Economics and B. Government C.

1. Which of the following is not a key trade-off faced by society? A. who gets good and service? B. whether or not to produce. C. how to produce? D. which goods and services to produce. 2. Most microeconomic models assume that decision markers wish to A. act selfishly. B. make themselves as well off as possible C. make others as well off as possible. D. none of the above. 3. What links the decisions of consumers and firms in market? A. coordination’s officials B. government C. prices D. microeconomics 4. The price of a good or service is: A. Always equal to the cost of producing the good B. Never affected by number of buyers and seller.C. Usually determined in a market. D. None of the above. 5. Economists make many assumptions to simplify their models because. A. they are lazy B. no one would understand complex models. C. the real world is too complex to analyze fully. D. none of the above. 6. Which of the following is an example of a positive statement? A. if you consume this good you, will get sick. B. since this good is bad for you, you should not consume it. C. if this good is bad for you, you should not consume it D. none of the above. 7. Which of the following is true. A. A normative economic stament is a testable hypothesis about cause and effect.B. a positive stament concerns what somebody believes should happen; a normative stament concerns what will happen. C. A normative stament concerns what somebody believes should happen; a positive stament concerns what will happen. D. none of the above are true. 8. Microeconomic models used to. A. evaluate policy alternatives. B. make predictions. C. explain real life phenomena D. all of the above 9. Which of the following choices is an example of a negative externality. A. educations B. mercury emissions from a coal-fired power plant C. your neighbor is trimming the hedge between your houses. D polio vaccinations

Reflective Paper/Generational Poverty Essay

Generational Poverty creates a strong family oriented environment that is a bond that most children refuse to want to break by leaving home. Most of the children that are raised in poverty have a lack of education resulting in a high dropout rate due to frustration in learning or teen pregnancy. Children become possessions to their parents instead of someone that they should teach and prepare for them to move out on their own to achieve success for their families. The older children tend to take care of the younger children forming a sense of belonging to the family resulting in the children to be afraid of leaving home ever. Single parents tend to work longer hours resulting in the inability to educate their children resulting with lower test scores in school causing educational boundaries that could cause illiteracy with children wanting to drop out because of anger and depression with the inability to learn and keep up with the other children. There is a lack of cultural experiences to other environments due to lack of money or transportation to and from areas of culture. This can present language issues where children only know certain words and the specifics of communicating what their needs are expressed unsuccessfully due to being uneducated. (Entertainment, 2006) As the children grow into being teens their lack of education could cause a severe resistance to wanting success or achieve greater paying jobs. This could lead to illegal activities such as the making and selling of drugs to earn money to support their children or to a life of crime and theft. The men that frequent the homes are either lovers or fighter and they come and go in and out of the lives of the woman and children, mostly because they may be wanted by law enforcement. This could lead to the children having a lack of food to sustain proper nutrition based on the large families and low income that the parents bring home. (Entertainment, 2006) Planning for the future is crucial in everyone’s life; this provides more stability for families so that they feel secure for their futures. However, in generational poverty there is an inability to plan or save money for the future due to a lack of income. So planning is nearly impossible because they don’t know where they might be from day to day. Without having any bank accounts or having a mind set to handle money, they use every penny that comes into the household for survival, entertainment or relationships only; there is no security for the future so living in the present is all that populations of generational poverty can do. With an assumption of unemployment most of the members of generational poverty turn to house cleaning, doing peoples hair or nails and even babysitting for extra income to supplement some money that is needed. They have no concept for long term careers and hold a variety of jobs creates a common thought of no future security for not only th e adults but this mentality also passes onto the children who are victims of generational poverty. (Entertainment, 2006) Most of the long term jobs that generational poverty members have are dwindling as there is not a need for so many workers in the agricultural fields. Coal mines are closing down; there is despair in the towns where work was once abundant now the merchants are closing causing citizens to move away from the area. Now there are a lot of drugs, theft and generalized crime. The economy is shifting from manufacturing to a service economy and many of those in generational poverty can’t go along with that shift based of lack of educational experience to help them achieve higher pay, so in the end the manufacturing workers are relying on state assistance for food, money and medical. This becomes mentally instilled into the minds of the children that are being raised with little or no money that it is okay to be on state assistance and live that way for many years resulting in misuse of the system. In the 1960’s Oscar Lewis introduced the â€Å"Poverty Culture† as they learn from each other resulting in forming a â€Å"new normal† that includes the undesired to work and have no education, with this shift we could see a lot of generational poverty groups shifting from TANF to SSI. (Entertainment, 2006) Members of generational poverty are considered to be under classed where they can’t or won’t and are non-participating in work search help agencies. These people are in great demand for food, beds, clothes and school supplies where they are unprepared to participate in the main stream day to day due to illiteracy. With the under developed skills there are more school drop outs, more teen pregnancies and higher unemployment rates. Poverty stricken individuals are likely to abuse every governmental assistance program and get away with abusing the system as each system is not connected with one another. (Entertainment, 2006) As rare as it is some do break the cycle of poverty to poverty proving that the myths involved with not being able to escape poverty and the cultural shock of success is possible. It may take 10-15 years more to fully understand generational poverty. We know that most of those who are classed in poverty just settle for where they are because of not being educated and a lack of desire to succeed fearing that they will not be accepted back into their families if they make it out of the poverty level. With their mind set being that they are illiterate they feel that they can’t get jobs so therefore they don’t even try to better themselves. This effects educators in teaching children because of lack of social cognitive skills to successfully communicate their needs and to be about to read and write on the same level of children their own age, the value on a good education is not transferred to generational poverty children. Educators at school want to help children to excel academically, but when a value is not placed on learning it makes it difficult for teachers to have a strong desire to want to help those who don’t help themselves to succeed, resulting in poorer quality of education at home, with peers and in the environment where roles are played. Parents are not taking the time that is needed to teach their children, most of the children are considered â€Å"latch key† kids or in daycare after school until they can get off work presenting a lack of supervision for the children to take their studies seriously leading to a higher dropout rate among generational poverty children. Schools are beginning to implement more structure to help those who desire to overcome generational poverty however change cannot occur over night and the first thing that needs to change is the attitude of the child before escape from generational poverty can be made. Without motivation or the will to improve their situation then the cycle cannot be broken, therefore a good solid education is the first thing that needs to be accomplished so that the cycle can be broken and children of generational poverty can succeed in breaking the cycle. (Diller, 2011) (Entertainment, 2006) AGED FACING ACCESS TO EMPLOYMENT The challenges that the aged face when there is a lack of access to employment begin with governmental forces that are pushing the aged out at 67 to receive SSI and Medicare. Companies are laying off the higher paid older employees to open up positions for younger lower paid employees who may have higher educational experience to navigate the changing from a manufacturing work environment to the service environment in which some of the aged face as problems due to a lack of educational experience. This leaves the aged with no health care and forced to take demeaning demanding jobs that they cannot successfully work because of their age and that they do not have the energy or abilities to overcome unemployment. This situation results in the need for them to spend their savings long before they intended to use it or that they have no savings because they have helped their children and supported them through the years. (Phoenix, 2013) UNIQUE CHALLENGES WOMEN FACE Women are faced with more life changing decisions then men, such as having a child is for life rather than having the option to bail when life gets to tough. Facing society looking down upon her when she chooses a career over staying at home and raising her child is scrutinized even though the woman knows that she loves and cares for her children, the way society looks upon her may stress her out. If a young woman marries a wealthy man she can devote her time and energy to raising her children without having to work. However if a woman chooses love over money then working to provide for her family is what she has to do despite what society thinks about her providing instead of staying at home and raising her children. Facing any stage in life is difficult if the woman is not equipped with a way to handle or deal with the daily stress of an ever changing life with their husband, children, career and just life in general. (unknown) (Coleman, 2012) PERSONAL PERSPECTIVE AND THE WAY I WILL APPROACH THE SPECIAL POPULATIONS Personally I did not realize the impact that generational poverty has on the communities where they are residing in. I knew that there were those who were poor, however, the generational poverty community is much worse off than I could have ever imagined. Being a mother, I could never imagine not teaching my child right from wrong or even the basic math equations that would help her to succeed in school. Life is full of many different lifestyles and cultures but pure ignorance in the education of young children is one that should not be tolerated by anyone. Educators who try to help the children of generational poverty are doing their best to help the children want to have the desire to succeed but the parents or older children at home have made it clear that leaving would devastate their parents, so the only that young children feel that they can do is drop out of school so that they can lead the same life as their siblings before them. As for the unemployment that the aged face because companies are deciding to force retirement, this is wrong and creates societal problems of the need to take care of the elderly or for them to seek out caring individuals to manipulate to care for them because of the lack of family support. Advocates within the community should be helping the elderly to find resources that are being abused by generational poverty victims and help the elderly get of governmental assistance. The changes that women face day to day are many that I face as I approach 40 years of age. My daughter is getting taller, stronger, and older and is not a baby any more, resulting in a desire to have more children. However as women get older their ability to have children has either been surgically removed or they feel that the risks are too high for them to have children. These types of stressors can result in depression, lack of sex drive and just an overall feeling of despair. Learning about these different aspects of life has been rewarding and changed the way that I think how I will approach those who are dealing with so many different cultures. I will more sensitive to those who are older, less fortunate and just going through some changes that they are facing in day to day life. Works Cited Coleman, K. (2012, October 24). Equal Pay For Equal Work: Not Even College Helps Women. Retrieved from NPR: http://www.npr.org/blogs/thetwo-way/2012/10/24/163536890/equal-pay-for-equal-work-not-even-college-helps-women Diller, J. V. (2011). Cultural Diversity. A Primer for the Human Services. In J. V. Diller, Cultural Diversity. A Primer for the Human Services. Cengage Learning. Entertainment, L. I. (Director). (2006). Born with a Wooden Spoon: Welcome to Poverty U.S.A. (Characteristics of Generational Poverty)(Breaking the Cycle of Generational Poverty) [Motion Picture]. Phoenix, U. o. (2013). Understanding the Depth of Challenges

Lamb: The Gospel According to Biff, Christ’s Childhood Pal Chapter 21

Chapter 21 â€Å"You make a very attractive woman,† Rumi said from the comfort of his pit. â€Å"Did I tell you that my wife has passed on to her next incarnation and that I am alone?† â€Å"Yeah, you mentioned that.† He seemed to have given up on us getting his daughter back. â€Å"What happened to the rest of your family, anyway?† â€Å"They drowned.† â€Å"I'm sorry. In the Ganges?† â€Å"No, at home. It was the monsoon season. Little Vitra and I had gone to the market to buy some swill, and there was a sudden downpour. When we returned†¦Ã¢â‚¬  He shrugged. â€Å"I don't mean to sound insensitive, Rumi, but there is a chance that your loss could have been caused by – oh, I don't know – perhaps the fact that you LIVE IN A FUCKING PIT!† â€Å"That's not helping, Biff,† Joshua said. â€Å"You said you had a plan?† â€Å"Right. Rumi, am I correct in assuming that these pits, when someone is not living in them, are used for tanning hides?† â€Å"Yes, it is work that only Untouchables may do.† â€Å"That would account for the lovely smell. I assume you use urine in the tanning process, right?† â€Å"Yes, urine, mashed brains, and tea are the main ingredients.† â€Å"Show me the pit where the urine is condensed.† â€Å"The Rajneesh family is living there.† â€Å"That's okay, we'll bring them a present. Josh, do you have any lint in the bottom of your satchel?† â€Å"What are you up to?† â€Å"Alchemy,† I said. â€Å"The subtle manipulation of the elements. Watch and learn.† When it was not being used, the urine pit was the home of the Rajneesh family, and they were more than happy to give us loads of the white crystals that covered the floor of their home. There were six in the family, father, mother, an almost grown daughter, and three little ones. Another little son had been taken for sacrifice at the festival of Kali. Like Rumi, and all the other Untouchables, the Rajneesh family looked more like skeletons mummified in brown leather than people. The Untouchable men went about the pits naked or wearing only a loincloth, and even the women were dressed in tatters that barely covered them – nothing as nice as the stylish sari that I had purchased in the marketplace. Mr. Rajneesh commented that I was a very attractive woman and encouraged me to drop by after the next monsoon. Joshua pounded chunks of the crystallized mineral into a fine white powder while Rumi and I collected charcoal from under the heated dying pit (a firebox had been gouged out of the stone under the pit) which the Untouchables used to render the flowers from the indigo shrub into fabric dye. â€Å"I need brimstone, Rumi. Do you know what that is? A yellow stone that burns with a blue flame and gives off a smoke that smells like rotten eggs?† â€Å"Oh yes, they sell it in the market as some sort of medicine.† I handed the Untouchable a silver coin. Go buy as much of it as you can carry.† â€Å"Oh my, this will be more than enough money. May I buy some salt with what is left?† â€Å"Buy what you need with what's left over, just go.† Rumi skulked away and I went to help Joshua process the saltpeter. The concept of abundance was an abstract one to the Untouchables, except as it pertained to two categories, suffering and animal parts. If you wanted decent food, shelter, or clean water, you would be sorely disappointed among the Untouchables, but if you were in the market for beaks, bones, teeth, hides, sinew, hooves, hair, gallstones, fins, feathers, ears, antlers, eyeballs, bladders, lips, nostrils, poop chutes, or any other inedible part of virtually any creature that walked on, swam under, or flew over the subcontinent of India, then the Untouchables were likely to have what you wanted lying around, conveniently stored beneath a thick blanket of black flies. In order to fashion the equipment I needed for my plan, I had to think in terms of animal parts. Fine unless you need, say, a dozen short swords, bows and arrows, and chain mail for thirty soldiers and all you have to work with is a stack of nostrils and three mismatched poop chutes. It was a challenge, but I made do. As Jo shua moved among the Untouchables, surreptitiously healing their maladies, I barked out my orders. â€Å"I need eight sheep bladders – fairly dry – two handfuls of crocodile teeth, two pieces of rawhide as long as my arms and half again as wide. No, I don't care what kind of animal, just not too ripe, if you can manage it. I need hair from an elephant's tail. I need firewood, or dried dung if you must, eight oxtails, a basket of wool, and a bucket of rendered fat.† And a hundred scrawny Untouchables stood there, eyes as big as saucers, just staring at me while Joshua moved among them, healing their wounds, sicknesses, and insanities, without any of them suspecting what was happening. (We'd agreed that this was the wisest tack to take, as we didn't want a bunch of healthy Untouchables athletically bounding through Kalighat proclaiming that they had been cured of all ills by a strange foreigner, thus attracting attention to us and spoiling my plan. On the other hand, neither could we stand there and watch these people suffer, knowing that we – well, Joshua – had the power to help them.) He'd also taken to poking one of them in the arm with his finger anytime anyone said the word â€Å"Untouchable.† Later he told me that he just hated passing up the opportunity for palpable irony. I cringed when I saw Joshua touching the lepers among them, as if after all these years away from Israel a tiny Pharisee stood on my shoulder and sc reamed, â€Å"Unclean!† â€Å"Well?† I said after I'd finished my orders. â€Å"Do you want your children back or not?† â€Å"We don't have a bucket,† said one woman. â€Å"Or a basket,† said another. â€Å"Okay, fill some of the sheep bladders with rendered fat, and bundle the wool in some kind of hide. Now go, we don't have a lot of time.† And they all stood and looked at me. Big eyes. Sores healed. Parasites purged. They just looked at me. â€Å"Look, I know my Sanskrit isn't great, but you do know what I am asking?† A young man stepped forward. â€Å"We do not want to anger Kali by depriving her of her sacrifices.† â€Å"You're kidding, right?† â€Å"Kali is the bringer of destruction, without which there can be no rebirth. She is the remover of the bondage that ties us to the material world. If we anger her, she will deprive us of her divine destruction.† I looked at Joshua across the crowd. â€Å"Do you understand this?† â€Å"Fear?† he said. â€Å"Can you help?† I asked in Aramaic. â€Å"I'm not good at fear,† Joshua said in Hebrew. I thought for a second as two hundred eyes pinned me to the sandstone on which I stood. I remembered the red-stained gashes on the wooden elephant statues at the altar of Kali. Death was their deliverance, was it? â€Å"What is your name?† I asked the man who had stepped out of the crowd. â€Å"Nagesh,† he said. â€Å"Stick out your tongue, Nagesh.† He did, and I threw back the cloth that covered my head and loosened it around my neck. Then I touched his tongue. â€Å"Destruction is a gift you value?† â€Å"Yes,† said Nagesh. â€Å"Then I shall be the instrument of the goddess's gift.† With that I pulled the black glass dagger from the sheath in my sash, held it up before the crowd. While Nagesh stood, passive, wide-eyed, I drove my thumb under his jaw, pushed his head back, and brought the dagger down across his throat. I lowered him to the ground as the red liquid spurted over the sandstone. I stood and faced the crowd again, holding the dripping blade over my head. â€Å"You owe me, you ungrateful fucks! I have brought to your people the gift of Kali, now bring me what I ask for.† They moved really quickly for people who were on the edge of starvation. After the Untouchables scattered to do my bidding, Joshua and I stood over the bloodstained body of Nagesh. â€Å"That was fantastic,† Joshua said. â€Å"Absolutely perfect.† â€Å"Thanks.† â€Å"Had you been practicing all that time we were in the monastery?† â€Å"You didn't see me push the pressure point in his neck then?† â€Å"No, not at all.† â€Å"Gaspar's kung fu training. The rest, of course, was from Joy and Balthasar.† I bent over and opened Nagesh's mouth, then took the ying-yang vial from around my neck and put a drop of the antidote on the Untouchable's tongue. â€Å"So he can hear us now, like when Joy poisoned you?† Joshua asked. I pulled back one of Nagesh's eyelids and watched the pupil contract slowly in the sunlight. â€Å"No, I think he's still unconscious from me holding the pressure point. I didn't think the poison would work quickly enough. I could only get a drop of poison on my finger when I loosened my sari. I knew it would keep him down, I just wasn't sure it would put him down.† â€Å"Well, you are truly a magus, now, Biff. I'm impressed.† â€Å"Joshua, you healed a hundred people today. Half of them were probably dying. I did some sleight of hand.† My friend's enthusiasm was undeterred. â€Å"What's the red stuff, pomegranate juice? I can't figure out where you concealed it.† â€Å"No, actually I was going to ask you about that.† â€Å"What?† I held my arm up and showed Joshua where I had slashed my own wrist (the source of blood for the show). I had been holding it against my leg and as soon as I removed the pressure the blood started spurting again. I sat down hard on the sandstone and my vision began to tunnel down to a pinpoint. â€Å"I was hoping you could help me out with this,† I said before I fainted. â€Å"You need to work on that part of the trick,† Joshua said when I came to. â€Å"I might not always be around to fix your wrist.† He was speaking Hebrew – that meant for my ears only. I saw Joshua kneeling above me, then beyond him the sky was blotted out by curious brown faces. The recently murdered Nagesh was in the front of the crowd. â€Å"Hey, Nagesh, how'd the rebirth go?† I asked in Sanskrit. â€Å"I must have strayed from my dharma in my last life,† Nagesh said. â€Å"I have been reincarnated, once again, as an Untouchable. And I have the same ugly wife.† â€Å"You challenged master Levi who is called Biff,† I said, â€Å"of course you didn't move up. You're lucky you're not a stink bug or something. See, destruction isn't the big favor you all thought it was.† â€Å"We brought the things you asked for.† I hopped to my feet feeling incredibly rested and energized. â€Å"Nice,† I said to Joshua. â€Å"I feel like I just had one of those strong coffees you used to make at Balthasar's.† â€Å"I miss coffee,† said Josh. I looked at Nagesh, â€Å"I don't suppose you†¦Ã¢â‚¬  â€Å"We have swill.† â€Å"Never mind,† I said. Then I said one of those things that as a boy growing up in Galilee, you never think you'll hear yourself say: â€Å"Okay, Untouchables, bring me the sheep bladders!† Rumi said that the goddess Kali was served by a host of black-skinned female demons, who sometimes during the feast would bring men to corners of the altar and copulate with them as blood rained down from the goddess's saw-tooth maw above. â€Å"Okay, Josh, you're one of them,† I said. â€Å"What are you gonna be?† â€Å"The goddess Kali, of course. You got to be God last time.† â€Å"What last time?† â€Å"All of the last times.† I turned to my intrepid minions. â€Å"Untouchables, paint him up!† â€Å"They're not going to buy that a burr-headed Jewish kid is their goddess of destruction.† â€Å"O ye of little faith,† I said. Three hours later we were again crouched beneath a tree near the temple of Kali. We were both dressed as women, covered from head to toe by our saris, but I was looking much lumpier under mine due to Kali's extra arms and garland of severed heads, played tonight by painted sheep bladders filled with explosives and suspended around my neck by long strands of elephant tail hair. Any observers who might get close enough to notice my protrusions were quickly deterred by the smell coming off of Joshua and me. We had used the goo from the bottom of Rumi's pit to paint our bodies black. I didn't have the courage to ask what the substance had been in life, but if there was a place where they allowed vultures to ripen in the sun before pounding them into a smooth paste and mixing it with just the right amount of buffalo squat, then Rumi called it home. The Untouchables had also painted huge red rings around Joshua's eyes, fitted him with a ropey wig of oxtails, and affixed to his torso six pe rt little breasts fashioned from pitch. â€Å"Stay away from any open flame. Your tits will go up like volcanos.† â€Å"Why did I have to have six and you only had to have two.† â€Å"Because I am the goddess and have to wear the garland of skulls and the extra arms.† We'd made my arms from rawhide, using my primary arms as models, then drying the molded arms in place over the fire. The women made a harness that held the extra arms in place under my own, then we painted the arms black with the same black goo. They were a little wobbly, but they were light and would look realistic enough in the dark. It was still hours from the height of the ceremony at midnight, when the children would be hacked to death, but we wanted to be there in time to stop the revelers from cutting off the children's fingers if we could. Now, the wooden elephants were empty on their turntables, but the altar of Kali was already filling with gruesome tribute. The heads of a thousand goats had been laid on the altar before the goddess, and the blood ran slick over the stones and in the grooves that channeled it into large brass pots at the corners of the altar. Female acolytes carried the pots up a narrow ladder at the back of the great statue of Kali, then dumped them through some sort of reservoir that fed it through the goddess's jaws. Below, by torchlight, worshipers danced in the sticky shower as the blood flowed down upon them. â€Å"Look, those women are dressed like me,† Joshua said. â€Å"Except they only have two breasts each.† â€Å"Technically, they're not dressed, they're painted. You make a very attractive female demon, Josh. Did I tell you that?† â€Å"This isn't going to work.† â€Å"Of course it's going to work.† I guessed that there were already ten thousand worshipers in the temple square, dancing, chanting, and beating drums. A procession of thirty men came down the main boulevard, each carrying a basket under his arm. As they reached the altar, each man dumped the contents of the basket over the rows of bloody goat heads. â€Å"What are those?† Joshua asked. â€Å"Those are exactly what you think they are.† â€Å"They're not the heads of the children?† â€Å"No, I think those are the heads of strangers who happened down the road we were on before Rumi came along to pull us into the grass.† After the severed heads were dispersed across the altar, the female acolytes came out of the crowd dragging the headless corpse of a man, which they laid on the steps leading to the altar. Each one mimed having intercourse with the corpse, then rubbed their genitalia against the bloody stump of its neck before dancing away, blood and ochre dripping down the insides of their thighs. â€Å"There's sort of a theme developing here,† I said. â€Å"I think I'm going to be sick,† Joshua said. â€Å"Mindful breath,† I said, using one of the phrases that Gaspar was always barking at us when we were learning meditation. I knew that if Joshua could stay with the yeti for days at a time without freezing to death, he could certainly conjure up the bodily control to keep from throwing up. The sheer magnitude of the carnage was all that was keeping me from vomiting. It was as if the atrocity of the whole scene couldn't fit in my mind all at once, so I could only see just enough for my sanity and my stomach to remain intact. A shout went up in the crowd now and I could see a torch-lit sedan chair being carried above the heads of the worshipers. On it reclined a half-naked man with a tiger skin wrapped around his hips, his skin painted light gray with ashes. His hair was plaited with grease and he wore the bones of a human hand as a skullcap. Around his neck hung a necklace of human skulls. â€Å"High priest,† I said. â€Å"They aren't even going to notice you, Biff. How can you even get their attention after they've seen all this?† â€Å"They haven't seen what I'm going to show them.† As the sedan chair emerged from the crowd in front of the altar, we could see a procession following it: tied to the back of the sedan chair was a line of naked children, most of them not more than five or six, their hands tied together, a less ornately dressed priest on either side of them to steady them. The priests began to untie the children and take them to the great wooden elephants lining the boulevard. Here and there in the crowd I could see people beginning to brandish edged weapons: short swords, axes, and the long-bladed spears Joshua and I had seen over the elephant grass. The high priest was sitting on the headless corpse, shouting a poem about the divine release of Kali's destruction or something. â€Å"Here we go,† I said, pulling the black glass dagger from under my sari. â€Å"Take this.† Joshua looked at the blade shimmering in the torchlight. â€Å"I won't kill anyone,† he said. Tears were streaming down his cheeks, drawing long red lines through the black and if anything making him look more fierce. â€Å"That's fine, but you'll need to cut them loose.† â€Å"Right.† He took the knife from me. â€Å"Josh, you know what's coming. You've seen it before. Nobody else here has, especially those kids. You can't carry all of them, so they have to have enough of their wits about them to follow you. I know you can keep them from being afraid. Put your teeth in.† Joshua nodded and slipped the row of crocodile teeth attached to a piece of rawhide under his upper lip, leaving the teeth to protrude like fangs. I put in my own false fangs, then ran into the dark to circle the crowd. As I approached the rear of the altar I pulled the special torch I'd made from under my girdle of human hands. (Actually my girdle of human hands was made of dried goat's udders stuffed with straw, but the Untouchable women had done a pretty good job as long as no one bothered to count fingers.) Through Kali's stone legs I could see the priests tying each of the children on the trunk of a wooden elephant. As soon as the bonds were tight, each priest drew a bronze blade and held it aloft, ready to strike off a finger as soon as the high priest gave the signal. I struck the tip of my torch on the edge of the altar, screamed for all I was worth, then threw my sari off and ran up the steps as the torch burst into dazzling blue flame that trailed sparks behind me as I ran. I hopped across the array of goat heads and stood between the legs of the statue of Kali, my torch held aloft in one hand, one of my severed heads swinging by the hair in the other. â€Å"I am Kali,† I screamed. â€Å"Fear me!† It came out sort of mumbled through my fake teeth. Some of the drums stopped and the high priest turned around and looked at me, more because of the bright light of the torch than my fierce proclamation. â€Å"I am Kali,† I shouted again. â€Å"Goddess of destruction and all this disgusting crap you have here!† They weren't getting it. The priest signaled for the other priests to come around me from the sides. Some of the female acolytes were already trying to make their way across the dance floor of decapitations toward me. â€Å"I mean it. Bow down to me!† The priests charged on. I did have the crowd's attention, though unfortunately they weren't cowering in fear at my angry goddessness. I could see Joshua moving around the wooden elephants, the guarding priests having left their posts to come after me. â€Å"Really! I mean it!† Maybe it was the teeth. I spit them out toward the nearest of my attackers. Running across a sea of slick, bloody heads is evidently a pretty difficult task. Not if you've spent the last six years of your life hopping from the top of one post to another, even in ice and snow, but for the run-of-the-mill homicidal priest, it's a tough row to hoe. The priests and acolytes were slipping and sliding among the goat and human heads, falling over each other, smacking into the feet of the statue, one even impaling himself on a goat's horn when he fell. One of the priests was only a few feet away from me now, trying not to fall on his own blade as he crawled over the mess. â€Å"I will bring destruction†¦oh, fuck it,† I said. I lit the fuse on the severed head I held in my hand, then swung it between my legs and tossed it in a steep arch over my head. It trailed sparks on its way into the black goddess's open maw, then disappeared. I kicked the approaching priest in the jaw, then danced across the goat heads, leapt over the head of the high priest, and was halfway to Joshua at the first wooden elephant when Kali, with a deafening report, breathed fire out over the crowd and the top of her head blew off. Finally, I had the crowd's attention. They were trampling each other to get away, but I had their attention. I stood in the middle of the boulevard, swinging my second severed head in a circle, waiting for the fuse to burn down before I let it sail over the heads of the receding crowd. It exploded in the air, sending a circle of flame across the sky and no doubt deafening some of the worshipers who were close. Joshua had seven of the children around him, clinging to his legs as he moved to the next elephant. Several of the priests had recovered and were storming down the steps of the altar toward me, knives in hand. I pulled another head from my garland, lit the fuse, and held it out to them. â€Å"Ah, ah, ah,† I cautioned. â€Å"Kali. Goddess of destruction. Wrath et cetera.† At the sight of the sparking fuse they stopped and began to backpedal. â€Å"Now that's the sort of respect you should have shown before.† I started whirling the head by the hair and the priests lost all semblance of courage and turned and ran. I hurled the head back up the boulevard onto the altar, where it exploded, sending a spray of real severed goat heads in all directions. â€Å"Josh! Duck! Goat heads!† Joshua pushed the children to the ground and fell over them until the pieces settled. He glared at me a second, then went on to free the other children. I hurled three more heads into different directions and now the entire temple square was nearly deserted but for Joshua, the children, a few injured worshipers, and the dead. I had built the bombs without any shrapnel in them, so those who had been injured had been trampled in the panic and the dead were those who had already been sacrificed to Kali. I think we pulled it off without killing anyone. As Joshua led the children down the wide boulevard and out of the temple square, I covered our exit, backing down the boulevard, my last explosive head swinging in one hand, my torch in the other. Once I saw that Joshua and the children were safely away, I lit the fuse, whirled the head around and let it fly toward the black goddess. â€Å"Bitch,† I said. I was out of sight when it exploded. Joshua and I got as far as a limestone cliff overlooking the Ganges before we had to stop to let the children rest. They were tired and hungry, but mostly they were hungry, and we had brought nothing for them to eat. At least, after Joshua's touch, they weren't afraid, and that gave them some peace. Josh and I were too jangled to sleep, so we sat up as the children lay down on the rocks around us and snored like kittens. Joshua held Rumi's little daughter, Vitra, and before long her face was smeared with black paint from nuzzling his shoulder. All through the night, as he rocked the child, all I heard Joshua say was, â€Å"No more blood. No more blood.† At first light we could see thousands, no, tens of thousands of people gathering at the banks of the river, all dressed in white, except for a few old men who were naked. They moved into the water and stood facing east, heads raised in anticipation, dotting the river as far as the eye could see. As the sun became a molten fingernail of light on the horizon, the muddy surface of the river turned golden. The gold light reflected off its surface onto the buildings, the shanties, the trees, the palaces, making everything in sight, including the worshipers, appear to have been gilded. And worshipers they were, for we could hear their songs from where we sat, and although we could not discern the words, we could hear that these were the songs of God. â€Å"Are those the same people from last night?† I said. â€Å"They would have to be, wouldn't they?† â€Å"I don't understand these people. I don't understand their religion. I don't understand how they think.† Joshua stood and watched the Indians bowing and singing to the dawn, looking occasionally to the face of the child that slept on his shoulder. â€Å"This is testament to the glory of God's creation, whether these people know it or not.† â€Å"How can you say that? The sacrifices to Kali, the way the Untouchables are treated. Whatever they might believe, in practice their religion is hideous.† â€Å"You're right. It's not right to condemn this child because she was not born a Brahman?† â€Å"Of course not.† â€Å"Then is it right to condemn her because she is not born a Jew?† â€Å"What do you mean?† â€Å"A man who is born a gentile may not see the kingdom of God. Are we, as Hebrews, any different from them? The lambs at the temple on Passover? The wealth and power of the Sadducees while others go hungry? At least the Untouchables can reach their reward eventually, through karma and rebirth. We don't allow any gentile to do so.† â€Å"You can't compare what they do to God's law. We don't sacrifice human beings. We feed our poor, we take care of the sick.† â€Å"Unless the sick are unclean,† Joshua said. â€Å"But, Josh, we're the chosen. It's God's will.† â€Å"But is it right? He won't tell me what to do. So I'll say. And I say, no more.† â€Å"You're not just talking about eating bacon, are you?† â€Å"Gautama the Buddha gave the way to people of all births to find the hand of God. With no blood sacrifice. Our doors have been marked with blood for too long, Biff.† â€Å"So that's what you think you're going to do? Bring God to everyone?† â€Å"Yes. After a nap.† â€Å"Of course, I meant after a nap.† Joshua held the little girl so I could see her face as she slept on his shoulder. When the children awoke we led them back to their families at the pits, handing them into the arms of their mothers, who snatched each child away from us as if we were devils incarnate; they glared over their shoulders as they carried the babies back to their pits. â€Å"Grateful bunch,† I said. â€Å"They are afraid that we've angered Kali. And we've brought them another hungry mouth.† â€Å"Still. Why did they help us if they didn't want their children back?† â€Å"Because we told them what to do. That's what they do. What they are told. That's how the Brahmans keep them in line. If they do what they are told, then perhaps they will not be Untouchables next life.† â€Å"That's depressing.† Joshua nodded. We only had little Vitra to return to her father now, and I was sure that Rumi would be happy to see his daughter. His distress over losing her had basically been the reason he had saved our lives. As we came over the sandstone rise we could see that Rumi was not alone in his pit. Rumi stood on his sitting rock, stark naked, sprinkling salt on his erect member as a large humpbacked cow, which nearly filled the rest of the pit, licked at the salt. Joshua held Vitra so she faced away from the pit, then backed away, as if he didn't want to disturb the moment of beefy intimacy. â€Å"A cow, Rumi?† I exclaimed. â€Å"I thought you people had beliefs.† â€Å"That's not a cow, that's a bull,† Joshua said. â€Å"Oh, that's got to be your super-bonus abomination there. Where we come from whole cities get destroyed for that kind of thing, Rumi.† I reached over and put my hand over Vitra's eyes. â€Å"Stay away from Daddy, honey, or you'll turn into a pillar of salt.† â€Å"But this is my wife, reincarnated.† â€Å"Oh, don't try that one on me, Rumi. For six years I lived in a Buddhist monastery where the only female company was a wild yak. I know from desperate.† Joshua grabbed my arm. â€Å"You didn't?† â€Å"Relax, I'm just making a point. You're the Messiah here, Josh. What do you think?† â€Å"I think we need to go to Tamil and find the third magus.† He set Vitra down and Rumi quickly pulled up his loincloth as the child ran to him. â€Å"Go with God, Rumi,† Joshua said. â€Å"May Shiva watch over you, you heretics. Thank you for returning my daughter.† Joshua and I gathered up our clothes and satchels, then bought some rice in the market and set out for Tamil. We followed the Ganges south until we came to the sea, where Joshua and I washed the gore of Kali from our bodies. We sat on the beach, letting the sun dry our skin as we picked pitch out of our chest hairs. â€Å"You know, Josh,† I said, as I fought a particularly stubborn gob of tar that had stuck in my armpit, â€Å"when you were leading those kids out of the temple square, and they were so little and weak, but none of them seemed afraid†¦well, it was sort of heartwarming.† â€Å"Yep, I love all the little children of the world, you know?† â€Å"Really?† He nodded. â€Å"Green and yellow, black and white.† â€Å"Good to know – Wait, green?† â€Å"No, not green. I was just fuckin' with you.†

Twilight 1. FIRST SIGHT

Meyer, Stephanie, 1973- Twilight : a novel / by Stephanie Meyer. – 1st ed. Summary: Grade 9 Up – Headstrong, sun-loving, 17-year-old Bella declines her mom's invitation to move to Florida, and instead reluctantly opts to move to her dad's cabin in the dreary, rainy town of Forks, WA. She becomes intrigued with Edward Cullen, a distant, stylish, and disarmingly handsome senior, who is also a vampire. When he reveals that his specific clan hunts wildlife instead of humans, Bella deduces that she is safe from his blood-sucking instincts and therefore free to fall hopelessly in love with him. The feeling is mutual, and the resulting volatile romance smolders as they attempt to hide Edward's identity from her family and the rest of the school. Meyer adds an eerie new twist to the mismatched, star-crossed lovers theme: predator falls for prey, human falls for vampire. This tension strips away any pretense readers may have about the everyday teen romance novel, and kissing, touching, and talking take on an entirely new meaning when one small mistake could b e life-threatening. Bella and Edward's struggle to make their relationship work becomes a struggle for survival, especially when vampires from an outside clan infiltrate the Cullen territory and head straight for her. As a result, the novel's danger-factor skyrockets as the excitement of secret love and hushed affection morphs into a terrifying race to stay alive. Realistic, subtle, succinct, and easy to follow, Twilight will have readers dying to sink their teeth into it. For my big sister, Emily, without whose enthusiasm this story might still be unfinished. But of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, thou shalt not eat of it: for in the day that thou eatest thereof thou shalt surely die. Genesis 2:17 PREFACE I'd never given much thought to how I would die – though I'd had reason enough in the last few months – but even if I had, I would not have imagined it like this. I stared without breathing across the long room, into the dark eyes of the hunter, and he looked pleasantly back at me. Surely it was a good way to die, in the place of someone else, someone I loved. Noble, even. That ought to count for something. I knew that if I'd never gone to Forks, I wouldn't be facing death now. But, terrified as I was, I couldn't bring myself to regret the decision. When life offers you a dream so far beyond any of your expectations, it's not reasonable to grieve when it comes to an end. The hunter smiled in a friendly way as he sauntered forward to kill me. 1. FIRST SIGHT My mother drove me to the airport with thewindows rolled down. It was seventy-five degrees inPhoenix, the sky a perfect, cloudless blue. I waswearing my favorite shirt – sleeveless, white eyelet lace; I was wearingit as a farewell gesture. My carry-on item was a parka. In the Olympic Peninsula of northwest Washington State, a small townnamed Forks exists under a near-constant cover of clouds. It rains on this inconsequential town more than any other place in the United Statesof America. It was from this town and its gloomy, omnipresent shade thatmy mother escaped with me when I was only a few months old. It was in this town that I'd been compelled to spend a month every summer until Iwas fourteen. That was the year I finally put my foot down; these past three summers, my dad, Charlie, vacationed with me in California for twoweeks instead. It was to Forks that I now exiled myself- an action that I took withgreat horror. I detested Forks. I loved Phoenix. I loved the sun and the blistering heat. I loved thevigorous, sprawling city. â€Å"Bella,† my mom said to me – the last of athousand times – before I goton the plane. â€Å"You don't have to do this.† My mom looks like me, except with short hair and laugh lines. I felt aspasm of panic as I stared at her wide, childlike eyes. How could I leave my loving, erratic, harebrained mother to fend for herself? Of course shehad Phil now, so the bills would probably get paid, there would be food in the refrigerator, gas in her car, and someone to call when she got lost, but still†¦ â€Å"I want to go,† I lied. I'd always been a bad liar, but I'd been saying this lie so frequently lately that it sounded almost convincing now. â€Å"Tell Charlie I said hi.† â€Å"I will.† â€Å"I'll see you soon,† she insisted. â€Å"You can come home whenever you want -I'll come right back as soon as you need me.† But I could see the sacrifice in her eyes behind the promise. â€Å"Don't worry about me,† I urged. â€Å"It'll be great. I love you, Mom.† She hugged me tightly for a minute, and then I got on the plane, and shewas gone. It's a four-hour flight from Phoenix to Seattle, another hour in a small plane up to Port Angeles, and then an hour drive back down to Forks. Flying doesn't bother me; the hour in the car with Charlie, though, I wasa little worried about. Charlie had really been fairly nice about the whole thing. He seemedgenuinely pleased that I was coming to live with him for the first timewith any degree of permanence. He'd already gotten me registered for highschool and was going to help me get a car. But it was sure to be awkward with Charlie. Neither of us was what anyonewould call verbose, and I didn't know what there was to say regardless. I knew he was more than a little confused by my decision – like my motherbefore me, I hadn't made a secret of my distaste for Forks. When I landed in Port Angeles, it was raining. I didn't see it as an omen- just unavoidable. I'd already said my goodbyes to the sun. Charlie was waiting for me with the cruiser. This I was expecting, too.Charlie is Police Chief Swan to the good people of Forks. My primarymotivation behind buying a car, despite the scarcity of my funds, wasthat I refused to be driven around town in a car with red and blue lightson top. Nothing slows down traffic like a cop. Charlie gave me an awkward, one-armed hug when I stumbled my way off theplane. â€Å"It's good to see you, Bells,† he said, smiling as he automaticallycaught and steadied me. â€Å"You haven't changed much. How's Ren? ¦e?† â€Å"Mom's fine. It's good to see you, too, Dad.† I wasn't allowed to callhim Charlie to his face. I had only a few bags. Most of my Arizona clothes were too permeable forWashington. My mom and I had pooled our resources to supplement my winter wardrobe, but it was still scanty. It all fit easily into the trunk ofthe cruiser. â€Å"I found a good car for you, really cheap,† he announced when we werestrapped in. â€Å"What kind of car?† I was suspicious of the way he said â€Å"good car foryou† as opposed to just â€Å"good car.† â€Å"Well, it's a truck actually, a Chevy.† â€Å"Where did you find it?† â€Å"Do you remember Billy Black down at La Push?† La Push is the tiny Indianreservation on the coast. â€Å"No.† â€Å"He used to go fishing with us during the summer,† Charlie prompted. That would explain why I didn't remember him. I do a good job of blockingpainful, unnecessary things from my memory. â€Å"He's in a wheelchair now,† Charlie continued when I didn't respond, â€Å"sohe can't drive anymore, and he offered to sell me his truck cheap.† â€Å"What year is it?† I could see from his change of expression that thiswas the question he was hoping I wouldn't ask. â€Å"Well, Billy's done a lot of work on the engine – it's only a few yearsold, really.† I hoped he didn't think so little of me as to believe I would give up that easily. â€Å"When did he buy it?† â€Å"He bought it in 1984, I think.† â€Å"Did he buy it new?† â€Å"Well, no. I think it was new in the early sixties – or late fifties atthe earliest,† he admitted sheepishly. â€Å"Ch – Dad, I don't really know anything about cars. I wouldn't be able to fix it if anything went wrong, and I couldn't afford a mechanic†¦Ã¢â‚¬  â€Å"Really, Bella, the thing runs great. They don't build them like thatanymore.† The thing, I thought to myself†¦ it had possibilities – as a nickname, atthe very least. â€Å"How cheap is cheap?† After all, that was the part I couldn't compromise on. â€Å"Well, honey, I kind of already bought it for you. As a homecoming gift.† Charlie peeked sideways at me with a hopeful expression. Wow. Free. â€Å"You didn't need to do that, Dad. I was going to buy myself a car.† â€Å"I don't mind. I want you to be happy here.† He was looking ahead at theroad when he said this. Charlie wasn't comfortable with expressing his emotions out loud. I inherited that from him. So I was looking straightahead as I responded. â€Å"That's really nice, Dad. Thanks. I really appreciate it.† No need to addthat my being happy in Forks is an impossibility. He didn't need to suffer along with me. And I never looked a free truck in the mouth – or engine. â€Å"Well, now, you're welcome,† he mumbled,embarrassed by my thanks. We exchanged a few more comments on the weather, which was wet, and that was pretty much it for Conversation. We stared out the windows in silence. It was beautiful, of course; I couldn't deny that. Everything was green:the trees, their trunks covered with moss, their branches hanging with a canopy of it, the ground covered with ferns. Even the air filtered down greenly through the leaves. It was too green – an alien planet. Eventually we made it to Charlie's. He still lived in the small,two-bedroom house that he'd bought with my mother in the early days oftheir marriage. Those were the only kind of days their marriage had – the early ones. There, parked on the street in front of the house that never changed, was my new – well, new to me – truck. It was a faded red color,with big, rounded fenders and a bulbous cab. To my intense surprise, I loved it. I didn't know if it would run, but I could see myself in it.Plus, it was one of those solid iron affairs that never gets damaged -the kind you see at the scene of an accident, paint unscratched, surrounded by the pieces of the foreign car it had destroyed. â€Å"Wow, Dad, I love it! Thanks!† Now my horrific day tomorrow would be justthat much less dreadful. I wouldn't be faced with the choice of either walking two miles in the rain to school or accepting a ride in the Chief's cruiser. â€Å"I'm glad you like it,† Charlie said gruffly,embarrassed again. It took only one trip to get all my stuff upstairs. I got the westbedroom that faced out over the front yard. The room was familiar; it had been belonged to me since I was born. The wooden floor, the light blue walls, the peaked ceiling, the yellowed lace curtains around the window -these were all a part of my childhood. The only changes Charlie had ever made were switching the crib for a bed and adding a desk as I grew. Thedesk now held a secondhand computer, with the phone line for the modem stapled along the floor to the nearest phone jack. This was a stipulation from my mother, so that we could stay in touch easily. The rocking chair from my baby days was still in the corner. There was only one small bathroom at the top of the stairs, which I would have to share with Charlie. I was trying not to dwell too much on that fact. One of the best things about Charlie is he doesn't hover. He left me alone to unpack and get settled, a feat that would have been altogether impossible for my mother. It was nice to be alone, not to have to smile and look pleased; a relief to stare dejectedly out the window at the sheeting rain and let just a few tears escape. I wasn't in the mood to go on a real crying jag. I would save that for bedtime, when I would have to think about the coming morning. Forks High School had a frightening total of only three hundred and fifty-seven – now fifty-eight – students; there were more than seven hundred people in my junior class alone back home. All of the kids here had grown up together – their grandparents had been toddlers together. I would be the new girl from the big city, a curiosity, a freak. Maybe, if I looked like a girl from Phoenix should, I could work this tomy advantage. But physically, I'd never fit in anywhere. I should be tan,sporty, blond – a volleyball player, or a cheerleader, perhaps – all thethings that go with living in the valley of the sun. Instead, I was ivory-skinned, without even the excuse of blue eyes or red hair, despite the constant sunshine. I had always been slender, but soft somehow, obviously not an athlete; I didn't have the necessary hand-eye coordination to play sports without humiliating myself – and harming both myself and anyone else who stood too close. When I finished putting my clothes in the old pine dresser, I took my bag of bathroom necessities and went to the communal bathroom to clean myself up after the day of travel. I looked at my face in the mirror as I brushed through my tangled, damp hair. Maybe it was the light, but already I looked sallower, unhealthy. My skin could be pretty – it was very clear, almost translucent-looking- but it all depended on color. I had no color here. Facing my pallid reflection in the mirror, I was forced to admit that I was lying to myself. It wasn't just physically that I'd never fit in. And if I couldn't find a niche in a school with three thousand people, what were my chances here? I didn't relate well to people my age. Maybe the truth was that I didn't relate well to people, period. Even my mother, who I was closer to than anyone else on the planet, was never in harmony with me, never on exactly the same page. Sometimes I wondered if I was seeing the same things through my eyes that the rest of the world was seeing through theirs. Maybe there was a glitch in my brain. But the cause didn't matter. All that mattered was the effect. And tomorrow would be just the beginning. I didn't sleep well that night, even after I was done crying. The constant whooshing of the rain and wind across the roof wouldn't fade into the background. I pulled the faded old quilt over my head, and later added the pillow, too. But I couldn't fall asleep until after midnight, when the rain finally settled into a quieter drizzle. Thick fog was all I could see out my window in the morning, and I could feel the claustrophobiacreeping up on me. You could never see the skyhere; it was like a cage. Breakfast with Charlie was a quiet event. He wished me good luck at school. I thanked him, knowing his hope was wasted. Good luck tended to avoid me. Charlie left first, off to the police station that was his wife and family. After he left, I sat at the old square oak table in one of the three unmatching chairs and examined his small kitchen, with its dark paneled walls, bright yellow cabinets, and white linoleum floor. Nothingwas changed. My mother had painted the cabinets eighteen years ago in an attempt to bring some sunshine into the house. Over the small fireplace in the adjoining handkerchief-sized family room was a row of pictures. First a wedding picture of Charlie and my mom in Las Vegas, then one of the three of us in the hospital after I was born, taken by a helpful nurse, followed by the procession of my school pictures up to last year's. Those were embarrassing to look at – I would have to see what I could do to get Charlie to put them somewhere else, at least whi le I wasliving here. It was impossible, being in this house, not to realize that Charlie hadnever gotten over my mom. It made me uncomfortable. I didn't want to be too early to school, but I couldn't stay in the house anymore. I donned my jacket – which had the feel of a biohazard suit -and headed out into the rain. It was just drizzling still, not enough to soak me through immediately as I reached for the house key that was always hidden under the eaves by the door, and locked up. The sloshing of my new waterproof boots was unnerving. I missed the normal crunch of gravel as I walked. I couldn't pause and admire my truck again as I wanted; I was in a hurry to get out of the misty wet that swirled around my head and clung to my hair under my hood. Inside the truck, it was nice and dry. Either Billy or Charlie had obviously cleaned it up, but the tan upholstered seats still smelled faintly of tobacco, gasoline, and peppermint. The engine started quickly,to my relief, but loudly, roaring to life and then idling at top volume. Well, a truck this old was bound to have a flaw. The antique radio worked, a plus that I hadn't expected. Finding the school wasn't difficult, though I'd never been there before. The school was, like most other things, just off the highway. It was not obvious that it was a school; only the sign, which declared it to be the Forks High School, made me stop. It looked like a collection of matching houses, built with maroon-colored bricks. There were so many trees and shrubs I couldn't see its size at first. Where was the feel of the institution? I wondered nostalgically. Where were the chain-link fences,the metal detectors? I parked in front of the first building, which had a small sign over the door reading front office. No one else was parked there, so I was sure it was off limits, but I decided I would get directions inside instead of circling around in the rain like an idiot. I stepped unwillingly out of the toasty truck cab and walked down a little stone path lined with dark hedges. I took a deep breath before opening the door. Inside, it was brightly lit, and warmer than I'd hoped. The office was small; a little waiting area with padded folding chairs, orange-flecked commercial carpet, notices and awards cluttering the walls, a big clock ticking loudly. Plants grew everywhere in large plastic pots, as if there wasn't enough greenery outside. The room was cut in half by a long counter, cluttered with wire baskets full of papers and brightly colored flyers taped to its front. There were three desks behind the counter, one of which was manned by a large, red-haired woman wearing glasses. She was wear ing a purple t-shirt, which immediately made me feel overdressed. The red-haired woman looked up. â€Å"Can I help you?† â€Å"I'm Isabella Swan,† I informed her, and saw the immediate awarenesslight her eyes. I was expected, a topic of gossip no doubt. Daughter of the Chief's flighty ex-wife, come home at last. â€Å"Of course,† she said. She dug through a precariously stacked pile of documents on her desk till she found the ones she was looking for. â€Å"I have your schedule right here, and a map of the school.† She brought several sheets to the counter to show roe. She went through my classes for me, highlighting the best route to each on the map, and gave me a slip to have each teacher sign, which I was to bring back at the end of the day. She smiled at me and hoped, like Charlie, that I would like it here in Forks. I smiled back as convincingly as I could. When I went back out to my truck, other students were starting to arrive. I drove around the school, following the line of traffic. I was glad to see that most of the cars were older like mine, nothing flashy. At home I'd lived in one of the few lower-income neighborhoods that were included in the Paradise Valley District. It was a common thing to see a new Mercedes or Porsche in the student lot. The nicest car here was a shiny Volvo, and it stood out. Still, I cut the engine as soon as I was in a spot, so that the thunderous volume wouldn't draw attention to me. I looked at the map in the truck, trying to memorize it now; hopefully I wouldn't have to walk around with it stuck in front of my nose all day. I stuffed everything in my bag, slung the strap over my shoulder, and sucked in a huge breath. I can do this, I lied to myself feebly. No one was going to bite me. I finally exhaled and stepped out of the truck. I kept my face pulled back into my hood as I walked to the sidewalk, crowded with teenagers. My plain black jacket didn't stand out, I noticed with relief. Once I got around the cafeteria, building three was easy to spot. A largeblack â€Å"3† was painted on a white square on the east corner. I felt my breathing gradually creeping toward hyperventilation as I approached the door. I tried holding my breath as I followed two unisex raincoats through the door. The classroom was small. The people in front of me stopped just inside the door to hang up their coats on a long row of hooks. I copied them. They were two girls, one a porcelain-colored blonde, the other also pale, with light brown hair. At least my skin wouldn't be a standout here. I took the slip up to the teacher, a tall, balding man whose desk had a nameplate identifying him as Mr. Mason. He gawked at me when he saw my name – not an encouraging response – and of course I flushed tomato red. But at least he sent me to an empty desk at the back without introducing me to the class. It was harder for my new classmates to stare at me in the back, but somehow, they managed. I kept my eyes down on the reading list the teacher had given me. It was fairly basic: Bronte, Shakespeare, Chaucer, Faulkner. I'd already read everything. That was comforting†¦ and boring. I wondered if my mom would send me my folder of old essays, or if she would think that was cheating. I went through different arguments with her in my head while the teacher droned on. When the bell rang, a nasal buzzing sound, a gangly boy with skin problems and hair black as an oil slick leaned across the aisle to talk to me. â€Å"You're Isabella Swan, aren't you?† He looked like the overly helpful, chess club type. â€Å"Bella,† I corrected. Everyone within a three-seat radius turned to look at me. â€Å"Where's your next class?† he asked. I had to check in my bag. â€Å"Um, Government, with Jefferson, in building six.† There was nowhere to look without meeting curious eyes. â€Å"I'm headed toward building four, I could show you the way†¦Ã¢â‚¬  Definitely over-helpful. â€Å"I'm Eric,† he added. I smiled tentatively. â€Å"Thanks.† We got our jackets and headed out into the rain, which had picked up. I could have sworn several people behind us were walking close enough to eavesdrop. I hoped I wasn't getting paranoid. â€Å"So, this is a lot different than Phoenix, huh?† he asked. â€Å"Very.† â€Å"It doesn't rain much there, does it?† â€Å"Three or four times a year.† â€Å"Wow, what must that be like?† he wondered. â€Å"Sunny,† I told him. â€Å"You don't look very tan.† â€Å"My mother is part albino.† He studied my face apprehensively, and I sighed. It looked like clouds and a sense of humor didn't mix. A few months of this and I'd forget how to use sarcasm. We walked back around the cafeteria, to the south buildings by the gym. Eric walked me right to the door, though it was clearly marked. â€Å"Well, good luck,† he said as I touched the handle. â€Å"Maybe we'll have some other classes together.† He sounded hopeful. I smiled at him vaguely and went inside. The rest of the morning passed in about the same fashion. My Trigonometry teacher, Mr. Varner, who I would have hated anyway just because of the subject he taught, was the only one who made me stand in front of the class and introduce myself. I stammered, blushed, and tripped over my own boots on the way to my seat. After two classes, I started to recognize several of the faces in each class. There was always someone braver than the others who would introduce themselves and ask me questions about how I was liking Forks. I tried to be diplomatic, but mostly I just lied a lot. At least I never needed the map. One girl sat next to me in both Trig and Spanish, and she walked with me to the cafeteria for lunch. She was tiny, several inches shorter than my five feet four inches, but her wildly curly dark hair made up a lot of the difference between our heights. I couldn't remember her name, so I smiled and nodded as she prattled about teachers and classes. I didn't try to keep up. We sat at the end of a full table with several of her friends, who she introduced to me. I forgot all their names as soon as she spoke them. They seemed impressed by her bravery in speaking to me. The boy fromEnglish, Eric, waved at me from across the room. It was there, sitting in the lunchroom, trying to make conversation with seven curious strangers, that I first saw them. They were sitting in the corner of the cafeteria, as far away from where I sat as possible in the long room. There were five of them. They weren't talking, and they weren't eating, though they each had a tray of untouched food in front of them. They weren't gawking at me, unlike most of the other students, so it was safe to stare at them without fear of meeting an excessively interested pair of eyes. But it was none of these things that caught, and held, my attention. They didn't look anything alike. Of the three boys, one was big – muscled like a serious weight lifter, with dark, curly hair. Another was taller, leaner, but still muscular, and honey blond. The last was lanky, lessbulky, with untidy, bronze-colored hair. He was more boyish than the others, who looked like they could be in college, or even teachers here rather than students. The girls were opposites. The tall one was statuesque. She had a beautiful figure, the kind you saw on the cover of the Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue, the kind that made every girl around her take a hit on her self-esteem just by being in the same room. Her hair was golden, gently waving to the middle of her back. The short girl was pixielike, thin in the extreme, with small features. Her hair was a deep black,cropped short and pointing in every direction. And yet, they were all exactly alike. Every one of them was chalky pale, the palest of all the students living in this sunless town. Paler than me, the albino. They all had very dark eyes despite the range in hair tones. They also had dark shadows under those eyes – purplish, bruiselike shadows. As if they were all suffering from a sleepless night, or almost done recovering from a broken nose. Though their noses, all their features, were straight, perfect, angular. But all this is not why I couldn't look away. I stared because their faces, so different, so similar, were all devastatingly, inhumanly beautiful. They were faces you never expected to see except perhaps on the airbrushed pages of a fashion magazine. Or painted by an old master as the face of an angel. It was hard to decide who was the most beautiful – maybe the perfect blond girl, or thebronze-haired boy. They were all looking away – away from each other, away from the otherstudents, away from anything in particular as far as I could tell. As I watched, the small girl rose with her tray -unopened soda, unbittenapple – and walked away with a quick, graceful lope that belonged on a runway. I watched, amazed at her lithe dancer's step, till she dumped her tray and glided through the back door, faster than I would have thought possible. My eyes darted back to the others, who sat unchanging. â€Å"Who are they?† I asked the girl from my Spanish class, whose name I'd forgotten. As she looked up to see who I meant – though already knowing, probably, from my tone – suddenly he looked at her, the thinner one, the boyish one, the youngest, perhaps. He looked at my neighbor for just a fraction of a second, and then his dark eyes flickered to mine. He looked away quickly, more quickly than I could, though in a flush of embarrassment I dropped my eyes at once. In that brief flash of a glance, his face held nothing of interest – it was as if she had called his name, and he'd looked up in involuntary response, already having decided not to answer. My neighbor giggled in embarrassment, looking at the table like I did. â€Å"That's Edward and Emmett Cullen, and Rosalie and Jasper Hale. The one who left was Alice Cullen; they all live together with Dr. Cullen and his wife.† She said this under her breath. I glanced sideways at the beautiful boy, who was looking at his tray now,picking a bagel to pieces with long, pale fingers. His mouth was moving very quickly, his perfect lips barely opening. The other three still looked away, and yet I felt he was speaking quietly to them. Strange, unpopular names, I thought. The kinds of names grandparents had. But maybe that was in vogue here – small town names? I finally remembered that my neighbor was called Jessica, a perfectly common name. There were two girls named Jessica in my History class back home. â€Å"They are†¦ very nice-looking.† I struggled with the conspicuous understatement. â€Å"Yes!† Jessica agreed with another giggle. â€Å"They're all together though – Emmett and Rosalie, and Jasper and Alice, I mean. And they live together.† Her voice held all the shock and condemnation of the small town, I thought critically. But, if I was being honest, I had to admit that even in Phoenix, it would cause gossip. â€Å"Which ones are the Cullens?† I asked. â€Å"They don't look related†¦Ã¢â‚¬  â€Å"Oh, they're not. Dr. Cullen is really young, in his twenties or early thirties. They're all adopted. The Hales are brother and sister, twins – the blondes – and they're foster children.† â€Å"They look a little old for foster children.† â€Å"They are now, Jasper and Rosalie are both eighteen, but they've been with Mrs. Cullen since they were eight. She's their aunt or something like that.† â€Å"That's really kind of nice – for them to take care of all those kids like that, when they're so young and everything.† â€Å"I guess so,† Jessica admitted reluctantly, and I got the impression that she didn't like the doctor and his wife for some reason. With the glances she was throwing at their adopted children, I would presume the reason was jealousy. â€Å"I think that Mrs. Cullen can't have any kids, though,† she added, as if that lessened their kindness. Throughout all this conversation, my eyes flickered again and again to the table where the strange family sat. They continued to look at the walls and not eat. â€Å"Have they always lived in Forks?† I asked. Surely I would have noticed them on one of my summers here. â€Å"No,† she said in a voice that implied it should be obvious, even to a new arrival like me. â€Å"They just moved down two years ago from somewhere in Alaska.† I felt a surge of pity, and relief. Pity because, as beautiful as they were, they were outsiders, clearly not accepted. Relief that I wasn't the only newcomer here, and certainly not the most interesting by any standard. As I examined them, the youngest, one of the Cullens, looked up and met my gaze, this time with evident curiosity in his expression. As I looked swiftly away, it seemed to me that his glance held some kind of unmet expectation. â€Å"Which one is the boy with the reddish brown hair?† I asked. I peeked at him from the corner of my eye, and he was still staring at me, but not gawking like the other students had today – he had a slightly frustrated expression. I looked down again. â€Å"That's Edward. He's gorgeous, of course, but don't waste your time. He doesn't date. Apparently none of the girls here are good-looking enough for him.† She sniffed, a clear case of sour grapes. I wondered when he'd turned her down. I bit my lip to hide my smile. Then I glanced at him again. His face was turned away, but I thought his cheek appeared lifted, as if he were smiling, too. After a few more minutes, the four of them left the table together. They all were noticeably graceful – even the big, brawny one. It was unsettling to watch. The one named Edward didn't look at me again. I sat at the table with Jessica and her friends longer than I would have if I'd been sitting alone. I was anxious not to be late for class on my first day. One of my new acquaintances, who considerately reminded me that her name was Angela, had Biology II with me the next hour. We walked to class together in silence. She was shy, too. When we entered the classroom, Angela went to sit at a black-topped lab table exactly like the ones I was used to. She already had a neighbor. In fact, all the tables were filled but one. Next to the center aisle, I recognized Edward Cullen by his unusual hair, sitting next to that single open seat. As I walked down the aisle to introduce myself to the teacher and get my slip signed, I was watching him surreptitiously. Just as I passed, he suddenly went rigid in his seat. He stared at me again, meeting my eyes with the strangest expression on his face – it was hostile, furious. I looked away quickly, shocked, going red again. I stumbled over a book in the walkway and had to catch myself on the edge of a table. The girl sitting there giggled. I'd noticed that his eyes were black – coal black. Mr. Banner signed my slip and handed me a book with no nonsense about introductions. I could tell we were going to get along. Of course, he had no choice but to send me to the one open seat in the middle of the room. I kept my eyes down as I went to sit by him, bewildered by the antagonistic stare he'd given me. I didn't look up as I set my book on the table and took my seat, but I saw his posture change from the corner of my eye. He was leaning away from me, sitting on the extreme edge of his chair and averting his face like he smelled something bad. Inconspicuously, I sniffed my hair. It smelled like strawberries, the scent of my favorite shampoo. It seemed an innocent enough odor. I let my hair fall over my right shoulder, making a dark curtain between us, and tried to pay attention to the teacher. Unfortunately the lecture was on cellular anatomy, something I'd already studied. I took notes carefully anyway, always looking down. I couldn't stop myself from peeking occasionally through the screen of my hair at the strange boy next to me. During the whole class, he never relaxed his stiff position on the edge of his chair, sitting as far from me as possible. I could see his hand on his left leg was clenched into a fist, tendons standing out under his pale skin. This, too, he never relaxed. He had the long sleeves of his white shirt pushed up to his elbows, and his forearm was surprisingly hard and muscular beneath his light skin. He wasn't nearly as slight as he'd looked next to his burly brother. The class seemed to drag on longer than the others. Was it because the day was finally coming to a close, or because I was waiting for his tight fist to loosen? It never did; he continued to sit so still it looked like he wasn't breathing. What was wrong with him? Was this his normal behavior? I questioned my judgment on Jessica's bitterness at lunch today. Maybe she was not as resentful as I'd thought. It couldn't have anything to do with me. He didn't know me from Eve. I peeked up at him one more time, and regretted it. He was glaring down at me again, his black eyes full of revulsion. As I flinched away from him, shrinking against my chair, the phrase if looks could kill suddenly ran through my mind. At that moment, the bell rang loudly, making me jump, and Edward Cullen was out of his seat. Fluidly he rose – he was much taller than I'd thought – his back to me, and he was out the door before anyone else was out of their seat. I sat frozen in my seat, staring blankly after him. He was so mean. It wasn't fair. I began gathering up my things slowly, trying to block the anger that filled me, for fear my eyes would tear up. For some reason, my temper was hardwired to my tear ducts. I usually cried when I was angry, a humiliating tendency. â€Å"Aren't you Isabella Swan?† a male voice asked. I looked up to see a cute, baby-faced boy, his pale blond hair carefully gelled into orderly spikes, smiling at me in a friendly way. He obviously didn't think I smelled bad. â€Å"Bella,† I corrected him, with a smile. â€Å"I'm Mike.† â€Å"Hi, Mike.† â€Å"Do you need any help finding your next class?† â€Å"I'm headed to the gym, actually. I think I can find it.† â€Å"That's my next class, too.† He seemed thrilled, though it wasn't that big of a coincidence in a school this small. We walked to class together; he was a chatterer – he supplied most of the conversation, which made it easy for me. He'd lived in California till he was ten, so he knew how I felt about the sun. It turned out he was in my English class also. He was the nicest person I'd met today. But as we were entering the gym, he asked, â€Å"So, did you stab Edward Cullen with a pencil or what? I've never seen him act like that.† I cringed. So I wasn't the only one who had noticed. And, apparently, that wasn't Edward Cullen's usual behavior. I decided to play dumb. â€Å"Was that the boy I sat next to in Biology?† I asked artlessly. â€Å"Yes,† he said. â€Å"He looked like he was in pain or something.† â€Å"I don't know,† I responded. â€Å"I never spoke to him.† â€Å"He's a weird guy.† Mike lingered by me instead of heading to the dressing room. â€Å"If I were lucky enough to sit by you, I would have talked to you.† I smiled at him before walking through the girls' locker room door. He was friendly and clearly admiring. But it wasn't enough to ease my irritation. The Gym teacher, Coach Clapp, found me a uniform but didn't make me dress down for today's class. At home, only two years of RE. were required. Here, P.E. was mandatory all four years. Forks was literally my personal hell on Earth. I watched four volleyball games running simultaneously. Remembering how many injuries I had sustained – and inflicted – playing volleyball, I felt faintly nauseated. The final bell rang at last. I walked slowly to the office to return my paperwork. The rain had drifted away, but the wind was strong, and colder. I wrapped my arms around myself. When I walked into the warm office, I almost turned around and walked back out. Edward Cullen stood at the desk in front of me. I recognized again that tousled bronze hair. He didn't appear to notice the sound of my entrance. I stood pressed against the back wall, waiting for the receptionist to be free. He was arguing with her in a low, attractive voice. I quickly picked up the gist of the argument. He was trying to trade from sixth-hour Biology to another time – any other time. I just couldn't believe that this was about me. It had to be something else, something that happened before I entered the Biology room. The look on his face must have been about another aggravation entirely. It was impossible that this stranger could take such a sudden, intense dislike to me. The door opened again, and the cold wind suddenly gusted through the room, rustling the papers on the desk, swirling my hair around my face. The girl who came in merely stepped to the desk, placed a note in the wire basket, and walked out again. But Edward Cullen's back stiffened, and he turned slowly to glare at me – his face was absurdly handsome – with piercing, hate-filled eyes. For an instant, I felt a thrill of genuine fear, raising the hair on my arms. The look only lasted a second, but it chilled me more than the freezing wind. He turned back to the receptionist. â€Å"Never mind, then,† he said hastily in a voice like velvet. â€Å"I can see that it's impossible. Thank you so much for your help.† And he turned on his heel without another look at me, and disappeared out the door. I went meekly to the desk, my face white for once instead of red, and handed her the signed slip. â€Å"How did your first day go, dear?† the receptionist asked maternally. â€Å"Fine,† I lied, my voice weak. She didn't look convinced. When I got to the truck, it was almost the last car in the lot. It seemed like a haven, already the closest thing to home I had in this damp green hole. I sat inside for a while, just staring out the windshield blankly. But soon I was cold enough to need the heater, so I turned the key and the engine roared to life. I headed back to Charlie's house, fighting tears the whole way there.

Organization, Competition and Environment Assignment

Organization, Competition and Environment - Assignment Example In other type of markets which are not perfect competitive and these markets include monopoly, oligopoly, duopoly and competitive monopoly. In a monopoly market we have only one firm in an industry, the firm is a price maker and there are restriction to entry in the industry, the monopoly market the product produced by the firm has no close substitute and therefore the product is unique in nature.1 In a duopoly there exist two firms that produce the same product, there are still barriers to entry in this market, and both firms in the industry take into consideration the reaction of the other firm when making decisions about production and prices.2 In an oligopoly market the number of firms is few and the firm is faced with a kinked demand curve because any decision made by the firm will take into consideration the decision by other firms, if a firm raises its prices other will not follow and therefore the demand curve is kinked.3 Therefore in the transport industry the type of market that exists is competitive, firms in the industry are price takers and there is free entry and exit by firms. This means that the price of transport is determined by the demand and supply in this competitive market, in this market still the buyers and sellers have perfect information about products and services. The competitive market will respond to market forces, the first example we will illustrate is an increase in the supply of services, according to our case study about imperial transport shifts from transporting cars when the automobile industry expands to transporting materials for the construction industry, the reason why the organization responds by exiting the transportation of cars is because there was an in increase in the supply of lorries as the automobile industry expands, this resulted into higher supply than the demand for transport which resulted to lower prices therefore the firm did not experience optimal profits, this led to the firm to exit this industry to the transportation of building materials. Therefore a firm will exit an industry if it has zero profits due to the low prices set by the market forces when the supply for its products increases, the firm will exit and enter another industry which has less supply of the products produced. Another example of the response of the firm due to market forces is if there is an increase in the cost of production due to an increase in the price of inputs, in the case of the imperial transport the price level of diesel rose leading to an increase in the cost of transport, this forced the firms to increase the transportation cost, therefore the increase in diesel cost led to an increase in production or transportation, the firms were not in a position to accept lower profits due to high production cost and therefore they increased their transport charges to maintain high profits. An increase in the demand for transportation of certain goods makes the price of transporting those goods to be higher, therefore more firms will enter the industry, this is evident in our case where the imperial transport exited the beer transporting industry in order to gain more profits from transportation of more expensive goods such as cigarettes and electronics. Therefore when a firm in a competitive market if a

Female Genital Mutilation Research Paper Example | Topics and Well Written Essays - 2000 words

Female Genital Mutilation - Research Paper Example The present research has identified that F. G. M is a procedure that has no health benefits on girls or woman, causes severe psychological and physiological problems and it is mostly practiced in Africa as a nonreligious, cultural ritual. Some scholars such as Elizabeth Bransfield in her case studies involving Female Genital Mutilation in Gender, Anthropology, and Religion argues that it is a religious ritual and cultural issue, while it is overlooked that the ritual has no medical reasons because the female body is adversely harmed. Psychologically, the victim of F.G.M suffers a lot of pain during the procedure which is done mostly in unhygienic conditions and without anesthetic. The removal of the clitoris to is painful due to its having a lot of nerve endings. Injury to the genital area could also scar the victim for life considering that the procedure is undertaken mostly unprofessionally, in poor lighting and at times in the bush. The thrashing, fearful and screaming victim coul d also aggravate the injuries due to the being done by personnel who are not trained in handling medical cases. Lack of medical facilities could also result in dire consequences including death in case of complications. Infection due to unhygienic procedures is a common feature due to the use of unhygienic tools, dirty herbs or untested traditional medicines. Death or very major medical complications conditions could result due to the many underlying conditions under which F.G.M is done. When the procedure involves infibulation, which involves the bidding of the legs for some time, urine and faces are retained in the wound and the damp conditions in the wound could develop into a very septic wound.

Financial Management Essay Example | Topics and Well Written Essays - 250 words - 4

Financial Management - Essay Example Further, public sector enterprises are more accountable to the stakeholders, being government and public, than private sector undertakings. Financial management field is basically responsible for generating valuable information for the purpose of investing, financing and decision making and the role remains the same regardless of the type of organization. The finance managers in a public sector enterprise play many roles including: 1. Accounting and record keeping: The nature of public sector accounting is quite different from that of private sector. In order to show the users of financial statements as well as the stakeholders the position of the entity and all its assets and liabilities, the status of funds etc the finance managers are responsible to maintain appropriate, correct and timely accounting records. That includes both financial and management accounting records. This in turn ensures that the funds are properly allocated to the areas of concern, the risks and returns are highlighted and presented to the top management and the state for decision making purposes, the areas facing a decline and requiring special 2. Effective utilization and allocation of funds: The earnings or funds allocated to public sector organizations are quite restrained and in that restricted budget a public sector entity has to achieve its goals. Finance managers play an important role in the effective utilization of scarce funds to achieve as many objectives as possible within limited resources. For example if $20 million are annually allocate to a government hospital, the finance managers have to practically analyze the ways in which other costs can be reduced and more patients are treated in the allocated funds. 3. Making fund raising efforts: Proper financial management and record keeping will lead to the financial managers identifying situation wherein they need to double their