__Back to Humanities
Self-Assesment
__
Showing
vs. Telling:
1. “Cyprian grabs the box from the man and sadly hands over a large bag of money along with some of his finest pieces of jewelry and a small hair pin from his mother. Cyprian rushes home and quietly takes the box to his shed. Inside the box nuzzled in a silk scarf is a rod of glimmering, perfect silver, a chunk of creamy ivory the size of his fist and rough amber beads from the Celtiberians he had traded with. Cyprian, whispering a quick prayer to Ba'al Hadad, carefully forms a figure from the hot silver; he makes a triangular body, with a smaller triangle inside, of amber. Above the goddess’s head was a silver crescent moon floating above her in an amber pool. The whole piece of amber and silver was then laid into a smooth oval bead of ivory with snakes carved on the sides, curling around the amber and silver section. When the early rays of light begin to spread their golden fingers through his shop and the babies begin to cry, Cyprian is done with the pendant; the silver moon goddess Tanit, gracefully in laid in amber with an ivory background. She is the goddess of fertility, the goddess of the skies, the sun and the moon; the goddess who will protect his lovely Akilina. The goddess who will bless them with a child. The goddess who Cyprian sees every time he looks at Akilina. The sun rises and warm rays slant down through the houses as Cyprian opens the door of his humble abode. His bare feet stir up spirals of dust as he pads along the hallway to the miniature bedroom at the back of the house, across from the kitchen. Cyprian skirts around his mother sleeping on the thin worn cot and gently kneels down before his princess; Akilina.”
Sentence Craft:
1. “The Tophet, the roasting place, is nearly empty besides one other couple and a lone woman, each parent dying on the inside.” ←NPA
2. “Cyprian, dusting off his hands and wiping his forehead, sets the glowing earrings aside to cool.” ←Verbal Phrase
3. “Cyprian bombards his daughter with a flurry of questions and brutally honest information while pacing back and forth.” ← Active Verb
Historical Content Integration:
1. “The priest gives a sympathetic look and places the child on the hands of a bronze statue—the God of sacrifice—and the baby boy spills into the gaping pit of hot coals, doomed by the hands of Cronus which were sloping downward.”
2. In my research I read a source that was solely devoted to child sacrifice. In my research I learned that the Carthaginians sacrificed children in hopes that it would make sure they had a good crop that year, or be successful in the trading industry, or whatever their job happened to be. I think that this quote is representing religion and along with the research something that made me really able to incorporate this in the story was the obligation. Not that I was required by Mr. Fisher or the rubric to tie in religion, but by my group. The way that my group set up our stories was so that they would all flow together in chronological order and so each story was supposed to be focused on a certain pillar. My pillar was religion and culture, and art and architecture. I think that knowing that I had to have religion in my story for the group really pushed me to get it in there.
3. “Cyprian looks up and scans the dangerously attractive ships, assuming his daughter wouldn’t be on one of them. His eyes take in a quick survey of the boats before he despondently turns around and begins the long trek home, dragging his feet.” I would have liked to integrate more on technology for this section of the story.
4. In the future I would have liked to research more about the ships and their build of the time, essentially gathering more information on technology. During my research I found a lot on government and war and battles. I feel that in order to smoothly add the pillar of technology I would need to expand my research and if that means taking more time that so be it. I also could have borrowed notes from my group to incorporate technology into my story. I feel that this pillar needs to be more prominent in my story because the conflict is that his daughter wants to go and sail and be an explorer but he thinks that is too dangerous. In my story I could have added a part about her explaining the new designs of the ships and proving to him that they are fairly safe. Also I could have added a part where he is looking at the ships (from the quote above) and write from his perspective where they look dangerous and unstable because he doesn’t understand the technology behind how the ship is floating.
Round Characters:
1. My character wants to protect his daughter and keep her from exploring and sailing because he thinks it is too dangerous. He can’t have this because she is strong willed and doesn’t listen to him.
2. Throughout my story you see the bitter and angry side of my character. You see that he is trying to protect his daughter from going out into the world and getting hurt. Then towards the end my character drastically changes and as he lay dying, he finally accepts her desire to sail and explore and basically give her his blessing to go and found a new colony with her friend.
Plot Arc:
1. On turned in story.
2. I feel that the section I did the best on was the resolution and conclusion of the story. Maybe this is just because it is my personal favorite part, but I think I also did a good job at describing the scene. I feel that I painted a picture for the readers, as well as making a thorough character change. The last section of my story shows that he really cares about her and wants her to be happy.
3. I feel that one place where I could improve my story would be the beginning and character introduction. In the beginning I make him a soft character and loving towards his wife, but then throughout the story he is mean and angry. I think that if I could introduce a darker side closer to the beginning and the introduction then it would make his bitterness in the rest of the story seem more believable. Although it could be nice to have two character changes—on in the beginning where he changes from nice to mean and then one at the end where he changes back—I think that it would have made my story better if I had one clear character change at the end and shown the flip side of the character earlier in the story.
1. “Cyprian grabs the box from the man and sadly hands over a large bag of money along with some of his finest pieces of jewelry and a small hair pin from his mother. Cyprian rushes home and quietly takes the box to his shed. Inside the box nuzzled in a silk scarf is a rod of glimmering, perfect silver, a chunk of creamy ivory the size of his fist and rough amber beads from the Celtiberians he had traded with. Cyprian, whispering a quick prayer to Ba'al Hadad, carefully forms a figure from the hot silver; he makes a triangular body, with a smaller triangle inside, of amber. Above the goddess’s head was a silver crescent moon floating above her in an amber pool. The whole piece of amber and silver was then laid into a smooth oval bead of ivory with snakes carved on the sides, curling around the amber and silver section. When the early rays of light begin to spread their golden fingers through his shop and the babies begin to cry, Cyprian is done with the pendant; the silver moon goddess Tanit, gracefully in laid in amber with an ivory background. She is the goddess of fertility, the goddess of the skies, the sun and the moon; the goddess who will protect his lovely Akilina. The goddess who will bless them with a child. The goddess who Cyprian sees every time he looks at Akilina. The sun rises and warm rays slant down through the houses as Cyprian opens the door of his humble abode. His bare feet stir up spirals of dust as he pads along the hallway to the miniature bedroom at the back of the house, across from the kitchen. Cyprian skirts around his mother sleeping on the thin worn cot and gently kneels down before his princess; Akilina.”
Sentence Craft:
1. “The Tophet, the roasting place, is nearly empty besides one other couple and a lone woman, each parent dying on the inside.” ←NPA
2. “Cyprian, dusting off his hands and wiping his forehead, sets the glowing earrings aside to cool.” ←Verbal Phrase
3. “Cyprian bombards his daughter with a flurry of questions and brutally honest information while pacing back and forth.” ← Active Verb
Historical Content Integration:
1. “The priest gives a sympathetic look and places the child on the hands of a bronze statue—the God of sacrifice—and the baby boy spills into the gaping pit of hot coals, doomed by the hands of Cronus which were sloping downward.”
2. In my research I read a source that was solely devoted to child sacrifice. In my research I learned that the Carthaginians sacrificed children in hopes that it would make sure they had a good crop that year, or be successful in the trading industry, or whatever their job happened to be. I think that this quote is representing religion and along with the research something that made me really able to incorporate this in the story was the obligation. Not that I was required by Mr. Fisher or the rubric to tie in religion, but by my group. The way that my group set up our stories was so that they would all flow together in chronological order and so each story was supposed to be focused on a certain pillar. My pillar was religion and culture, and art and architecture. I think that knowing that I had to have religion in my story for the group really pushed me to get it in there.
3. “Cyprian looks up and scans the dangerously attractive ships, assuming his daughter wouldn’t be on one of them. His eyes take in a quick survey of the boats before he despondently turns around and begins the long trek home, dragging his feet.” I would have liked to integrate more on technology for this section of the story.
4. In the future I would have liked to research more about the ships and their build of the time, essentially gathering more information on technology. During my research I found a lot on government and war and battles. I feel that in order to smoothly add the pillar of technology I would need to expand my research and if that means taking more time that so be it. I also could have borrowed notes from my group to incorporate technology into my story. I feel that this pillar needs to be more prominent in my story because the conflict is that his daughter wants to go and sail and be an explorer but he thinks that is too dangerous. In my story I could have added a part about her explaining the new designs of the ships and proving to him that they are fairly safe. Also I could have added a part where he is looking at the ships (from the quote above) and write from his perspective where they look dangerous and unstable because he doesn’t understand the technology behind how the ship is floating.
Round Characters:
1. My character wants to protect his daughter and keep her from exploring and sailing because he thinks it is too dangerous. He can’t have this because she is strong willed and doesn’t listen to him.
2. Throughout my story you see the bitter and angry side of my character. You see that he is trying to protect his daughter from going out into the world and getting hurt. Then towards the end my character drastically changes and as he lay dying, he finally accepts her desire to sail and explore and basically give her his blessing to go and found a new colony with her friend.
Plot Arc:
1. On turned in story.
2. I feel that the section I did the best on was the resolution and conclusion of the story. Maybe this is just because it is my personal favorite part, but I think I also did a good job at describing the scene. I feel that I painted a picture for the readers, as well as making a thorough character change. The last section of my story shows that he really cares about her and wants her to be happy.
3. I feel that one place where I could improve my story would be the beginning and character introduction. In the beginning I make him a soft character and loving towards his wife, but then throughout the story he is mean and angry. I think that if I could introduce a darker side closer to the beginning and the introduction then it would make his bitterness in the rest of the story seem more believable. Although it could be nice to have two character changes—on in the beginning where he changes from nice to mean and then one at the end where he changes back—I think that it would have made my story better if I had one clear character change at the end and shown the flip side of the character earlier in the story.
The Blacksmith: Part 1
_
Cyprian
grabs the box from the man and sadly hands over a large bag of money along with
some of his finest pieces of jewelry and a small hair pin from his mother.
Cyprian rushes home and quietly takes the box to his shed. His heart swells
with pride as he takes a glance around his small shop and tenderly picks up the
pole to stir the fire. Cyprian prods at the hot coals thinking to himself. Those
maritime merchants were high-class, but they have nothing like I did. I have a
skill. I have a talent that comes naturally to me and fills me with the comfort
of being good--no, the best--at something. They can boast of high adventures on
the sea, but in the end, do they have a warm shop and something to take their
mind off of the wild, torrential sea? I don’t think they have anything as
precious as this. Cyprian happily
comforts himself and flips his mood around from feeling sorry for himself
because he wasn’t as respected at them to feeling completely contented and
better than them because he had unique talent.
He takes the package and places it on the waist high table. Inside the
box, nuzzled in a white silk scarf is a rod of glimmering, perfect silver, a
chunk of creamy ivory the size of his fist and rough amber beads from the
Celtiberians he had traded with. Cyprian, whispering a quick prayer to Ba'al
Hadad, carefully forms a figure from the hot silver; he makes a triangular
body, with a smaller triangle inside, of amber. Above the goddess’s head
was a silver crescent moon floating above her in an amber pool. The whole piece
of amber and silver was then laid into a smooth oval bead of ivory with snakes
carved on the sides, curling around the amber and silver section. When the
early rays of light begin to spread their golden fingers through his shop and
the babies begin to cry, Cyprian is done with the pendant; the silver moon
goddess Tanit, gracefully in-laid in amber with an ivory background. She is the
goddess of fertility, the goddess of the skies, the sun and the moon; the
goddess who will protect his lovely Akilina. The goddess who will bless them
with a child. The goddess who Cyprian sees every time he looks at Akilina. The
sun rises and warm rays slant down through the houses as Cyprian opens the door
of his humble abode. His bare feet stir up spirals of dust as he pads along the
hallway to the miniature bedroom at the back of the house, across from the
kitchen. Cyprian skirts around his mother sleeping on the thin worn cot and
gently kneels down before his princess; Akilina.
“Akilina.” He whispers gently touching her shoulder. She rolls over and waves a frustrated hand at him. Cyrpian smiles, “I love you too.”
He shoves the warm necklace into his pocket and begins to scramble around the house searching for something substantial for breakfast. Cyprian manages to find two eggs and a hard loaf of bread. Taking his knife he cuts a small circle in the center of the pieces of toast and puts them in a pan. Then he cracks the eggs once the pan is hot and plops the egg into the center of the piece of toast.
Akilina sleepily comes into the kitchen and runs a delicate hand through her messy hair.
“What are you….doing?” She asks him with closed eyes, her sentence interrupted by a yawn.
“Making you breakfast.” He says grandly placing a plate in front of her and setting the other one aside for his mother. Cyprian, fumbling with the pendant in his pocket, sits down across from her on the floor with a small wood sheet held up with bricks in between them.
“What’s the occasion?” Akilina asks, her mouth full of eggs.
"Akilina,” Cyprian starts, taking a deep breath, his insides clenching with an anxiously excited edge. She looks up letting him know he has her full attention. He pulls the necklace from his pocket and his shaking hands let it slip from his fingers as it drops to the ground with a soft thump, a miniscule explosion of dust surrounding the amulet. “Will you marry me?” He asks, his vocal chords thrumming with anticipation and feigned confidence. He takes her hand and places the pendant on her palm, closing her fingers around it and steadying his hand on her wrist.
* * * 3 Years Later * * *
Akilina’s body shakes feverishly, racked with tears of pain. Cyprian and Akilina stand together, holding each other in futile comfort. The Tophet, the roasting place, is nearly empty besides one other couple and a lone woman, each parent dying on the inside. As each goes up Akilina buries her head into Cyprian’s shoulder wincing in time with the soft hiss of the burning coals connecting with glowing, innocent flesh. The priest nodded at Cyprian and his body grew heavy with dread. Cyprian gently takes the baby boy from Akilina’s arms and kisses her on the forehead. The baby, with Akilina’s eyes and Cyprian’s facial structure, is handed over to the priest and a tear tumbles down Cyprian’s rough cheek. The priest gives a sympathetic look and places the child on the hands of a bronze statue—the God of sacrifice—and the baby boy spills into the gaping pit of hot coals, doomed by the hands of Cronus which were sloping downward.
In the empty Tophet, a man falls to his knees screaming with the pain consuming his heart as the bitter scent of burning flesh fills the air, choking and killing his will.
* * * 6 Years Later * * *
The small kitchen and living room had transformed into a humid, hot and dimly lit birthing center for Akilina who lay on the floor supported by pillows propped up behind her back.
“It hurts,” she moans and whimpers softly.
Cyprian takes her tiny hand, “Show me how much,” he whispers. Akilina grunts and digs her nails into his hand while breathing deeply and pushing a baby out from within her.
A few hours later Cyprian and Akilina sit on the pillows smiling at the beautiful baby girl, still pink and pure.
“Would you like a glass of water?” Arishat, Cyprian’s mother, asks the couple, bringing them small bowls of a watery stew. Cyprian looks up for a split second and nods, then his eyes are brought back to the precious child.
Akilina wearily slumps down the wall and closes her eyes, drifting off into nightmare infested sleep. Cyprian watches her sleeping, watches her shallow breathing and holds the snoozing baby in his arms, making sure it doesn’t wake his goddess.
A few hours later Akilina’s breathing slows considerably and her breath becomes unpredictable and dangerous.
“Akilina! Wake up!” Cyprian says loudly, shaking her shoulder to wake her. She weakly opens her eyes and places her finger in the curl of the baby’s hand. Fumbling, she unclasps the pendant around her throat and tucks it in under the thin blanket caressing the baby.
“Perpetua.” She breathes and looks up at Cyprian with a thin smile. “I…love…you.” Akilina murmurs, working hard just to say that.
Cyprian beams and kisses her forehead. “I love you too, my queen.” He whispers, taking her fragile hand and holding it gently.
Akilina nods, trying to keep her eyes clear and focused on Cyprian. It takes too much energy for her to keep her eyes open and she takes a deep breath, letting them slide shut. Cyprian’s brow creases with worry and he squeezes her hand. “Don’t fall asleep. Stay awake.” He mutters in his failed attempts to wake her. Her hand turns cold in his, her breathing comes to a sudden stop and joltingly, her heart stops beating.
“NO!” Cyprian screams, causing the baby wake up and lapse into a fit of tears. Cyprian kneels next to her and links his hands together, touching them to his forehead. “Please, you can’t take her from me, Mot. Please, I need her to nurture the child. I can’t do this alone.” Cyprian whispers, his voice becoming soft with defeat and overrun with thick tears as he prays to the god of death; Mot or Mawat.
In the dimly lit living room with his wife’s dead body in eternal slumber, not moving from the stack of pillows where she stopped breathing, Cyprian stands at a distance, glowering at the baby, squirming out of the blankets on the floor, with a bottle in his hand. He crushes the bottle in his hand, letting the remaining alcohol to trickle down his arm, mixing with the blood seeping from the small slices on his palm.
“You can’t replace her. You’re only part of what she was. She gave her life for you, you better be worth the pain.” He unfeelingly tells his new born daughter who was on the floor, crying for warmth. Cyprian bites on the side of his cheek, welcoming the warm, iron flavored liquid flooding his mouth and coating his teeth. The soft flesh, split by his teeth acted as a substitute for the salty tears, threatening to drown him.
* * * Three Years Later * * *
“Daddy, I want to go over there!” Perpetua whines, trying to rescue her hand from her father’s tight grip around her wrist, using her other hand to brace herself and pulling back with her complete weight of 27 pounds.
“Stop. You’re not going over there. Stay with me.” Cyprian orders and pulls her along with him as she looks over her shoulder at the group of boys building stick ships and digging in the banks where the small stream runs by the side of the market.
“But whyyyyy?” Perpetua whines, squeezing Cyprians pointer finger with her tiny hand.
“They wouldn’t play with you anyway.” Cyprian mutters, distractedly pulling his daughter along with him.
“Why?” Perpetua asks, confused by the class system.
“Because…they think they are better than you.” He answers briskly, trying to find the simplest way to put it. The simplest way to explain to his daughter that they weren’t at the top; that the maritime traders and sea merchants were high class and although Cyprian did well, he was only blacksmith. The simplest way, Cyprian figured, was to keep her in the dark and oblivious to the ocean and exploring. Unfortunately for Cyprian, his daughter had a knack for knowing what he wanted to keep from her.
* * * Two Years Later * * *
Cyprian pounds a piece of particularly stubborn iron into a hilt of a broad sword and grumbles under his breath while Perpetua, the small 5 year old, skips around his legs narrating an adventure in which she is the sea captain of a ship.
“…Don’t be stupid, of course we are going the right way. I am the captain, have faith in me…” she mutters leaping onto a work bench and looking into the distance.
“Go play with Batnoam. Stop messing around and acting unreasonable.” Cyprian demands, not taking his eyes off of his work. He shakes his head subtly and his brow furrows ever so slightly in confusion.
“No. She only likes to play with dolls. I am going to find Paltibaal and see if his daddy will show me his ship.” Perpetua answers, ignorant to her father’s dread of the thought of her becoming an explorer and becoming exposed to the dangers of the sea. “Paltibaal has a toy boat and we play adventurers with it!” She exclaims, a fiery, passionate look in her eye for something Cyprian just didn’t understand.
“If you aren’t going to go and play with Batnoam, you aren’t going to play with Paltibaal. Stay here and help me if you wont go and play with Batnoam.” Cyprian informs her, turning around to consider his daughter.
“But she’s no fun to play with! She doesn’t like to get dirty!” Perpetua complains and squats down, drawing circles in the fine soil.
“Then you will stay here and help me.” Cyprian says, turning back to his work, forcing his voice to be void of anger and remain nonchalant. “Make yourself helpful and hand me that hammer will you?” He requests, nodding his head toward a small hammer, which was used for details.
“I will not listen to you! You never let me do the things I want!” Perpetua yells, tightening her hands into little fists of fury. “I hate you.” She whispers before she begins to bawl and runs into the house, hiding under a dusty blanket.
Cyprian drops to the ground and defeated, places his head in his hands. It hurt so much to see the most cherished thing in his world in danger. He needed to protect her; to fend away all evil, to keep her happy. He didn’t understand how that was possible if protecting her and keeping her happy were two conflicting elements of his duty to her as a father. Cyprian takes the smoothed pendant from his chest pocket, close to his heart, and looks at it, grinding his teeth to stop the hot flow of tears.
“Why did you have to leave?” He exhales and a single misbehaving tear trips down his face, dissolving in his peppered beard.
* * * 6 Years Later * * *
Cyprian, dusting off his hands and wiping his forehead, sets the glowing earrings aside to cool. They were about an inch long made of glass bead; one round, one flattened and one pear shaped. The light blue round bead sat on top of the flat minty green bead which perched on the tip of the purple tear bead. The glass beads came from a friend, but the dye of the Murex snail for the purple bead required Cyprian to trade a sword and a bracelet for a small amount of the precious dye. The dye was used in the beads and the small amount left over was recycled into the white scarf that came in the package containing the materials for the moon goddess pendant.
A few hours later when the metal had cooled, Cyprian places the earrings in a tiny wooden box and wraps it with a light lavender silken scarf. Cyprian strides inside with a rare smile on his face and calls out to his daughter.
"Perpetua!” He sings, the smile growing with the prospect of her opening her present.
Arishat comes out from the bedroom mumbling under her breath and twisting her hands together. She looks up at her son, and her brow crinkles with the effort of remembering. Her face lights up when she remembers and she nods happily, turning around and wanders contentedly back to her room.
“Mom, have you seen Perpetua?” Cyprian asks, gently touching his mother’s shoulder hoping she would be helpful.
“DON’T YOU TOUCH ME, YOU FILTHY MESSENGER!” She shrieks, shaking his hand off. “GET OUT OF MY HOUSE; OR I WILL HAVE MY SON THROW YOU OUT!” Arishat screams and quickly turns and goes to the back bedroom, pulling the measly curtain behind her as if it would protect her.
Cyprian sighs and with a much smaller, forced smile and a cloud over his face he walks outside searching for his daughter, who unfortunately had gone missing on her 11th birthday. Cyprian strides down the street, taking a peek in the windows he passes in search of his daughters silhouetted figure. An hour later Cyprian finds himself about a mile away from home by the ships at dock. He rubs his eyes with the heel of his palms, pushing onto his forehead to stop the frightened throbbing. Cyprian looks up and scans the dangerously attractive ships, assuming his daughter wouldn’t be on one of them. His eyes take in a quick survey of the boats before he despondently turns around and begins the long trek home, dragging his feet.
“Sir!” A voice from behind him calls and Cyprian turns around. A skinny sailor boy, barefooted and brown skinned runs up to him, tugging along a girl by her messy braids. Cyprians face shows no emotion, similar to a brick wall. “Take her back to the town for me, will you?” The boy asks the blacksmith with hope in his voice. “If you don’t take her sir, she will be sent to work on the ships. With men. Men who don’t care about the fact that she may be someone’s daughter.” The boy says gravely, shoving her towards Cyprian. Cyprian nods and takes her by the arm.
Cyprian holds Perpetua by the elbow and roughly drags her home. He pulls her inside to his shop, which was sadly warmer than the house due to the fire constantly burning in the corner.
“Why were you hiding on a merchant ship? Were you going to run away? Do you realize how much danger you put yourself in? That boy was right you know, those filthy men don’t care about the fact that you are a person. To them, you are a toy. Young and easy to fool with.” Cyprian bombards his daughter with a flurry of questions and brutally honest information while pacing back and forth.
Perpetua’s bottom lip trembles and she crosses her arms. “Yes I was trying to run away. It would have worked if you hadn’t got in the way! You just don’t know me at all. Maybe they would have seen my love for the sea, my passion for adventure. Maybe they would have understood, because you sure don’t.” She says quietly, biting on the inside of her cheek.
“Go inside. I’m done talking about this. Don’t come back until you are ready to apologize for running away. Don’t come back until you stop being ludicrous and grasping for an impossible dream!” Cyprian bellows hoarsely, pointing at the door with a hard hand, trying to steady it from shaking.
“But daddy, I love you.” Perpetua says softly, hanging her head and letting a the wet tears roll down her cheek.
“Your older now, you can’t get out of this by crying. Go inside.” He says, more sternly than before and stares at her with stony eyes, his expression hard and unchanging.
When Perpetua turns and retreats inside the house, Cyprian takes the box out of his pocket and tosses the whole package into the fire, watching it ignite and burn steadily. By throwing it in the fire it would cause his coals to cool down, as well as wasting his work and money, but through his anger Cyprian couldn’t see sense’s beautiful face or hear her speak to him.
Cyprian leans on his elbows on his work table, digging his nails into his scalp. “I am trying to keep you safe. Maybe you’re the one that doesn’t understand. You don’t understand how difficult it is to see the one you love die in front of you, only to be replaced by someone who you don’t know how to love.”
* * * 5 Years Later * * *
Perpetua, wearing a pair of brown trousers and one of her father’s linen shirts, steps into a pair of soft boots and reaches for the doorknob.
“Where are you going missy?” Cyprian asks watching her from a chair in the living room. He stands up and steps into the light, dropping an empty alcohol bottle on the hard dirt floor, watching it shatter.
“Tanis and Batnoam wanted me to come over, Hyrum proposed to Tanis and they are having a get together to celebrate.” Perpetua declares sticking her chin up to look taller compared to her massive father, as she was only 5’ and weighed about 110 pounds at the age of 16, after her final growth spurt.
“Don’t lie to me. WHERE ARE YOU GOING?!” Cyprian, who usually abstained from drinking, growls, slamming his fist into the wall and pulling it away, stained with blood oozing from his knuckles.
“Talk to me when you aren’t drunk out of your mind and you know what you are saying.” Perpetua calmly says, her voice dripping with disdain, although she is shaking and thin rivulets of cold, nervous sweat trickle down her spine and soak through the under arms of the soft linen.
“I know very well what I am saying, Perpetua. Sit down and talk with me.” Cyprian says, gesturing towards the floor with a lopsided grin. Perpetua shakes her head and remains standing but takes a step in, accepting that they needed to talk.
“You aren’t tolerant to who I am. I love to be outside, I love to find new things and discover. I love to breath the fresh, untainted air that drifts off of the sea. I love to get dirty and forget the requirements that come with looking nice and acting properly. I can’t do that with you keeping me back and trying to making me a housewife. I’m not coming back after tonight. Paltibaal has purchased his own ship and we are going with the team of Carthaginians who are building a colony in the Mediterranean as a center for trade.” Perpetua firmly states as the reality of what she was about to do hit her.
Cyprian presses on his chest and coughs. “I have given you the best I can. Why isn’t enough?” He stutters, more speaking to himself than her. With a puzzled look on his face, he stretches his shoulders and shakes his left arm out. Cyprian leans against the wall, squeezing his eyes shut to stop the spinning. “Aren’t you scared?”
Perpetua looks at her father, leaning against the wall in obvious pain wondering what is wrong. “Of course I am scared.” She mutters looking at her hand.
“Then why…are you going?” He asks, wincing and taking a deep breath that cuts his sentence in half.
“You’re taking up too much space if you’re not living on the edge.” She claims and takes a step closer to her father, worry flashing across her face.
Cyprian carefully lowers himself to the ground and lays down on his back with his arms spread wide and his knees bent. “Do you hate me?” He asks, bringing a hand up, wiping his face of the thin layer of perspiration that had accumulated on his forehead.
Perpetua stoops down next to him and with her sleeve dabs his face. “Of course I don’t hate you. You frustrate me sometimes, and maybe it shows through my actions, but I don’t hate you.” She murmurs, offering a small smile so show what a silly question that was.
“When you were five, you told me you hated me. Did you mean it?” Cyprian asks, truly concerned that she still hated him from when she threw a temper tantrum as a five year old.
“Oh, daddy. Don’t you remember all the times I tell you I love you?” Perpetua asks, getting up and getting a glass of water for him.
“Yes. But I also remember the times you tell me hate me and those are the memories I have nightmares about.” He replies, coughing and holding his head tight in his hands.
“Sit up, and drink.” She demands holding the glass in front of him. He tries to sit up and is slammed down to the ground with a wave of nausea. Cyprian shakes his head and closes his eyes. He reaches into his pocket by his heart and retrieves the pendant, softened by his fingers constantly running over it. He beckons for her to come closer and he reaches up and fastens it around her delicate neck.
“It was your…mother’s. She gave it you...when you were born, just before she…died. I am sorry…I kept it from you. For so long…I blamed you for her death.” Cyprian utters slowly taking pauses in between the spears of pain in his chest.
“It’s beautiful. Thank you.” Perpetua mumbles, laying a hand on her father’s chest.
“I want you…to go with Paltibaal. All I ever wanted…was for you to be happy. If that is what…you desire…then you may go.” Cyprian mutters as a small smile flickers across his face, driven away by the pounding in his head. “Tell that boy…you’re more precious…than the finest jewels…and that he better treat you like it.”
Perpetua laughs softly and kisses Cyprian on the forehead. “I will tell him.” She whispers and lays her head on his stomach feeling his breath under her, rising up and down slowly. Cyprian sighs softly, suppressing the pain and strokes her hair. Perpetua starts the game she used to play when she was younger and he would tuck her in, where she tried to match her breath with his. Now, she finds herself holding her breath to match his slow gasps of air. Cyprian exhales and she holds her breath in, waiting for the inhale that never comes.
“Akilina.” He whispers gently touching her shoulder. She rolls over and waves a frustrated hand at him. Cyrpian smiles, “I love you too.”
He shoves the warm necklace into his pocket and begins to scramble around the house searching for something substantial for breakfast. Cyprian manages to find two eggs and a hard loaf of bread. Taking his knife he cuts a small circle in the center of the pieces of toast and puts them in a pan. Then he cracks the eggs once the pan is hot and plops the egg into the center of the piece of toast.
Akilina sleepily comes into the kitchen and runs a delicate hand through her messy hair.
“What are you….doing?” She asks him with closed eyes, her sentence interrupted by a yawn.
“Making you breakfast.” He says grandly placing a plate in front of her and setting the other one aside for his mother. Cyprian, fumbling with the pendant in his pocket, sits down across from her on the floor with a small wood sheet held up with bricks in between them.
“What’s the occasion?” Akilina asks, her mouth full of eggs.
"Akilina,” Cyprian starts, taking a deep breath, his insides clenching with an anxiously excited edge. She looks up letting him know he has her full attention. He pulls the necklace from his pocket and his shaking hands let it slip from his fingers as it drops to the ground with a soft thump, a miniscule explosion of dust surrounding the amulet. “Will you marry me?” He asks, his vocal chords thrumming with anticipation and feigned confidence. He takes her hand and places the pendant on her palm, closing her fingers around it and steadying his hand on her wrist.
* * * 3 Years Later * * *
Akilina’s body shakes feverishly, racked with tears of pain. Cyprian and Akilina stand together, holding each other in futile comfort. The Tophet, the roasting place, is nearly empty besides one other couple and a lone woman, each parent dying on the inside. As each goes up Akilina buries her head into Cyprian’s shoulder wincing in time with the soft hiss of the burning coals connecting with glowing, innocent flesh. The priest nodded at Cyprian and his body grew heavy with dread. Cyprian gently takes the baby boy from Akilina’s arms and kisses her on the forehead. The baby, with Akilina’s eyes and Cyprian’s facial structure, is handed over to the priest and a tear tumbles down Cyprian’s rough cheek. The priest gives a sympathetic look and places the child on the hands of a bronze statue—the God of sacrifice—and the baby boy spills into the gaping pit of hot coals, doomed by the hands of Cronus which were sloping downward.
In the empty Tophet, a man falls to his knees screaming with the pain consuming his heart as the bitter scent of burning flesh fills the air, choking and killing his will.
* * * 6 Years Later * * *
The small kitchen and living room had transformed into a humid, hot and dimly lit birthing center for Akilina who lay on the floor supported by pillows propped up behind her back.
“It hurts,” she moans and whimpers softly.
Cyprian takes her tiny hand, “Show me how much,” he whispers. Akilina grunts and digs her nails into his hand while breathing deeply and pushing a baby out from within her.
A few hours later Cyprian and Akilina sit on the pillows smiling at the beautiful baby girl, still pink and pure.
“Would you like a glass of water?” Arishat, Cyprian’s mother, asks the couple, bringing them small bowls of a watery stew. Cyprian looks up for a split second and nods, then his eyes are brought back to the precious child.
Akilina wearily slumps down the wall and closes her eyes, drifting off into nightmare infested sleep. Cyprian watches her sleeping, watches her shallow breathing and holds the snoozing baby in his arms, making sure it doesn’t wake his goddess.
A few hours later Akilina’s breathing slows considerably and her breath becomes unpredictable and dangerous.
“Akilina! Wake up!” Cyprian says loudly, shaking her shoulder to wake her. She weakly opens her eyes and places her finger in the curl of the baby’s hand. Fumbling, she unclasps the pendant around her throat and tucks it in under the thin blanket caressing the baby.
“Perpetua.” She breathes and looks up at Cyprian with a thin smile. “I…love…you.” Akilina murmurs, working hard just to say that.
Cyprian beams and kisses her forehead. “I love you too, my queen.” He whispers, taking her fragile hand and holding it gently.
Akilina nods, trying to keep her eyes clear and focused on Cyprian. It takes too much energy for her to keep her eyes open and she takes a deep breath, letting them slide shut. Cyprian’s brow creases with worry and he squeezes her hand. “Don’t fall asleep. Stay awake.” He mutters in his failed attempts to wake her. Her hand turns cold in his, her breathing comes to a sudden stop and joltingly, her heart stops beating.
“NO!” Cyprian screams, causing the baby wake up and lapse into a fit of tears. Cyprian kneels next to her and links his hands together, touching them to his forehead. “Please, you can’t take her from me, Mot. Please, I need her to nurture the child. I can’t do this alone.” Cyprian whispers, his voice becoming soft with defeat and overrun with thick tears as he prays to the god of death; Mot or Mawat.
In the dimly lit living room with his wife’s dead body in eternal slumber, not moving from the stack of pillows where she stopped breathing, Cyprian stands at a distance, glowering at the baby, squirming out of the blankets on the floor, with a bottle in his hand. He crushes the bottle in his hand, letting the remaining alcohol to trickle down his arm, mixing with the blood seeping from the small slices on his palm.
“You can’t replace her. You’re only part of what she was. She gave her life for you, you better be worth the pain.” He unfeelingly tells his new born daughter who was on the floor, crying for warmth. Cyprian bites on the side of his cheek, welcoming the warm, iron flavored liquid flooding his mouth and coating his teeth. The soft flesh, split by his teeth acted as a substitute for the salty tears, threatening to drown him.
* * * Three Years Later * * *
“Daddy, I want to go over there!” Perpetua whines, trying to rescue her hand from her father’s tight grip around her wrist, using her other hand to brace herself and pulling back with her complete weight of 27 pounds.
“Stop. You’re not going over there. Stay with me.” Cyprian orders and pulls her along with him as she looks over her shoulder at the group of boys building stick ships and digging in the banks where the small stream runs by the side of the market.
“But whyyyyy?” Perpetua whines, squeezing Cyprians pointer finger with her tiny hand.
“They wouldn’t play with you anyway.” Cyprian mutters, distractedly pulling his daughter along with him.
“Why?” Perpetua asks, confused by the class system.
“Because…they think they are better than you.” He answers briskly, trying to find the simplest way to put it. The simplest way to explain to his daughter that they weren’t at the top; that the maritime traders and sea merchants were high class and although Cyprian did well, he was only blacksmith. The simplest way, Cyprian figured, was to keep her in the dark and oblivious to the ocean and exploring. Unfortunately for Cyprian, his daughter had a knack for knowing what he wanted to keep from her.
* * * Two Years Later * * *
Cyprian pounds a piece of particularly stubborn iron into a hilt of a broad sword and grumbles under his breath while Perpetua, the small 5 year old, skips around his legs narrating an adventure in which she is the sea captain of a ship.
“…Don’t be stupid, of course we are going the right way. I am the captain, have faith in me…” she mutters leaping onto a work bench and looking into the distance.
“Go play with Batnoam. Stop messing around and acting unreasonable.” Cyprian demands, not taking his eyes off of his work. He shakes his head subtly and his brow furrows ever so slightly in confusion.
“No. She only likes to play with dolls. I am going to find Paltibaal and see if his daddy will show me his ship.” Perpetua answers, ignorant to her father’s dread of the thought of her becoming an explorer and becoming exposed to the dangers of the sea. “Paltibaal has a toy boat and we play adventurers with it!” She exclaims, a fiery, passionate look in her eye for something Cyprian just didn’t understand.
“If you aren’t going to go and play with Batnoam, you aren’t going to play with Paltibaal. Stay here and help me if you wont go and play with Batnoam.” Cyprian informs her, turning around to consider his daughter.
“But she’s no fun to play with! She doesn’t like to get dirty!” Perpetua complains and squats down, drawing circles in the fine soil.
“Then you will stay here and help me.” Cyprian says, turning back to his work, forcing his voice to be void of anger and remain nonchalant. “Make yourself helpful and hand me that hammer will you?” He requests, nodding his head toward a small hammer, which was used for details.
“I will not listen to you! You never let me do the things I want!” Perpetua yells, tightening her hands into little fists of fury. “I hate you.” She whispers before she begins to bawl and runs into the house, hiding under a dusty blanket.
Cyprian drops to the ground and defeated, places his head in his hands. It hurt so much to see the most cherished thing in his world in danger. He needed to protect her; to fend away all evil, to keep her happy. He didn’t understand how that was possible if protecting her and keeping her happy were two conflicting elements of his duty to her as a father. Cyprian takes the smoothed pendant from his chest pocket, close to his heart, and looks at it, grinding his teeth to stop the hot flow of tears.
“Why did you have to leave?” He exhales and a single misbehaving tear trips down his face, dissolving in his peppered beard.
* * * 6 Years Later * * *
Cyprian, dusting off his hands and wiping his forehead, sets the glowing earrings aside to cool. They were about an inch long made of glass bead; one round, one flattened and one pear shaped. The light blue round bead sat on top of the flat minty green bead which perched on the tip of the purple tear bead. The glass beads came from a friend, but the dye of the Murex snail for the purple bead required Cyprian to trade a sword and a bracelet for a small amount of the precious dye. The dye was used in the beads and the small amount left over was recycled into the white scarf that came in the package containing the materials for the moon goddess pendant.
A few hours later when the metal had cooled, Cyprian places the earrings in a tiny wooden box and wraps it with a light lavender silken scarf. Cyprian strides inside with a rare smile on his face and calls out to his daughter.
"Perpetua!” He sings, the smile growing with the prospect of her opening her present.
Arishat comes out from the bedroom mumbling under her breath and twisting her hands together. She looks up at her son, and her brow crinkles with the effort of remembering. Her face lights up when she remembers and she nods happily, turning around and wanders contentedly back to her room.
“Mom, have you seen Perpetua?” Cyprian asks, gently touching his mother’s shoulder hoping she would be helpful.
“DON’T YOU TOUCH ME, YOU FILTHY MESSENGER!” She shrieks, shaking his hand off. “GET OUT OF MY HOUSE; OR I WILL HAVE MY SON THROW YOU OUT!” Arishat screams and quickly turns and goes to the back bedroom, pulling the measly curtain behind her as if it would protect her.
Cyprian sighs and with a much smaller, forced smile and a cloud over his face he walks outside searching for his daughter, who unfortunately had gone missing on her 11th birthday. Cyprian strides down the street, taking a peek in the windows he passes in search of his daughters silhouetted figure. An hour later Cyprian finds himself about a mile away from home by the ships at dock. He rubs his eyes with the heel of his palms, pushing onto his forehead to stop the frightened throbbing. Cyprian looks up and scans the dangerously attractive ships, assuming his daughter wouldn’t be on one of them. His eyes take in a quick survey of the boats before he despondently turns around and begins the long trek home, dragging his feet.
“Sir!” A voice from behind him calls and Cyprian turns around. A skinny sailor boy, barefooted and brown skinned runs up to him, tugging along a girl by her messy braids. Cyprians face shows no emotion, similar to a brick wall. “Take her back to the town for me, will you?” The boy asks the blacksmith with hope in his voice. “If you don’t take her sir, she will be sent to work on the ships. With men. Men who don’t care about the fact that she may be someone’s daughter.” The boy says gravely, shoving her towards Cyprian. Cyprian nods and takes her by the arm.
Cyprian holds Perpetua by the elbow and roughly drags her home. He pulls her inside to his shop, which was sadly warmer than the house due to the fire constantly burning in the corner.
“Why were you hiding on a merchant ship? Were you going to run away? Do you realize how much danger you put yourself in? That boy was right you know, those filthy men don’t care about the fact that you are a person. To them, you are a toy. Young and easy to fool with.” Cyprian bombards his daughter with a flurry of questions and brutally honest information while pacing back and forth.
Perpetua’s bottom lip trembles and she crosses her arms. “Yes I was trying to run away. It would have worked if you hadn’t got in the way! You just don’t know me at all. Maybe they would have seen my love for the sea, my passion for adventure. Maybe they would have understood, because you sure don’t.” She says quietly, biting on the inside of her cheek.
“Go inside. I’m done talking about this. Don’t come back until you are ready to apologize for running away. Don’t come back until you stop being ludicrous and grasping for an impossible dream!” Cyprian bellows hoarsely, pointing at the door with a hard hand, trying to steady it from shaking.
“But daddy, I love you.” Perpetua says softly, hanging her head and letting a the wet tears roll down her cheek.
“Your older now, you can’t get out of this by crying. Go inside.” He says, more sternly than before and stares at her with stony eyes, his expression hard and unchanging.
When Perpetua turns and retreats inside the house, Cyprian takes the box out of his pocket and tosses the whole package into the fire, watching it ignite and burn steadily. By throwing it in the fire it would cause his coals to cool down, as well as wasting his work and money, but through his anger Cyprian couldn’t see sense’s beautiful face or hear her speak to him.
Cyprian leans on his elbows on his work table, digging his nails into his scalp. “I am trying to keep you safe. Maybe you’re the one that doesn’t understand. You don’t understand how difficult it is to see the one you love die in front of you, only to be replaced by someone who you don’t know how to love.”
* * * 5 Years Later * * *
Perpetua, wearing a pair of brown trousers and one of her father’s linen shirts, steps into a pair of soft boots and reaches for the doorknob.
“Where are you going missy?” Cyprian asks watching her from a chair in the living room. He stands up and steps into the light, dropping an empty alcohol bottle on the hard dirt floor, watching it shatter.
“Tanis and Batnoam wanted me to come over, Hyrum proposed to Tanis and they are having a get together to celebrate.” Perpetua declares sticking her chin up to look taller compared to her massive father, as she was only 5’ and weighed about 110 pounds at the age of 16, after her final growth spurt.
“Don’t lie to me. WHERE ARE YOU GOING?!” Cyprian, who usually abstained from drinking, growls, slamming his fist into the wall and pulling it away, stained with blood oozing from his knuckles.
“Talk to me when you aren’t drunk out of your mind and you know what you are saying.” Perpetua calmly says, her voice dripping with disdain, although she is shaking and thin rivulets of cold, nervous sweat trickle down her spine and soak through the under arms of the soft linen.
“I know very well what I am saying, Perpetua. Sit down and talk with me.” Cyprian says, gesturing towards the floor with a lopsided grin. Perpetua shakes her head and remains standing but takes a step in, accepting that they needed to talk.
“You aren’t tolerant to who I am. I love to be outside, I love to find new things and discover. I love to breath the fresh, untainted air that drifts off of the sea. I love to get dirty and forget the requirements that come with looking nice and acting properly. I can’t do that with you keeping me back and trying to making me a housewife. I’m not coming back after tonight. Paltibaal has purchased his own ship and we are going with the team of Carthaginians who are building a colony in the Mediterranean as a center for trade.” Perpetua firmly states as the reality of what she was about to do hit her.
Cyprian presses on his chest and coughs. “I have given you the best I can. Why isn’t enough?” He stutters, more speaking to himself than her. With a puzzled look on his face, he stretches his shoulders and shakes his left arm out. Cyprian leans against the wall, squeezing his eyes shut to stop the spinning. “Aren’t you scared?”
Perpetua looks at her father, leaning against the wall in obvious pain wondering what is wrong. “Of course I am scared.” She mutters looking at her hand.
“Then why…are you going?” He asks, wincing and taking a deep breath that cuts his sentence in half.
“You’re taking up too much space if you’re not living on the edge.” She claims and takes a step closer to her father, worry flashing across her face.
Cyprian carefully lowers himself to the ground and lays down on his back with his arms spread wide and his knees bent. “Do you hate me?” He asks, bringing a hand up, wiping his face of the thin layer of perspiration that had accumulated on his forehead.
Perpetua stoops down next to him and with her sleeve dabs his face. “Of course I don’t hate you. You frustrate me sometimes, and maybe it shows through my actions, but I don’t hate you.” She murmurs, offering a small smile so show what a silly question that was.
“When you were five, you told me you hated me. Did you mean it?” Cyprian asks, truly concerned that she still hated him from when she threw a temper tantrum as a five year old.
“Oh, daddy. Don’t you remember all the times I tell you I love you?” Perpetua asks, getting up and getting a glass of water for him.
“Yes. But I also remember the times you tell me hate me and those are the memories I have nightmares about.” He replies, coughing and holding his head tight in his hands.
“Sit up, and drink.” She demands holding the glass in front of him. He tries to sit up and is slammed down to the ground with a wave of nausea. Cyprian shakes his head and closes his eyes. He reaches into his pocket by his heart and retrieves the pendant, softened by his fingers constantly running over it. He beckons for her to come closer and he reaches up and fastens it around her delicate neck.
“It was your…mother’s. She gave it you...when you were born, just before she…died. I am sorry…I kept it from you. For so long…I blamed you for her death.” Cyprian utters slowly taking pauses in between the spears of pain in his chest.
“It’s beautiful. Thank you.” Perpetua mumbles, laying a hand on her father’s chest.
“I want you…to go with Paltibaal. All I ever wanted…was for you to be happy. If that is what…you desire…then you may go.” Cyprian mutters as a small smile flickers across his face, driven away by the pounding in his head. “Tell that boy…you’re more precious…than the finest jewels…and that he better treat you like it.”
Perpetua laughs softly and kisses Cyprian on the forehead. “I will tell him.” She whispers and lays her head on his stomach feeling his breath under her, rising up and down slowly. Cyprian sighs softly, suppressing the pain and strokes her hair. Perpetua starts the game she used to play when she was younger and he would tuck her in, where she tried to match her breath with his. Now, she finds herself holding her breath to match his slow gasps of air. Cyprian exhales and she holds her breath in, waiting for the inhale that never comes.
_Animas High School 3206 North Main Avenue Durango, CO 81301 (970) 247-2474
My Contact Information: [email protected]
Updated on: 2.7.11
My Contact Information: [email protected]
Updated on: 2.7.11