English 10: Writing Portfolio
Catholic Memorial High School
|It’s was April of last year. This
meant spring was upon us; and along with spring you have
spring cleaning. We had never before cleaned out our attic but my parents decided it was time, much
to my disaccord. Luckily for them I had nothing to do that Sunday morning, so I gave them a hand. We
were emptying boxes loaded with ten year old cloths and other heirlooms, nothing historic; or so I
thought. And I was rummaging through a box labeled “interesting things,” which I though was odd, but
as it promised, I did find interesting things in it. I found an old music box, had an engraved logo
that said “Strasbourg,” and some old jewelry, but then I came across this thing. It’s spherical
brilliance drew my attention; I had to know what it was.
I picked it up and it was fairly heavy, enough where I strained when I lifted it. I didn’t
understand it. What could this beautiful thing, with it’s black stripes, have been used for, and
suddenly I removed one of my hand from the bottom and it fell I realized that this was once a
container for some sort of object. Because inside of it was a compartment in it, which nothing
bigger then an egg would have fit, and the inside was stained red.
I asked my mother what it was, and she said that she never remembered buying it, and doesn’t
even remember that box it came in. She said the, “It’s probably from the family that lived here
before us. I remember they immigrate in the 30's from Europe, but I’m not sure which country
though,” as soon as she said Europe I remembered that the music box said, Strasbourg on it. Maybe
that where this heavenly orb came from, I must go there.
I boarded the next plane to France. I had found out that Strasbourg was a little town in France
and I knew there lay the answer to my problem. I arrived and I took the first taxi to Strasbourg,
and I was astonished to see how nice and quiet it was compared to Boston. We went into the first
shop we saw and went to the counter and showed the man there, who must have been in his eighties,
the Orb. He gasped and said that he had heard rumors about it pasted down from his grandmother, but
he never believed it. He still remembered the origin of the orb even after decades of doubting its
In the year 1400, people had just gotten over the plage and had lost all motivation to believe
in God, and thus began practicing witchcraft and performing pagan rituals. On this day Simon was
performing one such ritual, which involved the draining of blood from ones body and offering it up
to pagan Gods. The blood was put in a, supposedly, sacred ark and then brought to the top of the
mountain as and offering.
When Simon left the stone building, in the rain, and he held in his hand the orb, but this time
it carried a much more venomous appeal. He carried it as though it contained his life and in some
ways it did. He was climbing up the mountain and the rain began to come down extremely hard, he
thought as though he may not make it up to complete his ritual. He knew that the church was out to
kill anyone performing such acts. He made it up half way and then decided that he would go the rest
of the way tomorrow. He place the orb right next to him and fell asleep. He woke up and the rain was
still coming down hard and the dirt rode was still very slippery, and just as he woke up he caught a
glimpse of some village people who were climbing up the mountain chasing after him. He ran, and ran
as hard as he could. He almost got to the top and slipped and then he had to decide whether to let
the villagers get the orb, and destroy it, or throw it over the edge so no one could find it, either
way they would kill him. And so he threw the heavenly sphere fell into the air and off the side of
the cliff. He watched as his life fell down that mountain side with that ark. For many years Simons’
pagan friends went looking for it but could never find it. And there it would lay for hundreds of
years at the bottom of the mountain.
“Until now,” he said. Someone must have found it, during those years that everyone thought it
was lost. I couldn’t believe it. I was holding something that had once been a part of a pagan
ritual. I was amazed and horrified all at the same time. It reminded me of the Salem witch trials
and how people were killed for performing “black magic” and other unholy deeds. It also reminded me
about why people in Europe came to America. They were being persecuted for their beliefs, even
though it was black magic. And as I held it in my hand I could fell the pain Simon must have gone
through, even though he was performing pagan rituals, to have someone persecute him for his beliefs.
|I‘d like to tell you about a place
that is special to me. It is located about 1 mile from my place
of schooling. On a twisty slab of asphalt known only by the name Weld. Directly off of this road, my
special place, my “backyard haven.” And some days I walk in it and just observe it’s natural beauty.
The following is a recording of my observations, and a few ideas that I hope it will in someway be
found useful or pleasing. Do enjoy.