Luke Faulkner-Filosa

12/10/21
ENG 393
Final Portfolio

Self-Interview:
“So… to start off where do you often get your sources of inspiration for your story
ideas?”
To be honest, I usually sit down and start to think about topics or settings that have

recently interested me. These interests can be taken from real life scenarios I’ve encountered,

movies and tv shows I’ve watched, or just things that I’ve pondered about in my head. For

example, the hunter gatherer concept behind one of my stories “Year Ten Millieon”, was

heavily inspired by the movie Year One with where Jack Black and Michael Cera play as villagers

in a hunter gatherer society who explore the outside world for the first time.

“Interesting, what about today’s films and media gets your ideas flowing?”

Growing up, I remember my brothers and I used to watch movies all the time. I used to

be absolutely captured by the worlds portrayed in pictures like Star Wars, Harry Potter, Narnia,

Batman, Lord of the Rings, and many more that came to define certain aspects of my childhood

experience. Similar to how I used to pretend I was a lightsaber dueling jedi when I was 6, I try to

set myself in the that universe, take a mental walk around, and try to create a story inside that

abides by the rules of that fictional world while also creating a very human story that we can all

relate to in some degree.

“Safe to say you’re a fan of the sci-fi/fantasy genre then?”

Yeah I’d say so, but it has to be done right. I really need to believe that the setting makes

sense and is one that’s believable in its own way. Take James Cameron’s Avatar for example.
The setting of Pandora, this far away planet filled with all kinds of strange animals and

vegetation, and the concept of transferring your consciousness to an alien body would initially

come off as extremely strange and unfamiliar. But then include the part about the military

tricking the native people and stealing their most precious of natural resources, and now that

suddenly becomes a plotline that makes sense to us. I partially joke, but including elements that

we can relate to are also necessary in fictional stories such as these. Also, One of reasons why A

Song of Ice and Fire is one of my favorite novel series is because George R.R. Martin depicts a

fantasy world that is also littered with brutal realities. A world that’s filled with magic and

mystical elements but yet can also serve as a way to see into our own history’s past to see how

life was like back then. In fact, much of his inspiration for the novel’s battles and politics comes

from our own history books.

“Well, you’ve touched on how to make your setting believable, can you take me into how you
come up with developing a character that resonates?”
One of the first things I try to get out of a character is their personality. I want the

reader to first get a sense of who this person is without hearing about their background and life

story. I usually tend to do this through the use of dialogue with other supporting characters or

interpersonal thought if the story is told from a 1st person perspective. Another thing I first try

to think about is what kind of problems the character may have. This also doesn’t just mean

what kind of problems the main character faces, but also what’s problematic about themselves.

No one’s perfect, and making a perfect character leads to an ultimately boring narrative most of

the time.

“Moving on, what advice do you have for writers who often encounter writer’s block?”
 Writer’s block is something that happens to me every single time I sit down to write

something. Sometimes I find it best to completely remove yourself from the story and to go

distract yourself for a while before sitting back down and trying again. For me, this typically

includes activities such as watching TV, going to the gym, doing school work, or just quickly

getting something to eat. Sometimes I even rely on taking a nap and coming back to the story

when I wake up. Allowing your mind to drift off from what you’ve been trying to fixate on for

hours is necessary when coming up with unique and creative ideas.

“Are there any books or authors that got you into story telling?”

I do remember that one of the first novels that I felt like I couldn’t put down was Gary

Paulsen’s Hatchet. The way the author told his tale was almost like hearing a great campfire

story, where each moment had you wondering what was going to happen next, despite such

little dialogue or supporting characters. It never occurred to me that a story that’s all about

isolation would be so captivating. This was in about 3rd grade and I remember for the next 2 or 3

years, my summer reading list was packed with strictly Gary Paulsen and another one of my

favorite childhood authors, R.L. Stine. My bedroom bookcase used to be filled with

Goosebumps novels and was always a go to favorite of mine before going to bed as it got my

imagination running wild.

“We need to wrap up soon, but is there anything you want to say to any potential young
fiction writers out there?”
I’d tell them not to grow up. Always keep a piece of that child-like imagination with you

as it not only helps with creating quality fiction, but keeps your ideas fresh, original, and out of

pocket which can go a long way if you want to turn some heads in this industry. That, and it also
makes normal adult life far more enjoyable if you occasionally look at things in a bit of an

immature lens.

“That’s all the time we have today. Thank you for your time.”

Of course, thank you for having me!

Craft Paper

After browsing multiple short stories from various publications, I browsed American

Short Fiction and finally landed upon Babak Lakghomi’s, The North. I thoroughly enjoyed

reading this piece as it made me wonder what events happened in this universe to cause such a

plotline, and also had me intrigued in the lives of the narrator and the character of the uncle.

I’d say that the author’s choice of using a minimalistic writing style that doesn’t dive too deep

into detail is one that works well with the mysterious undertones of the story.

First off, I think that choosing to leave the finer details to the reader was a wise choice in

a story set in this world. The author leaves a lot to wonder, opting not to dive into the cause of

how these events came to be, but only hints that they indeed happened. In fact, the story pulls

us into this mystery immediately with the first two sentences, “My uncle was driving us North,

where the enemy planes hadn’t yet attacked. He took turns drinking from a bottle with the man

sitting up front.” Right off the gate, the story grabs our attention by having us contemplate

questions such as ‘where are they? Who’s attacking, What’s the uncle’s relationship with this

other man?’. Making the reader accept this world’s truths forces the audience to use their own

imagination and picture this post disaster environment with their own creative minds.
 Personally, I love these kinds of stories as they get my mind thinking past just the words

on the page. In addition, the author brings this level of mystery not only to the plot and setting,

but the characters themselves. We don’t get much information on the mother and father at all,

and the information we do get about the uncle’s past is shrouded with more questions. The

only thing that we get from the uncle is in the 7th paragraph, “All my brothers and sisters. None

of them were there for me… He was there for me.” This on top of the uncle’s sly comment

about his friend’s criminal past makes for an ultimately interesting character without revealing

too much. All in all, the omission of an explanation for the plot, setting, or character’s

background creates a world that is both believable and desired to be explored.

Also, the fact that the story is told from a 1st person perspective also drives home the

mysterious element of this story, and fits the writing format as well. Being told from the eyes of

a young kid, feeling the same confusion and curiosity as the narrator throughout the text

helped pull me in and step into their shoes on another level. I felt like I was right there with the

narrator, feeling curious whenever facts were obviously hidden from the kid, and shocked when

our narrator finally peeks inside his uncle’s hut. Also, the fact that it’s written from the

perspective of a young kid supports the character’s innocence and partial blindness to the

darker reality of the situation.

This blindness is even portrayed at the end when the narrator reminisces on that

summer from the future stating, “I remember the north, the boy selling honey by the roadside,

the sound of the rain falling into the tin buckets. The horses roaming in the hills.” Obviously, we

can see at the end that what made that summer memorable for our narrator is an entirely

different reason from why the rest of the family will likely never forget those moments. He/she
instead remembers the location and the people they met, just like a child would remember a

family vacation. Lastly, the fact that the story is written in short, surface level observations fit

the age level of character. While the author never reveals the narrator’s exact age or gender, I

personally assumed they were anywhere from 6-9 years old just based off how the other

characters treated him/her. The way that he/she noticed things and took in information slightly

reminded me of how I was when I was a kid. A curious ADHD ridden child who couldn’t focus on

one thing for more than a few seconds and didn’t really have an awareness of other people’s

emotions or motivations behind certain actions of others, a young kid living in his head. Overall,

I thought the creative decisions behind who the narrator was were extremely fitting and well

done.

Finally, while a part of me wishes that the story dove deeper into the setting and

introduce us to the resonating effects of these traumatic events on the rest of society, I again

support the author’s style choice. Although told through the mind of the kid, North is truly the

uncle’s story as we are constantly trying to figure out how he got himself and the rest of his

family to the point the story started off from. I’d even argue that the world building elements of

the story benefit from not having a spotlight shine directly on it. Doing this makes it feel like the

narrator is telling one of many other stories that could be going on in this world at the same

time. It helps create a larger whole that’s peculiar as it is intriguing.

As you can see, the style, format, and narration choices all contributed in creating an

enthralling and intriguing short story. These elements made the story unique as well as

relatable, and made for a genuinely made me want to dig my teeth in further to find out more

about the world depicted and the characters that we come to meet. In conclusion, the way that
Babak chose to format and approach his story, The North, heavily aided the dark and mystifying

themes that this short story accomplishes.

Unrevised Short Story

Year Ten Millie-on 

Millie had almost run out of time. It was ten million years since the Earth began,

and Millie sat in her tiny hut cold and hungry. Winter was quickly approaching and her

and the other hunters hadn't yet collected enough meat to feed themselves, much less

an entire village. She had just turned the elder age of twelve, she was now a woman,

and it was time for her first hunting trip. Most of the other hunters were seemingly

steroid enhanced adult men with scars on their faces and bulging veins around their

muscles. With grossly ungroomed facial hair came wildly luscious locks of long hair.

They kinda looked like a mixture of Mel Gibson in Braveheart and those guys from the

show Duck Dynasty, except less fat and less homophobic. 

She was sitting on her stump in the village sharpening her spears with a rock

when her friend Mitch approached her. 

“Hey Millie, whatcha doin?” 

“Hi Mitch, I'm just getting my weaponry ready for the hunting trip later. What’s up

with you?”

Mitch was a scrawny and tall boy. He too had veins bulging from his muscles,

except they were in more of a ‘that guy looks slightly ill” kind of way. Because of his

immense courage he was at one time a contender for becoming a hunter, but
unfortunately for him he was also incredibly brain-dead. On top of that, he didn't

possess an ounce of athleticism in him, so naturally he was assigned a gatherer. 

“I just went gathering with the ladies. I found these delicious brown berries, so it

was pretty successful!” Mitch stepped forward in front of Millie, she instantly noticed the

scratches running all down his arms and legs. He had been noticeably bleeding from a

bite mark as a dry reddish-brown streak pattern ran along his left arm.

Mitch threw back his hand to his mouth and tossed a berry in his mouth, almost

like how a dad would eat cashews from a closed hand during a long car ride. Millie had

never seen or heard of them, but Mitch looked like a dog with peanut butter in its mouth

just chomping his jaw up and down. 

“Those look crunchy,” Millie said, “can I try one?”

Mitch nodded and lowered his basket of brown berries to where Millie could see

which one she wanted to pick. She looked into the basket and then back at Mitch. He

shook the basket a little and moved it a tiny bit closer to her face. Once again, she

looked into the basket and back up at Mitch.

“What’s the problem Millie, don't you want one?”

“Mitch, where did you get these?” she asked sarcastically.

“I had to wrestle them away from a pack of squirrels, hence the scratches.”

“Mitch,” she took a deep breath of disappointment and paused, “these are

acorns.”

“Oh…” 

The big hunting trip was about to begin; Millie and the rest of the hunters were

waiting in a group to embark on their trip. Kyle, the hunting captain, slowly approached
the group with a speech prepared to inspire the team, or so they thought. He stood on

his rock slab podium and began. 

“Hey gang bad news. Steve, our slingshot specialist, was just found face down in

his shower pond. We need someone from the gatherers to take his spot or else we can't

go. Also, whoever drove the green wheel machine you parked in a fire lane.”

“Ah shoot,” Mitch murmured. He was with the group hoping he could sneak his

way onto the trip. He put his head down and began walking to his assemblement of

wood planks and rock wheels with a seat in the middle so he could move it and avoid a

ticket. 

“You there!” yelled Kyle, firmly pointing at Mitch “have you ever used a

slingshot?”

Mitch hadn't but he really wanted to go on the trip, so he gulped and mustered up

enough courage to squeak out, “Yup.” Just like that, Mitch became a hunter. 

They were deep in the forest hot on the trail of a pack of boars, following the hoof

prints and licking the dirt to try to find out where they were going. Suddenly, Millie heard

crackling behind a bush to her left. She bent down and started slowly crouching towards

it. Mitch saw her and followed with much less grace. She rounded the bush and saw a

massive boar, one that could feed the whole village for a month. Millie grabbed her

spear and threw her arm back ready to strike, waiting for her golden opportunity. Just as

she stood up and began moving her arm forward, Mitch barrel rolled from behind her,

sprang up on one knee, pulled back and released a rock from his slingshot with dazzling

grace. He missed, terribly, and hit Millie right in the back of the head, knocking her out

cold. 
 Luckily for the village, Millie fell forwards and right onto the boar, accidentally

penetrating its head with her spear. Kyle sat beside her and put her head on his lap. He

gave Millie some smelling salts to wake her up; they worked. When Millie awoke, she

saw the massive beast dead laying on its side. She immediately let out a gleeful

“Woohoo!!!” and raised her arms like when Rocky Balboa climbed those steps in

Philadelphia. By now the rest of the hunter group had circled around her to admire her

kill. Millie was so thrilled she decided to stand on the boar and do a celebration dance.

She bent her arms and began to swing each arm in two circles, one at a time, almost

like she was mixing a really big bowl of soup. The other hunters became ecstatic and

started to circle around her, chanting “Go Millie!” and “Millie rocks!” 

“This is such a cool dance!” Mitch said to Kyle.

“True! A dance of this nature certainly deserves a name.”

Hearing the roaring echoes of “Millie rocks!” in his ear, Mitch leaned closer to Kyle and

suggested, “How about the ‘Millie Rock’?”

“That is the first thing you said that wasn't ridiculously stupid. I like it Mitch.” By

this time, Kyle had realized that her rhythmic steps were now bruising the boar’s meat,

so he yelled out over the crowd, “Millie!! Get down!!”

Millie looked at him and started dancing harder. Her ‘Millie rocks’ becoming more rapid

in pace with every flick of the wrist.

“What is she doing?” Kyle asked Mitch.

“She's doing what you told her…. She's gettin down!” 

Millie was carried back to the village on the shoulders of the hunter men, like

royalty. The hunters repeatedly chanted her name into the cloudless star-studded night
as they marched along the densely wooded path, torches and Millie in hand. The

younger members in the back of the group would take turns running up to the front,

poorly imitating her newly discovered moves, which only made them look like fools in

the eyes of the now ever-popular Millie. Unfortunately for Mitch, he was assigned the

duty of bringing back the boar, but it was way too heavy for him to carry. Luckily, he

came up with a genius idea of how to bring it back.

Starved and exhausted, Mitch skinned the fresh kill and didn’t hesitate to start

devouring his long-awaited meal. There were too many villagers back home to share

the meat of just a single boar, and Mitch wouldn’t settle for a measly 4 oz. porkchop and

his wife’s ‘famous leaf and flower casserole’. No, not again. He kneeled down, and like

a wild animal, ate away at the boar until all that was left was head, bones, and an

incredibly full Mitch. When he arrived, he stepped out of the woods empty handed but

extremely bloated and fat. The villagers saw him without the boar, tied up his hands and

his feet, shoved an apple in his mouth, and roasted him over the fire. 

“Ya see Millie,” said Kyle wide grinned with a mouthful of meat, “things always

work out somehow.”

Revised Short Story

Across Borders
Thursday August 21, 2009, 14:00 PM

The high-pitched roaring of our Humvee filled our ears every time Sully would rev the

engine. Andrew and I sat in the back while Tommy resided in the passenger seat, his right arm

casually hanging outside the vehicle. I looked to my left to see Andrew staring out the window,

nervously tapping the side of his rifle slung around his shoulder. Two other units followed

behind us at a safe distance as clouds of dust and sand kick up from under our tires.

“Never a bad day to drive into abandoned shitholes possibly swarming with danger, am I

right boys?”. We all took a brief second to chuckle at Sully’s frivolity.

Rick Sullivan. I often wondered how Sully even got this far to be stationed in the middle

of the Iraqi desert, and sometimes questioned how he even got trusted to operate any kind of

vehicle, never mind military grade ones. Four months ago, I saw the then scrawny kid get

chewed up for talking back to boot camp officers and making dumb jokes when they weren’t

welcomed. Somehow all that torment and punishment from his superiors didn’t change much

because skip to today, and he’s still the same person as when I first met him, except now with a

little more muscle on his bones. Yet, as annoying, dense, and problematic as he was, Sully was a

guy that every soldier was lucky to have around them.

“Get your cameras ready boys. The bustling town of Fallujah is coming up.” Tommy

exclaimed wearing his Ray Ban sunglasses and backwards army trucker cap.

“I’ve heard the nightlife is out of this world.” Andrew joked from the back, head leaning

against the window of our violently shaking box of a vehicle.

Usually the quick witted one of the three of them, I had always felt like Tommy was too

good to be here ever since I met him last week in our private quarters, aka the rickety tent that
we call shelter at night. He was a human hand manual that always seemed to know everything

about anything. Something wrong with your Apache copter’s targeting systems? Tommy knows

how to fix it. Rifle jamming up and firing 6 inches to the right? Give it to Tommy. Need an

emergency medic to assess and treat your wounds? He’s not trained for that, but God-damnit get

him anyways. The man could be halfway through medical school to become a doctor at Yale

right now, but instead, he’s stuck 20 miles outside Fallujah scrubbing toilets and washing

Humvees. Duties that should be handled by the Sully’s of the world.

Our objective was simple, go into the western outskirts of battle-torn Fallujah and

evacuate the residential areas, scout the area, and report back with any problems that may

complicate next week’s advancement into the inner city. This meant checking for power and

water sources, clearing house after house looking for any potential threats, and much more

tedious chores that army recruiters usually sweep under the floor and wait that to be a fun

surprise. It was funny, my first time being sent out I felt like I was Rambo, but now every time I

leave base, I just feel like some over-glorified blue-collar worker, serving people who don’t even

want me in their homes, never-mind their country.

Thursday, August 21, 14:40PM

As we made our way into the city, it was anything but bustling. Half destroyed grey

bricked structures with their rubble laid out onto the streets start passing by as we head deeper

into this graveyard of buildings that some were still calling home. Only a few civilians were

walking on the empty streets, most of them men wearing their traditional headdresses and

carrying baskets full of food or freshly cleaned clothes.

 “What the hell are these camel jockeys still doing around here? Don’t they know there’s a

fucking war going on? … Jesus Christ.” Sully said, eyes fixed on the road in front of him. Being

brought up on southern culture, I understood Sully’s insensitivity to the Iraqi citizens and their

issues. I did not agree with it, but I had seen enough jarhead looking rednecks come through base

to know that, in their minds, they think it’s a war against Muslims and fail to see struggles these

people go through.

This got Andrew’s attention as he finally picked his head up from the window. “Shut the

hell up Ricky, you probably wouldn’t survive 2 days living out here without us. And can you not

say the lord’s name in vain?” Andrew exclaimed. That last part surprised me as I never had

thought of Andrew as the religious type before.

“Can I what? God makes me dumb as a rock, gives me a deadbeat father, gets me kicked

out of school, lands me a job driving y’all in this shithole, and yet I still can’t speak ill in his

name? The hell with that, if I get up there one day, I’ll tell him to grow a pair and learn to take

some crap like the rest of us,” Sully had now stepped over his emotional threshold, and I was

afraid that he wouldn’t be able to calm down before we started that day.

“Dumbass, half the things you just said are your own damn fault,” Andrew said

assertively. At this point I had enough.

“Shut up you two that’s enough! Sully take this next left coming up.” I said, trying to get

past the fact that 2 U.S. army soldiers, carrying thousands of dollars’ worth of equipment and

taxpayer money on their backs, were just bickering like school children. Sully turned left onto a

rubble ridden dirt road.

 Before we could even turn the corner to see the path’s horizon, a woman wearing a

brownish red veil and dark robes dashed out in front of the road about 20 yards ahead of us,

desperately waving her arms in the air. Unphased, Sully had no intention of letting off the gas,

breezing right past her, not even as much as looking at the woman as he resumed onward. The

high-pitched screams of our Humvee and clouds of dust were the only things that came to meet

her waves for help.

“Stop,” I said.

“Nah nah nah, I’m not falling for that shit Mikey. We get out of the car now I’m telling

you 10 of her dirty brown friends are gonna be waiting for us with assault rifles and RPGs. Yeah,

no thank you.”

“STOP THE CAR!”. I wasn’t sure what was ticking me off more, Sully’s ignorance to

direct orders, or his dumb ass ignorant comments.

Although, I did understand his thinking as Sully’s concern was a real one. We had heard

stories at camp of the townspeople baiting in U.S. soldiers. In fact, 6 weeks ago one of our patrol

units got into a lengthy fire fight after a young child convinced one of them his mom was

suffering from an infected gunshot wound. Turned out that wound happened to be 8 Taliban

fighters waiting in an abandoned building. Thankfully the unit only came back with one man

short.

Now a little over a football fields length away from the woman, Sully slowed and pulled

us over to the side of the road.

“You guys wait here.” I hopped out and slammed the door shut.
 It didn’t take more than 2 seconds before my crew’s brotherly antics started up again.

“Sully, you do realize that your ass is probably dirtier than any of her potential brown friends

right?” I heard Andrew say from inside along with Tommy’s outburst of laughs.

I walked down the street to see the woman now sprinting down the road. For a heavy-set

woman wearing closed toe sandals, I was almost taken back by the speed she was clocking in at.

She was pointing and looking back at a cobble building, now a little ways down the road, which

looked exactly the same as every other building for the next 6 blocks. She came up to me,

franticly speaking the language I had put admittingly put zero effort in learning since I had

arrived in Iraq. She kept pointing, occasionally putting her hands together and looking up as if

she was praying as she continued to yell in desperation.

“One moment please.” I put up my finger and casually walked back to our vehicle and

opened the front passenger door where Tommy sat fidgeting his thumbs. “Tommy get out here. I

need a translator.”

Tommy and I walked back to where the woman was still standing. I couldn’t understand

but she turned towards Tommy and repeated the same words she had tried to tell me.

A few minutes passed as I stood there looking at all the debris on the ground leftover

from repeated missile strikes.

Tommy turned and looked toward me. “Her husband’s head is bleeding from a falling

piece of cinderblock. From what she’s saying it sounds pretty bad. I could try to take a look and

get him cleaned and bandaged up at least.”

 I motioned Tommy to follow the woman back to her house. “Sully, Drew c’mon were

making a quick pitstop!” I yelled out. After a few moments, their door popped open, Sully

gingerly stepped out, obviously frustrated about what was occurring.

Thursday, August 11, 15:45PM

Drew and I stood there in their living room as Tommy was wrapping the gentlemen’s

head now covered in dry blood. The front end of their house was littered with various sized holes

which let in the sun’s rays from outside.

Something was off but I couldn’t tell what. I looked around the room. “Where’s Sully?”.

“I don’t know I saw him walk back outside like half an hour ago.” Andrew exclaimed

from the corner of the room. I walked back outside and marched back to our vehicle, fully

expecting the man to be sitting blasting his cassette player he liked to carry around. I walked up

and to my surprise, the vehicle was empty. I started my short walk back when I started to hear

repeated thuds. My pace picked up, along with the volume of the mysterious thuds. My walk

became a jog, a jog to a sprint, until stopped dead in my tracks, discovering the source of the

thuds which to this day will engrained into my head.

It was Sully. Head down, smiling as wide as the ocean, a soccer ball laid in between his

feet. Not 15 feet away, small boy was crouched against the building wall, staring at the ball with

intense concentration. Sully stepped back, paused, licked his finger and put it up in the air, as if

he was testing the nonexistent wind gusts in the middle of this ghost town. He put his arm down

and ran up to kick, missing the boy’s hands by inches as he dove out for the save, hitting the

back wall.
 Sully put threw his arms up like he had just won gold at the Olympics.

“GOOOAAAALLLL!!!” he yelled as his arms were now straight out at his sides, motioning

them like airplane wings as he moved towards the child in celebration. “Bending it like

Beckham!”. Of course, the boy had no clue what Sully was saying, but he didn’t care, nor did

Sully for that matter. The boy laughed and jumped in excitement, playfully reaching up and

slapping Sully at the waist to get him to stop rubbing it in.

“OOOOH 4-5 you better be scared! Sully’s making a comeback baby!” Sully foolishly

remarked as he set himself up in goal which was only outlined by the two’s pure imagination.

Using two hands, the boy placed the ball down in the middle of the alley, stepped back and

licked his finger, putting in up in the air as Sully had just done a minute before. Sully burst out

with an audible chuckle before the young boy wound up and kicked a low ball right at Sully’s

feet. Sully let it slide between his legs, letting the ball roll back to hit the wall.

Sully dropped to his knees. “NOOOO!”. The boy opened his mouth with a gigantic grin

and ran ecstatically in circles. Jumping and pumping his fist in the air like Rinaldo. “He’s too

good, he’s too good.” Sully jokingly said in playful defeat.

All of a sudden a familiar and blaring voice filled all of our ears. “ABBUD? ABBUD?”,

followed by some more words in the distance which were only alien to me. The boy’s

celebration run came to a slow stop. He stood there and turned around, his beaming smile now

came to a flat expression. He took the ball and waved goodbye to Sully as he walked back to his

home.
 Finally, Sully looked up and noticed me admiring their game from a distance. We met

eyes and instantly his wide grin was washed from his face, almost like he remembered why he

was here again.

“You guys all good in there now?” he asked.

“Yeah, Tommy took care of him.”

“Alright… let’s go.”

Short Exercise #3

A Day in the life of Clark Kent

“Hey Clark, what you got?” Holding a half-eaten granola bar, I look up from my

computer screen to see Johnny Carlo’s shiny bald head and bushy grey mustache peaking over

my cubicle. “Ughh, a granola bar?” I replied. My boss’s face remained unphased. “Not what I

meant Clark, you were supposed to get a call about the ongoing kidnapping story going down on

Kimberly Ave hours ago, did you type out the report yet? That story’s going in tomorrow’s

paper.” I hesitated, swallowing down my last piece of granola bar. “The official told me that they

were still at a standstill, just like they have been for the past 8 hours.” Johnny’s eyes widened

menacingly, “Well I hope you’re willing to work overtime until that situation is resolved because

I need that report by 7AM.” I glanced back down at my computer screen to check my already

completed report with the headline that reads ‘Superman Heroically Saves 4 hostages in

Brooklyn’. I peered back up at his wrinkled face, “Won’t be a problem sir.”

 Flying 800 feet above the Brooklyn cityscape, in the distance I could see the flashing of

blue and red lights surrounding a nearby apartment complex. As I slow down and make my

descent, I make out an army of police officers and bomb squad units surrounding one of the

apartment buildings. I touch down and make my landing on the recently salted slushy sidewalk.

Instantly, the chief pushes through his sea of officers to greet me, his tag reading ‘Cpt. Kelly’.

“Thank god you’re here, right now we have reason to believe there’s at least 1 homemade

explosive in the residence. No harm has been done to the hostages that we know of but I’m not

sending men in there without making sure it’s sa—”. “There’s no explosives in the building I

already did a sweep of the building from the sky” I said. The captain freezes for a second,

“Alright I’m just going to leave this to you then. I’m giving you 5 minutes and then me and my

men are coming in.” I nodded back to him as I walked past the other officers, eyes practically

bulging out of their sockets, staring at me like I was some god amongst mortals. It was times like

these where I almost wish that their stares of admiration could be replaced by the same soul

sucking stare of Johnny Carlo whenever he judges his employees from the comfort of his private

office. At least then I’d feel like Clark again.

‘Let’s get this over with and go home’ I thought to myself as I kicked down the solid oak

door, sending it flying into the empty living room. I step over the broken furniture that had been

previously reinforcing the main entrance and instantly hear rustling from upstairs. Not wanting to

waste time walking up the stairs, I sprang up through the ceiling, floorboards splitting against my

head as I burst through the 2nd floor. My eyes were instantly met with 4 pairs of wide and

frightened eyes. Three women and 1 man are sitting against the opposite wall of what looked to

be a children’s bedroom. Their hands tied around their backs, they looked untouched but

severely disturbed. I quickly turned to my right towards the doorway to see a fireman’s axe
coming swinging down directly towards my face. My instincts kicked in, I had no time to think.

Trying to incapacitate the hooded man, I swayed right and loaded back my right arm and

delivered a clean blow to his left cheek. SPLAT.

I expected the man to instantly knock back to the ground unconscious like they usually

do, but something was wrong, my fist was still freeborn in its follow through. I heard the crash of

his metal axe hitting the floor, followed by the thud of his heavyset body. I opened my eyes and

looked down to see half the man’s face mutilated and dented in. One eye looked up at the ceiling

as the other was nowhere to be seen. Blood splats covered the closet door, nearby walls, and

continued to drip down my arm onto the once beige carpet as more leaked from the suspect and

pooled in the middle of the room. I looked left and turned back at the hostages. They sat there,

jaws dropped in horror, shaking and trembling, holding back tears and screams of terror as they

look down at their former captor. I step towards wanting to escort them out of the terribly

gruesome scene that lay in-front of them, “It’s alr---“, the middle-aged blond woman wearing a

bright green skirt instantly backed up into the corner. “GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM US!”

she screamed. She got herself to her feet and quickly scurried alongside the bedroom wall and

bolted out the room. The other hostages looked at each other and pulled themselves up,

following her lead, hugging the wall as tight as possible. “Freak,” the Asian man uttered under

his breath as he passed. A part of me knew he was right; I live 2 separate lives and in both I am

an outcast. I stand in the middle of a blood-soaked child’s bedroom alone and ashamed,

wondering if I’m even worthy of the suit I wear or the symbol I represent.

Short Exercise #5

First week in Haven

 Lucy stepped off the hover-rail onto the station platform outside where she was instantly

greeted by the city’s nightly charm. The sounds of police drones and hover taxis, which were

only used by the Greater Haven’s highest elites, could be heard roaring passing overhead. Rain

drizzled and puddled on the street, reflecting the dazzling LED’s and enormous digital billboards

that could be found at the turn of every street corner. Lucy often missed looking up admiring the

stars in her rural and desolate hometown of Seattle on dark and quiet nights, but the nonstop light

show that was Greater Haven would never allow the human eye to see more than past the 100ft

holographic advertisements which practically screamed for attention from the city’s commuters.

She stepped out and joined the crowd of people marching along the platform, majority

making their way home from the Gigafactory that many had worked for almost all their young

lives. The guys were all sporting neutral-colored backpacks, a sweater or zip-up, and of course

were wearing this year’s model of BlueTech’s digital goggles. Unfortunately for Lucy and her

dating life, she thought the men’s fashion trend of trying your best to resemble Mark Zuckerberg

should’ve died with the man himself over 80 years ago. Now her only applicant pool for any

potential mate was a bunch of tech savvy business ‘men’ who practically lived inside those

goggles of theirs. But after a long and dreadful first week working at Robinc., Lucy had too

many deadlines approaching to be worrying about personal relationships or grieving about the

loss of her two yearlong boyfriend, Billy.

She trudged along the wet and busy sidewalk, head down and shivering in the cold

November air. it had only been two weeks of living in her new apartment building, but she could

already map out her way back just by memorizing the small unique imperfections that came with

each square of sidewalk. She briefly looked up to view her apartment building just a mere block

away, the cheap and old lit-up sign out front being outshined by almost every other one on the
street. Suddenly a small Robinc. manufactured machine came wheeling up to Lucy, it’s one

camera lens twitching back and forth to fixate on Lucy.

“HELLOOO THERE GOOD SAMARITAN! At Yale Greater Haven Hospital you can

ensure that your needs are met with the best of care! Our highly trained staff offer one of the

most relia-“

“Peep it you old bot, I know where the hospital is if I need any medical attention I know

where to go,” Lucy said with an audible sigh as she walked past the small trashcan shaped bot.

The bot followed Lucy for a few steps until it abruptly stopped in it’s tracks. A few seconds went

by before a quiet ding was heard.

The robot’s voice was now much flatter in tone, “Samaritan 045291 is carrying Unknown

Samaritan 045292. Please see your doctor immediately.”

Lucy stopped walking and stood there frozen, rain now downpouring on her black leather

jacket. Her tears rolled down her cold cheek and joined with the rain drops that now puddled on

the sidewalk, reflecting the dazzling glow of Greater Haven.

Short Exercise #6

A Night Downtown

It had been three months since Ryan had last seen Caroline. Just an hour before they got to the

bar, Ryan had sat in his room, silently sipping on his vodka sprite in isolation, preparing himself for the

dreaded night ahead. Despite how many laughs and moments the two of them shared last year, he had

no interest in going upstairs and putting on a fake smile in front of her and Carter all night, especially not

after their previous conversation. It wasn’t until they got to the rickety yet charming dive bar, that they

finally eased the awkward tension.

 “What’re you ordering?” Ryan asked as he walked up to the bar where Caroline stood waiting

for the bartender, legs crossed leaning on the table as if two minutes was long enough to start getting

impatient.

Caroline’s eyes peered at Ryan for a moment, then continued to stare at the Boston Bruins

game on the tv behind the bar. “Vodka-sprite” she said in a flat tone.

“Funny, I already got started on those a while ago.”

Caroline half smirked and let out a “Why am I not surprised?”

At this time, Ryan glanced behind his shoulder to see Carter too distracted by playing pool and

talking up a conversation with his new ‘friend’ which he had just met 5 minutes upon entering the bar.

“Carter seems pretty sociable huh?” Ryan asked. “Yeah… usually can’t go anywhere in town

without running into one of his buddies. Or making new buddies as you can see.”

Ryan forcefully chuckled. “Yeah, seems like quite the character.” Caroline didn’t respond, she

instead started to stare directly at the bartender, hoping this would get her attention before the eight

other girls doing crowding around the bar doing the exact same thing. Somehow this worked as the

bartender came walking up to Caroline instantly.

“Can I just get a Gina tonic?” Caroline said as if she was in an urgent hurry.

“And a vodka sprite too.” Ryan added from a row back. “Got you,” the bartender said as she was

still filling a previous order.

Caroline was quick to turn around to get face to face with him with an intense look in her eyes.

“If you really think I’m paying for you, you’re dead wrong.”

“I mean I was just trying to save some time but if we’re being completely fair, you still owe me

for getting you those football tickets we never got to use. Not to bring up the past but one drink is

probably the least you can do.” Ryan said with a sly tone.
 Caroline snapped, but ensuring to keep her voice low to avoid making a scene. “RYAN! The

LEAST that YOU could’ve done was apologize for being such an ASS last time we talked.”

Ryan hesitated. “Are… are you being for real? The only thing I was trying to do that night was

drink and have some fun with my friends I haven’t seen in weeks. But unfortunately, you and Carter had

other plans. So no, I’m not gonna apologize sorry to say.”

Before Caroline could muster up the courage to reply, she felt a tap on the back. “Here you guy

go, have a good one” said the bartender as she placed the two drinks in front of them.

“Thanks” Ryan said as he reached over Caroline, took the glass, raised it to his mouth, and

gulped the whole thing down before Caroline could even utter a single word. He took no time to walk

off, putting his empty glass on a stranger’s table before he pulled open the door and stormed out into

the bustling downtown.