*Dissident*
March 27th, 2008, 02:31 AM
I guess this is as good of place as any for this. Give me some critiques on how I can improve on this essay so I can send it to a university and they will love me. Its a true story by the way.
the woodpecker:
It lay there, in the quickly saturated dirt, the pumping blood beginning to slow its drain from its beaten and bloody face. Its beak had been shattered, its face and wings badly shredded. It had several BBs imbedded in its neck and underside, bright red both with blood, and its original hue. It was missing a talon on its right leg.
I had killed the Red-Chested and now Red Faced woodpecker, when I was 11 years old. I was not angry, nor was I testing my skill as a sharp shooter. My BB gun pierced its beak and head not in rage nor skill. It was brutal, it was bloody, and it was not beautiful. The woodpecker had done nothing to make me shoot at it. It sat on a branch, next to my house in a vacant lot, staring at a tree, yet doing nothing. And that is why I shot at it. It was doing exactly nothing.
Even as I shot at it, over, and over, and over, pounding its gullet and long black beak with the lead pellets, covering its face in its bright radio-flyer blood, it did not even twitch. It sat there, on its branch, taking my blows, destroying its beauty, taking its life. Eventually, after it took its beating, he eventually fell to the ground. I walked over to where he fell, and saw what I had done.
Its once majestic face had been pounded to a bloody pulp. It glistened macabre in the August sun. I began to cry. I didn’t stop for almost an hour. I had killed an animal. It was the only animal I had ever killed, and ever killed since.
What saddened me the most of all was not the fact I had taken a life; it was why I had done what I did. It wasn’t for target practice, nor for some sadistic pleasure. Both the bird and myself had committed the same crime; nothing. Neither of us had any motive, any drive.. I was guilty for action without purpose, the woodpecker for purpose without action. We only had half of prerequisites for achievement, and both paid the price And both of us gave up part of our life that day.
For all of my life I had struggled with having both purpose and action. I have always been an extremely imaginative person, spending much of my time, both as a child and a young adult, playing pretend. My friends and I would spend hours pretending we were super heroes, or move stars, or scientists. I would make detailed drawings on my father’s drafting table of a fantastic new jet engine, or a new kind of water-powered car. I designed over ten different tree houses, all of which I still have buried deep in my closet. But none of these “brilliant” designs ever fleshed out; even the plausible ones.
Oh, I attempted to flesh out my brilliant ideas. I would send my designs for jet engines in a postmarked envelope with a hand written letter on notebook paper with a copy of my brilliant design to Boeing and NASA (I never received or expected a reply) in the hopes that I would receive some sort of recognition of my genius. I gave designs of my handheld laser gun to my police officer uncle, hoping he could give it to the right people to make it happen. But I never started working on that tree house. I never even bought a single piece of lumber, or scoped out the right tree. I never built my spring-powered catapult, or bottle-rocket propelled derby car. I preferred imagining that these things existed, rather than actually seeing them through. I had plenty of purpose to what I imagined; just not the action to make them come true.
That all changed when I killed that woodpecker. After I wiped the tears from my face, I buried the poor bird. I made it a small gravestone, with the words “The Woodpecker” painted on it in red model paint. After my gruesome task, I made a vow to myself, and the woodpecker. Never again would I lack purpose or action. Everything I did, and will do, will be done with conviction, and everything I set my mind to, I will see through. The goals I set, the problems I face, the ideas I imagine, all of them started being fulfilled to the point where they were either surmounted and achieved, or failed. Both of those eventualities were victories in some way; at least I could stop wondering what could have been. I walked away from my challenges in life with a sense of satisfaction, both from having done my best and with hope for the next try.
I don’t know whether the grave I made for that woodpecker is still there. I moved away from that house long ago. However, I do know that the legacy it left behind is still going strong. Since that hot August day almost 6 years ago I have not killed an animal. Instead, I have made bird houses, volunteered at animal shelters, founded an environmental society at my high school, and changed how I look at the way people (and I) do things. I bring conviction to everything I do, and do things that I dream of doing. The day that Red-Chested woodpecker so violently lost his life, I started mine anew.
the woodpecker:
It lay there, in the quickly saturated dirt, the pumping blood beginning to slow its drain from its beaten and bloody face. Its beak had been shattered, its face and wings badly shredded. It had several BBs imbedded in its neck and underside, bright red both with blood, and its original hue. It was missing a talon on its right leg.
I had killed the Red-Chested and now Red Faced woodpecker, when I was 11 years old. I was not angry, nor was I testing my skill as a sharp shooter. My BB gun pierced its beak and head not in rage nor skill. It was brutal, it was bloody, and it was not beautiful. The woodpecker had done nothing to make me shoot at it. It sat on a branch, next to my house in a vacant lot, staring at a tree, yet doing nothing. And that is why I shot at it. It was doing exactly nothing.
Even as I shot at it, over, and over, and over, pounding its gullet and long black beak with the lead pellets, covering its face in its bright radio-flyer blood, it did not even twitch. It sat there, on its branch, taking my blows, destroying its beauty, taking its life. Eventually, after it took its beating, he eventually fell to the ground. I walked over to where he fell, and saw what I had done.
Its once majestic face had been pounded to a bloody pulp. It glistened macabre in the August sun. I began to cry. I didn’t stop for almost an hour. I had killed an animal. It was the only animal I had ever killed, and ever killed since.
What saddened me the most of all was not the fact I had taken a life; it was why I had done what I did. It wasn’t for target practice, nor for some sadistic pleasure. Both the bird and myself had committed the same crime; nothing. Neither of us had any motive, any drive.. I was guilty for action without purpose, the woodpecker for purpose without action. We only had half of prerequisites for achievement, and both paid the price And both of us gave up part of our life that day.
For all of my life I had struggled with having both purpose and action. I have always been an extremely imaginative person, spending much of my time, both as a child and a young adult, playing pretend. My friends and I would spend hours pretending we were super heroes, or move stars, or scientists. I would make detailed drawings on my father’s drafting table of a fantastic new jet engine, or a new kind of water-powered car. I designed over ten different tree houses, all of which I still have buried deep in my closet. But none of these “brilliant” designs ever fleshed out; even the plausible ones.
Oh, I attempted to flesh out my brilliant ideas. I would send my designs for jet engines in a postmarked envelope with a hand written letter on notebook paper with a copy of my brilliant design to Boeing and NASA (I never received or expected a reply) in the hopes that I would receive some sort of recognition of my genius. I gave designs of my handheld laser gun to my police officer uncle, hoping he could give it to the right people to make it happen. But I never started working on that tree house. I never even bought a single piece of lumber, or scoped out the right tree. I never built my spring-powered catapult, or bottle-rocket propelled derby car. I preferred imagining that these things existed, rather than actually seeing them through. I had plenty of purpose to what I imagined; just not the action to make them come true.
That all changed when I killed that woodpecker. After I wiped the tears from my face, I buried the poor bird. I made it a small gravestone, with the words “The Woodpecker” painted on it in red model paint. After my gruesome task, I made a vow to myself, and the woodpecker. Never again would I lack purpose or action. Everything I did, and will do, will be done with conviction, and everything I set my mind to, I will see through. The goals I set, the problems I face, the ideas I imagine, all of them started being fulfilled to the point where they were either surmounted and achieved, or failed. Both of those eventualities were victories in some way; at least I could stop wondering what could have been. I walked away from my challenges in life with a sense of satisfaction, both from having done my best and with hope for the next try.
I don’t know whether the grave I made for that woodpecker is still there. I moved away from that house long ago. However, I do know that the legacy it left behind is still going strong. Since that hot August day almost 6 years ago I have not killed an animal. Instead, I have made bird houses, volunteered at animal shelters, founded an environmental society at my high school, and changed how I look at the way people (and I) do things. I bring conviction to everything I do, and do things that I dream of doing. The day that Red-Chested woodpecker so violently lost his life, I started mine anew.