturday, January 2, 2016

Home Reading Report: Dear John

Home Reading Report: Dear John

More home reading reports here

I. Title: Dear John
II. Author: Nicholas Sparks
III. Classification of Fiction: Romance Fiction
IV. Point of View: First Person
V. General Setting

Place – Germany , Lenoir and  North Carolina, Wilmington
Time- Year 2000 - 2007
Weather Conditions- Autumn , Spring , Summer and Winter
Social Conditions- John Tyree is an Army, and Savannah Lynn Curtis is  a  Teacher

VI.  Characters 
Main Characters: John Tyree and Savannah Lynn Curtis
Minor/Supporting Characters: Tim, Randy, Susan, Brad, Jill, Lucy, Alan, Tony, Mr. Tyree

VII.  Brief summary

He lived only with his father because his mother left them after he was born. John’s father likes to collect the coins, but as John growing up, he didn’t like what his father did and even shouted to his father. When he was a teenager, he used to hung out with his friends every day. 

He even didn’t know what to do with his future, but he still pretended everything was okay. However, after Lucy who has been his girlfriend departed him, he faced the music and thought more about the future. Then, he enlisted in the army. He spent two weeks vacation at Wilmington to visit his dad and at the same time enjoyed surfing at the beach which was one of his favorite hobbies.  When Savannah and her friends went to the beach and accidentally her purse fell in the water, suddenly John Tyree offer a hand and helped Savannah Lynn Curtis to save her purse which was very important to Savannah. After that happened, John and Savannah became close with each other. John decided to help Savannah in some community service she conducted to help the poor, because of this John Tyree decided to asked Savannah for a friendly date, but their friendship became strong as days goes by.

Rising Action/Inciting Incident/Motivating Force
When Savannah introduced John to her friends, John met Tim, Savannah’s best friend. John noticed that Tim liked Savannah a lot, but Tim was a good man John knew that, but he can’t deny the fact that he felt jealous about what he had noticed but at the same time he knew too that he have no right to be jealous about Tim because at first Savannah and him were just friend.

Their attraction is mutual and they quickly fall in love. John and Savannah became lovers. John Tyree introduced Savannah to his father. Savannah meets John's father, a reclusive man who seems to be obsessed with his coin collection but his genuine interest draws her, to John's surprise. Savannah knew the relationship of John to his father, John told Savannah about everything including the things that his dad always do and that is talking about coins, because of that, Savannah became interested to meet John’s father and John can’t resist to refuse Savannah’s favor. After Savannah met John’s father, she understood the situation of John’s father. Savannah mentions to John that his father, like Alan, may have autism. This upsets John, who storms off, and then gets into a fight with Savannah's friend Randy and, in the process, accidentally punches Tim, but after that John apologizes about the action he had done, and he decided to talk to Savannah to make things right before he leave for his job in the army.

Climax/Turning Point
John left Wilmington once again, at the same time he left Savannah and his dad. John and Savannah continue their relationship through letters, expecting to build a life together when he leaves the army. John was based on different countries, he doesn’t know what to think about the situation he had. John and Savannah sent each other letter every month, but as months goes by John noticed that the letter from Savannah had changed a lot, but he tried to be positive even though he knew what was happening. Months goes by, John never receive letter from Savannah, John can’t understand why it was happening, until a letter from Savannah arrived and inside the letter are words of goodbye that made John hurt and upset. John tried to never think of Savannah and just focus on his job as an army, John received different compliments because of his determination, and he became a higher officer leading his battalion. But everything started to fall apart again, he received the news that his dad suffered from a heart attack, he decided to go home to Wilmington and be with his dad for the remaining months of his leave. John’s father died and it made John feel more sad and lonely. As he went back to Wilmington, John met Savannah. This time John goes to visit Savannah and is shocked to find that she has married Tim and is living with him, but Tim was suffering from a condition called melanoma. John knows that he is still in love with Savannah, Savannah and him talked about what happened between the two of them and Savannah can’t hide anymore the truth that she was hurt about what he did and what had happened in their story. The love is still present in both of them, but John made a decision that for him was the right thing to do. He decided to never be with Savannah again, even if Tim told him that Savannah will be happier if she will be with his arms again. John chose to respect Tim and Alan (Tim’s Brother) he know that Alan need a guardian like Savannah that would help him gets through all the pains he was experiencing.

Falling Action
Before John leaves to go back Iraq, he decided to offer all the money he got from the coin collection of his dad. He offered the money to Tim’s operation but he decided to hide his identity especially to Savannah. Tim get better, John knew that it was the biggest choice he had ever made. He knew that Tim loves Savannah as much as he loves Savannah. It’s the full moon that time and he needs to see something. Although he knows she won’t come out him as to see. Staring at the door, it opens and savannah steps out. She moves to the middle of the yard and to john's surprise, he thinks that she can see him. The full moon is when they both remembered their time shared together. And as savannah looks up at the moon, John knows that she still loves him.

John made the biggest choice of his life and that was to set Savannah free and let Savannah be with Tim, but John’s love to Savannah never fade, for him Savannah will always be the first girl he loved the most, the girl who made him once complete, the girl he knows he’ll never forget. It was easy to tell that they still loved each other but it wasn’t enough. When John decided to give the money from his Dad’s collection to Tim, I was so upset, but I realized that he was only doing that because of his love for Savannah. John only wanted her to be happy so that made sense. I wasn’t happy with the ending because I wanted to get back together, but it’s okay.

VIII. Lesson

Loving someone is one of the best feelings in this world. There are people who walk into our lives and change it in ways we could have never imagined but they can't stay with us forever. Dear John teaches us to treasure what we have because one day we could lose it all.

IX.  Theme

Unconditional LOVE.

Home Reading Report in Filipino (Tagalog)

Pamagat: Malang Panginoon
(Isang Pagsusuri)

I. Paksa

Ang kuwentong, Walang Panginoon, ay umiikot sa isang maralitang pamilya at sa kanilang pakikipagtunggali sa mga mayayamang nagsasamantala sa kanila. Masusuri dito ang agwat ng mayayaman sa mahihirap na tao sa lipunan. Mababatid din ang pagtatagisan ng dalawang puwersa, ang naghaharing uri, na kinakatawan ni Don Teong at ng mababang uri, na makikita sa tauhang si Marcos. Umiikot ang buong kwento sa pagpatay ng katarungan, kalayaan at hustisya sa mabababang uri ng mga tao sa lipunan.

Kinamkam ni Don Teong ang lupaing sinasaka nina Marcos na mula pa sa kanilang ninuno. Namatay ang ama ni Marcos sa sobrang sama ng loob nito kay Don Teong samantalang ang tiyuhin nito ay namatay din habang nagsisilbi dito. Nang malaman ni Don Teong na magkasintahan si Marcos at si Anita, ang anak nito, sinaktan niya ito hanggang sa magkasakit. Lalong sumama ang loob nito Marcos kay Don Teong at ginusto nitong maghiganti.

III. Tauhan

a. Marcos – binatang magsasaka na namatayan ng ama, tiyuhin, at kasintahan at masama ang loob kay Don Teong

b. Don Teong – mayamang nagkamkam ng lupa nina Marcos at binuwisan sila, hanggang mabigyan na ng taning na palayasin ang pamilya ng magsasaka sa kanilang lupa

c. Anita – anak ni Don Teong at kasintahan ni Marcos. Namatay dahil sa pananakit ng ama.
d. Ina ni Marcos – ang kaisa-isang natirang kasama ni Marcos at dahilan kung bakit nagtitiis siya para lumigaya ang ina.

IV. Tagpuan

Ang kwento ay naganap sa isang bukid sa bayan nila Marcos at Don Teong. 

V. Banghay

Si Marcos ay isang binatang maralita na magsasaka. Patay na ang kanyang ama’t tiyuhin at ang kasama na lang niya’y ang kanyang ina.

Nagsasaka sila sa lupang pagmamay-ari umano ng ninuno nila, subalit kinamkam ito ng isang mayamang nagngangalang Don Teong. Namatay ang ama niya sa sama ng loob dito, habang ang tiyuhin niya ay namatay habang nagsisilbi sa Don.

Si Anita, ang anak ni Don Teong, ay isang dalagang matapos mag-aral sa Maynila ay bumalik sa nayon nila. Nag-iibigan sila ni Marcos. Noong nalaman ni Don Teong na magkasintahan ang anak niya’t si Marcos ay sinimulan niyang saktan si Anita, hanggang ito ay magkasakit at mamatay. Dahil dito, mas sumama pa ang loob ni Marcos sa Don at ginusto niyang maghiganti rito.

Sa dahilang si Marcos ay isang magsasaka, mayroon siyang kalabaw na mahal niya sa lahat ng mga alaga niya. Kung umaga’y kasama niya ito para magsaka, at kung gabi’y iniiwan niya ito sa dulo ng lupang nililibot ni Don Teong araw-araw.

Isang gabi’y biglang umuwi si Marcos na may dala-dalang mga gamit na gaya ng sinusuot ni Don Teong. Simula nito’y lagi na siyang ginagabi umuwi dahil sinasaktan niya ang kanyang kalabaw habang sinusuot ang mga ito kung gabi. Nilalatigo niya ito hanggang ito ay umungol na umano’y naririnig hanggang sa bayan.

Isang gabi’y biglang kumalat ang balitang namatay na raw si Don Teong. Wasak-wasak daw ang katawan niya dahil sinugod siya at sinungay ng kalabaw habang siya’y naglilibot sa kanyang lupa, sa pag-aakalang ito ang nananakit sa kanya kung gabi.

VI. Simbolo at Pahiwatig

Ang kalabaw ang naging simbolo ng kwento. Sa pamamagitan ng kalabaw, nakamit ni Marcos ang inaasam  niyang maghihiganti kay Don Teong.

VII. Talasalitaan

Animas – pagtunog ng kampana sa simbahan Kakirot – kasakit
Batingaw – kampana Ningas – alab, apoy
Sinisiputan – dinadatnan Pagkuyom – pananakit
Sinamsam – kinukuha Nakapagpalubag – nakapagpakalma
Takipan at talinduwa – pagsasabwatan Nagsimpan – umamin, naghayag

VIII. Aral

Bigyan ng hustisya ang mahihirap na tao sa lipunan at bigyan sila ng karapatan. Huwag gamitin ang kapangyarihan upang tapakan ang maliliit at mahihirap na tao.

Credit: Deogracias A. Rosario

Home Reading Report Samples

TITLE: The Soul of the Great Bell
AUTHOR: Lafcadio Hearn
The setting of The Soul Of The Great Bell was nearly five hundred years ago in the City of Pecking now Beijing


Ko-Ngai – Daughter of Kouan-Yu and the one who sacrificed herself.
Kouan-Yu – a worthy mandarin and father of Ko-Ngai.

Celestial August- The son of heaven.


The water-clock marks the hour in the Tachungsz', in the Tower of the Great Bell: now the mallet is lifted to smite the lips of the metal monster-the vast lips inscribed with Buddhist texts from the sacred Fa-hwa-King, from the chapters of the holy Ling-yen-King

Hear the great bell responding!-how mighty her voice, though tongueless! KO-NGAI! All the little dragons on the high-tilted eaves of the green roofs shiver to the tips of their gilded tails under that deep wave of sound; all the porcelain gargoyles tremble on their carven perches; all the hundred little bells of the pagodas quiver with desire to speak. 

KO-NGAI-all the green-and-gold tiles of the temple are vibrating; the wooden goldfish above them are writhing against the sky; the uplifted finger of Fo shakes high over the heads of the worshippers through the blue fog of incense! 

KO-NGAI!-What a thunder tone was that! All the lacquered goblins on the palace cornices wriggle their fire-coloured tongues! And after each huge shock, how wondrous the multiple echo and the great golden moan, and, at last, the sudden sibilant sobbing in the ears when the immense tone faints away in broken whispers of silver, as though a woman should whisper, "Hiai!" Even so the great bell hath sounded every day for well-nigh five hundred years-Ko-Ngai: first with stupendous clang, then with immeasurable moan of gold, then with silver murmuring of "Hiai!" And there is not a child in all the many-coloured ways of the old Chinese city who does not know the story of the great bell, who cannot tell you why the great bell says Ko-Ngai and Hiai!

Rising Action:
But when the metal had been cast, and the earthen mould separated from the glowing casting, it was discovered that, despite their great labour and ceaseless care, the result was void of worth; for the metals had rebelled one against the other-the gold had scorned alliance with the brass, the silver would not mingle with the molten iron. Therefore the moulds had to be once more prepared, and the fires rekindled, and the metal remelted, and all the work tediously and toilsomely repeated. The Son of Heaven heard and was angry, but spake nothing

Then the father of Ko-Ngai, wild with his grief, would have leaped in after her, but that strong men held him back and kept firm grasp upon him until he had fainted away, and they could bear him like one dead to his home. And the serving-woman of Ko-Ngai, dizzy and speechless for pain, stood before the furnace, still holding in her hands a shoe, a tiny, dainty shoe, with embroidery of pearls and flowers-the shoe of her beautiful mistress that was. For she had sought to grasp Ko-Ngai by the foot as she leaped, but had only been able to clutch the shoe, and the pretty shoe came off in her hand; and she continued to stare at it like one gone mad.

But in spite of all these things, the command of the Celestial and August had to be obeyed, and the work of the moulders to be finished, hopeless as the result might be. Yet the glow of the metal seemed purer and whiter than before; and there was no sign of the beautiful body that had been entombed therein. So the ponderous casting was made; and lo! when the metal had become cool, it was found that the bell was beautiful to look upon and perfect in form, and wonderful in colour above all other bells. Nor was there any trace found of the body of Ko-Ngai; for it had been totally absorbed by the precious alloy, and blended with the well-blended brass and gold, with the intermingling of the silver and the iron. And when they sounded the bell, its tones were found to be deeper and mellower and mightier than the tones of any other bell, reaching even beyond the distance of one hundred li, like a pealing of summer thunder; and yet also like some vast voice uttering a name, a woman's name, the name of Ko-Ngai.

Falling Action:
And still, between each mighty stroke there is a long low moaning heard; and ever the moaning ends with a sound of sobbing and of complaining, as though a weeping woman should murmur, "Hiai!" And still, when the people hear that great golden moan they keep silence, but when the sharp, sweet shuddering comes in the air, and the sobbing of "Hiai!" then, indeed, do all the Chinese mothers in all the many-coloured ways of Pe-King whisper to their little ones: "Listen! that is Ko-Ngai crying for her shoe! That is Ko-Ngai calling for her shoe!"

When Ko-Ngai sacrificed herself to make the great bell and save her father’s life.

The theme of the story is Life process because it is showed in the story the experiences of Kouan-Yu and Ko-Ngai and what a child can do in order to save his/her parents. 

Learn to sacrifice and make right decisions.

The Terrible Old Man

It was the design of Angelo Ricci and Joe Czanek and Manuel Silva to call on the Terrible Old Man. This old man dwells all alone in a very ancient house on Water Street near the sea, and is reputed to be both exceedingly rich and exceedingly feeble; which forms a situation very attractive to men of the profession of Messrs. Ricci, Czanek, and Silva, for that profession was nothing less dignified than robbery.

The inhabitants of Kingsport say and think many things about the Terrible Old Man which generally keep him safe from the attention of gentlemen like Mr. Ricci and his colleagues, despite the almost certain fact that he hides a fortune of indefinite magnitude somewhere about his musty and venerable abode. He is, in truth, a very strange person, believed to have been a captain of East India clipper ships in his day; so old that no one can remember when he was young, and so taciturn that few know his real name. Among the gnarled trees in the front yard of his aged and neglected place he maintains a strange collection of large stones, oddly grouped and painted so that they resemble the idols in some obscure Eastern temple. This collection frightens away most of the small boys who love to taunt the Terrible Old Man about his long white hair and beard, or to break the small-paned windows of his dwelling with wicked missiles; but there are other things which frighten the older and more curious folk who sometimes steal up to the house to peer in through the dusty panes. These folk say that on a table in a bare room on the ground floor are many peculiar bottles, in each a small piece of lead suspended pendulum-wise from a string. And they say that the Terrible Old Man talks to these bottles, addressing them by such names as Jack, Scar-Face, Long Tom, Spanish Joe, Peters, and Mate Ellis, and that whenever he speaks to a bottle the little lead pendulum within makes certain definite vibrations as if in answer.

Those who have watched the tall, lean, Terrible Old Man in these peculiar conversations, do not watch him again. But Angelo Ricci and Joe Czanek and Manuel Silva were not of Kingsport blood; they were of that new and heterogeneous alien stock which lies outside the charmed circle of New England life and traditions, and they saw in the Terrible Old Man merely a tottering, almost helpless grey-beard, who could not walk without the aid of his knotted cane, and whose thin, weak hands shook pitifully. They were really quite sorry in their way for the lonely, unpopular old fellow, whom everybody shunned, and at whom all the dogs barked singularly. But business is business, and to a robber whose soul is in his profession, there is a lure and a challenge about a very old and very feeble man who has no account at the bank, and who pays for his few necessities at the village store with Spanish gold and silver minted two centuries ago.

Messrs. Ricci, Czanek, and Silva selected the night of April 11th for their call. Mr. Ricci and Mr. Silva were to interview the poor old gentleman, whilst Mr. Czanek waited for them and their presumable metallic burden with a covered motor-car in Ship Street, by the gate in the tall rear wall of their hosts grounds. Desire to avoid needless explanations in case of unexpected police intrusions prompted these plans for a quiet and unostentatious departure.

As prearranged, the three adventurers started out separately in order to prevent any evil-minded suspicions afterward. Messrs. Ricci and Silva met in Water Street by the old mans front gate, and although they did not like the way the moon shone down upon the painted stones through the budding branches of the gnarled trees, they had more important things to think about than mere idle superstition. They feared it might be unpleasant work making the Terrible Old Man loquacious concerning his hoarded gold and silver, for aged sea-captains are notably stubborn and perverse. Still, he was very old and very feeble, and there were two visitors. Messrs. Ricci and Silva were experienced in the art of making unwilling persons voluble, and the screams of a weak and exceptionally venerable man can be easily muffled. So they moved up to the one lighted window and heard the Terrible Old Man talking childishly to his bottles with pendulums. Then they donned masks and knocked politely at the weather-stained oaken door.

Waiting seemed very long to Mr. Czanek as he fidgeted restlessly in the covered motor-car by the Terrible Old Mans back gate in Ship Street. He was more than ordinarily tender-hearted, and he did not like the hideous screams he had heard in the ancient house just after the hour appointed for the deed. Had he not told his colleagues to be as gentle as possible with the pathetic old sea-captain? Very nervously he watched that narrow oaken gate in the high and ivy-clad stone wall. Frequently he consulted his watch, and wondered at the delay. Had the old man died before revealing where his treasure was hidden, and had a thorough search become necessary? Mr. Czanek did not like to wait so long in the dark in such a place. Then he sensed a soft tread or tapping on the walk inside the gate, heard a gentle fumbling at the rusty latch, and saw the narrow, heavy door swing inward. And in the pallid glow of the single dim street-lamp he strained his eyes to see what his colleagues had brought out of that sinister house which loomed so close behind. But when he looked, he did not see what he had expected; for his colleagues were not there at all, but only the Terrible Old Man leaning quietly on his knotted cane and smiling hideously. Mr. Czanek had never before noticed the colour of that mans eyes; now he saw that they were yellow.

Little things make considerable excitement in little towns, which is the reason that Kingsport people talked all that spring and summer about the three unidentifiable bodies, horribly slashed as with many cutlasses, and horribly mangled as by the tread of many cruel boot-heels, which the tide washed in. And some people even spoke of things as trivial as the deserted motor-car found in Ship Street, or certain especially inhuman cries, probably of a stray animal or migratory bird, heard in the night by wakeful citizens. But in this idle village gossip the Terrible Old Man took no interest at all. He was by nature reserved, and when one is aged and feeble, ones reserve is doubly strong. Besides, so ancient a sea-captain must have witnessed scores of things much more stirring in the far-off days of his unremembered youth.

Written on January 28, 1920, and published in the in 1921, The Terrible Old Man is of particular interest to fans of H.P. Lovecraft because it mark's the introduction of Lovecraft's fictional geography, setting his work, for the first time, in the fictional New England town of Kingsport.

The Cactus

The most notable thing about Time is that it is so purely relative. A large amount of reminiscence is, by common consent, conceded to the drowning man; and it is not past belief that one may review an entire courtship while removing one's gloves.

That is what Trysdale was doing, standing by a table in his bachelor apartments. On the table stood a singular-looking green plant in a red earthen jar. The plant was one of the species of cacti, and was provided with long, tentacular leaves that perpetually swayed with the slightest breeze with a peculiar beckoning motion.

Trysdale's friend, the brother of the bride, stood at a sideboard complaining at being allowed to drink alone. Both men were in evening dress. White favors like stars upon their coats shone through the gloom of the apartment.
As he slowly unbuttoned his gloves, there passed through Trysdale's mind a swift, scarifying retrospect of the last few hours. It seemed that in his nostrils was still the scent of the flowers that had been banked in odorous masses about the church, and in his ears the lowpitched hum of a thousand well-bred voices, the rustle of crisp garments, and, most insistently recurring, the drawling words of the minister irrevocably binding her to another.

From this last hopeless point of view he still strove, as if it had become a habit of his mind, to reach some conjecture as to why and how he had lost her. Shaken rudely by the uncompromising fact, he had suddenly found himself confronted by a thing he had never before faced --his own innermost, unmitigated, arid unbedecked self.

He saw all the garbs of pretence and egoism that he had worn now turn to rags of folly. He shuddered at the thought that to others, before now, the garments of his soul must have appeared sorry and threadbare. Vanity and conceit? These were the joints in his armor. And how free from either she had always been--But why--

As she had slowly moved up the aisle toward the altar he had felt an unworthy, sullen exultation that had served to support him. He had told himself that her paleness was from thoughts of another than the man to whom she was about to give herself. But even that poor consolation had been wrenched from him. For, when he saw that swift, limpid, upward look that she gave the man when he took her hand, he knew himself to be forgotten. Once that same look had been raised to him, and he had gauged its meaning. Indeed, his conceit had crumbled; its last prop was gone. Why had it ended thus? There had been no quarrel between them, nothing--
For the thousandth time he remarshalled in his mind the events of those last few days before the tide had so suddenly turned.

She had always insisted upon placing him upon a pedestal, and he had accepted her homage with royal grandeur. It had been a very sweet incense that she had burned before him; so modest (he told himself); so childlike and worshipful, and (he would once have sworn) so sincere. She had invested him with an almost supernatural number of high attributes and excellencies and talents, and he had absorbed the oblation as a desert drinks the rain that can coax from it no promise of blossom or fruit.

As Trysdale grimly wrenched apart the seam of his last glove, the crowning instance of his fatuous and tardily mourned egoism came vividly back to him. The scene was the night when he had asked her to come up on his pedestal with him and share his greatness. He could not, now, for the pain of it, allow his mind to dwell upon the memory of her convincing beauty that night--the careless wave of her hair, the tenderness and virginal charm of her looks and words. But they had been enough, and they had brought him to speak.

During their conversation she had said:

"And Captain Carruthers tells me that you speak the Spanish language like a native. Why have you hidden this accomplishment from me? Is there anything you do not know?"

Now, Carruthers was an idiot. No doubt he (Trysdale) had been guilty (he sometimes did such things) of airing at the club some old, canting Castilian proverb dug from the hotchpotch at the back of dictionaries. Carruthers, who was one of his incontinent admirers, was the very man to have magnified this exhibition of doubtful erudition.

But, alas! the incense of her admiration had been so sweet and flattering. He allowed the imputation to pass without denial. Without protest, he allowed her to twine about his brow this spurious bay of Spanish scholarship. He let it grace his conquering head, and, among its soft convolutions, he did not feel the prick of the thorn that was to pierce him later.

How glad, how shy, how tremulous she was! How she fluttered like a snared bird when he laid his mightiness at her feet! He could have sworn, and he could swear now, that unmistakable consent was in her eyes, but, coyly, she would give him no direct answer. "I will send you my answer to-morrow," she said; and he, the indulgent, confident victor, smilingly granted the delay. The next day he waited, impatient, in his rooms for the word. At noon her groom came to the door and left the strange cactus in the red earthen jar. There was no note, no message, merely a tag upon the plant bearing a barbarous foreign or botanical name. He waited until night, but her answer did not come. His large pride and hurt vanity kept him from seeking her. Two evenings later they met at a dinner. Their greetings were conventional, but she looked at him, breathless, wondering, eager. He was courteous, adamant, waiting her explanation. With womanly swiftness she took her cue from his manner, and turned to snow and ice. Thus, and wider from this on, they had drifted apart. Where was his fault? Who had been to blame? Humbled now, he sought the answer amid the ruins of his self-conceit. If--
The voice of the other man in the room, querulously intruding upon his thoughts, aroused him.

"I say, Trysdale, what the deuce is the matter with you? You look unhappy as if you yourself had been married instead of having acted merely as an accomplice. Look at me, another accessory, come two thousand miles on a garlicky, cockroachy banana steamer all the way from South America to connive at the sacrifice--please to observe how lightly my guilt rests upon my shoulders. Only little sister I had, too, and now she's gone. Come now! take something to ease your conscience."

"I don't drink just now, thanks," said Trysdale.

"Your brandy," resumed the other, coming over and joining him, "is abominable. Run down to see me some time at Punta Redonda, and try some of our stuff that old Garcia smuggles in. It's worth the, trip. Hallo! here's an old acquaintance. Wherever did you rake up this cactus, Trysdale?"

"A present," said Trysdale, "from a friend. Know the species?"
"Very well. It's a tropical concern. See hundreds of 'em around Punta every day. Here's the name on this tag tied to it. Know any Spanish, Trysdale?"
"No," said Trysdale, with the bitter wraith of a smile--"Is it Spanish?"
"Yes. The natives imagine the leaves are reaching out and beckoning to you. They call it by this name--Ventomarme. Name means in English, 'Come and take me.'"