Remember your current events booklet is due on Monday.  When done you can continue to work on your time definitions and researching your historical events game items.

If you didn’t see any of the time devices made by the students, please ask them to tell you about it.  They were very accurate!

If you are interested in seeing your Citizenship Project videos, you can still find them at http://bengoughss8.edublogs.org/.

-Mr. Bell

            “The war of Marathon 2000 years ago was won by the Persians…”  My father rambled on and on.  I tuned it out, as I had done countless times before.  “They were the backbone of our country…” Yeah, yeah I thought.  They won the war, and started a strong monarchy in
Greece.  They made us who we are.  I don’t care.  “A woman’s place is in the home child, please stop running off.”  All I could do was bow my head and say “Yes, father.”  “Now run along and do your chores.”  I turned and fled the room.

            I ran down the long stone hallways.  They had large windows with a window seat at each one, with shutters that could block out the winter cold.  Normally, I would sit at a window with one of father’s books reading, but today was different.

            Last night father had announced that in two years, I would be old enough to marry off, that isn’t what bothered me.  I’d already known that, it was his second announcement.  He was remarrying.  Father was going to marry!  I didn’t mind, mother had died from an illness 2 years ago, no what bothered me was who!  She was a slight woman with long ebony hair.  Her skin was the color of white alabaster.  She had ice cold blue eyes that could freeze you where you stood, and her mouth reminded me of a cat that had just caught a bird, curled up at the corners with an evil smile.

            I had nothing against her; it’s just that she didn’t seem to like me, ever since I accidentally spilt red wine on that lovely white dress of hers.  Oops, there I go, now I look like I’m the one who caught a bird, oh well. 

            I turned a corner and dashed through a door, and collided heavily with one of the servants.

            “Oof, child, what are you doing?!”  I started I’d just crashed headlong with the head gardener.  She was a lovely woman, with chocolate colored skin and kind eyes.  Why couldn’t father marry someone like her?  “Child, come, I’ve been looking for you, and you promised to help me gather fruit today to send to your brother at war, did you run off again?  Golly, ‘tis almost noon!  Heavens child! You’re awfully pale.”

            She, the rambling woman was right!  I was pale, clammy too. I kept forgetting where Greg was, it was so peaceful here I’d forgotten.  “Come child, warm sunlight and fresh air will do you good, go find a shady spot, I’ll bring you some cold mint tea.  Hurry along now, and then you can help me.” “Thanks, um,” “Nell!” “Okay, I’m going,” You’ve got to love her.

            I wandered the gardens until I came to my favorite fruit tree.  It was the only apple tree we had and it had a grape vine growing up its trunk.  I reached up and picked the biggest, sweetest apple I could find.  Then I sat down and waited, chewing on the warm, crisp fruit in my hand.  I didn’t wait long.  Soon I could see the form of the head gardener heading my way.  She sat on the ground beside me.

            She wasn’t so much a slave to me, as a friend, but that is because I wasn’t allowed to leave home. (Except when I, um, took, ah, secret excursions into the forest, father calls it running away, I call it freedom.)  We quickly drank the mint tea, and then we started picking.

            I quickly filled my skirt with the biggest, reddest apples I could find.  It didn’t take long before… “Child, come on, we need more than apples, pick some grapes and kiwi, don’t forget the raspberries and strawberries, Nell, are you listening?  We need to send your brother more than apples!”  I blushed deeply and wandered away looking for other fruits.  Within the hour we had enough fruit.

            “Nell, come with me, we’ll take the fruit down to the kitchen, and then you can leave.”  I followed the head gardener obediently; she was the only person I ever listened to.  We made our way down to the kitchens.

            When we walked in I was pulled into a gigantic bear hug.  When I was released I spun around.  Standing there in the doorway was my brother, Greg.  I dropped my fruit laden skirt and embraced Greg.  I looked up at his face, “Why are you here?”  Greg looked hurt. “Don’t you like me anymore?  The war is over, but if you don’t want me here I could leave.”  I punched his arm and bent to pick up the fruit I’d dropped.

            We were walking down a hallway when dad and his fiancé turned a corner.  Much to my dismay, father had another announcement.  He (and my soon to be step-mom) had decided to marry me off!  I turned and ran.  I could Greg arguing, and then I heard him coming after me.

            Greg found me crying but I didn’t care.  I sat there looking out the window, I heard him sigh.  I didn’t move.  I sat there on the window seat hugging my knees.  I sat there long after he left lost in my own confusing thoughts.  I sighed and leaned back against the wall.  I watched as the sun sank down and bathed the world in red and gold.  I found myself wondering what the world would’ve been like if the Greeks had won the battle of
Marathon.  But that was a ridiculous notion; after all the Greeks had been greatly outnumbered.  It was a silly idea, wasn’t it?  I guess I’ll never know.  I sighed, closed my eyes, and drifted off to sleep.

By: Krista Kaufman

            He woke up shivering.  The sun was covered by thick grey clouds.  A storm was coming.  He sat up stiffly and stretched, he was still tired but he had to move on.  He looked around for his gear and saw it a little way off.  He got stiffly to his feet; he would have to see the village healer when he got out of the mountain.  He gathered up his gear and went in search of his sheep.

            The sheep were a little way off, huddled in a thick knot.  At the sight of their master they started beating in reproach, as if scolding him for bringing them up here.  He sighed inwardly; the sheep weren’t going to move easily, 40 some years of raising them had taught him that.  He stood there glowering; the cold was seeping deep into his bones.

            The wind started up, it ruffled hi deer fur hat and made his grass cloak push warningly against his body as if urging him to get moving.  He stood his ground, but worried deep inside.  The weather here in the mountain was unpredictable and the wind carried the scent of falling snow.

            He stomped his feet to get the circulation moving, this was going to be hard.  He had to reach the sheltering rocks before the storm hit and it was at least half-a-days walk, if he was lucky.  He sighed again (this time out loud) and got the sheep moving.  He decided that when he had a chance, he’d make himself new boots.  The ones he was wearing weren’t warm enough.

            The sheep were moving faster than he had hoped, the wind was at his back, and they had gone at least half the distance to the shelter.  Infact the sheep were moving so fast he had trouble keeping up.

            For all his luck, he didn’t fool himself.  He was sick and old; he wasn’t as fast as he used to be either.  He wasn’t a world class shepherd (anymore), but for his lack of youth he at least had experience.  He knew every rock on the mountain and every mood it had.  He also knew how to survive in a blizzard and the freezing cold.

            The sheep knew the way as well as he did so his mind was free to wander, which is why he didn’t notice the wild ram join the ewes.  It was a strong ram, more than strong enough to take on the ram in the man’s flock.  Wild rams were a shepherd’s worst nightmare, they were strong sheep.  They were usually stronger than the tame rams found in flocks, which made them even more dangerous.  They could kill a ram or the shepherd and take the flock.

            The man was thinking about sitting in front of a warm campfire, when he nearly tripped over his flock’s ram.  The ram had slowed down because of a broken leg.  He cursed and started to run.

            He reached the sheep slightly out of breath.  It only took a quick glance to show him the wild ram which was almost twice the size of the ewes.  He cursed himself for not finishing his bow.  He grabbed his copper axe and attacked the wild ram.  He missed and the ram swung around and butted him in the ribs.  He felt his ribs break under the force.  He fell to the ground clutching his sides and through a haze of pain, watched as the ram herded away the ewes.

            He shut his eyes as the pain spread from his sides to his to his chest.  He gritted his teeth; his only hope now was to make it to the rocks.  He slowly stood up.  It wasn’t far to the rocks now and the sky was growing steadily darker.

            He started walking up the hill, the wind seemed to be trying to help it was blowing against his back and guided his steps.  As he walked he hung his axe hung at his side and fumbled in his pouches for food.  He found strips of meat and chunks of bread from his last meal.  He ate it quickly and did a search of his other pouches they were all empty except for a few grains of wheat and a few sloe berries.  He gave up his search and focused on putting one foot in front of the other.

            He kept moving up the slope with determined steps, even though his ribs were very sore.  He knew that if he stopped he would never make it.  He trudged on, growing more and more tired.  He started slowing down and he began to lose hope.  The sky grew even darker and the wind blew hard and insistent, as if trying to get moving.  He started to drag his feet, his hope was almost gone, and then he saw it.  The rocks were just a few yards ahead.  He started to speed up, his hope restored.  Then disaster struck.

            The snow came down like a heavy blanket, blown around in the wind.  He nearly stopped right there, hope was suddenly empty.  The wind parted the snow for a second and he saw the rocks.  He ran for them.  He caught his foot on a rock and fell heavily to the ground.  Fiery pain shot through his chest and he rolled onto his back, one arm lying across his chest.

            With a heart stopping realization he knew he would die there, that he wouldn’t make it to safety.  He already felt his body chilling.  There was a blessing though, he could lose himself in his memories and forget the horrible sensation of freezing to death.  With stiff fingers he groped for his polished white marble bead.  The feel of it was comforting.  He gripped it tightly, once, and fell asleep.

            As he slept, he remembered.  He remembered a lifetime of herding sheep.  Of his unfinished bow strapped to his back.  He thought of nights spent by the campfire, creating beautiful tools and weapons.  He thought of his beautiful copper axe and the beautiful arrows he had made.  And he dreamed of restless nights in the fields dreaming of the mountains.  He remembered aging, of becoming a man, growing old.  Then he remembered the healing marks placed on his skin as his joints weakened, of the horrible sickness that burned his insides like fire.  And then suddenly he was glad, glad it was all over.  He was peaceful.  It was right for him to die here on the mountain where he was at home.  Then something else came to mind.  His lovely daughter would wait in vain for her father to come home, he would never again see beautiful spring days or warm summer nights, he would never again help with lambing or harvest.  He would never pass on his knowledge of the mountain.

            His eyes flew open and he struggled to rise but the pain in his chest knocked him down.  Tears formed in his eyes and one froze on his cheek.  He felt a sudden calm wash over him as he realized they would be fine without him.  His heartbeat slowed and he gazed up at the sky.  One last thought drifted through his mind.

            He was no longer lying on the mountain side.  He was standing in a lovely wheat field holding his daughter’s hand.  They are gazing up at the autumn sky.  His daughter gasps and cries, “Daddy, can you see the pretty dancing people?”  He tells her yes, and that they are pretty indeed.

            He is now back on the mountain starring with unseeing eyes as the same dancing figures that danced among the clouds so long ago, dance around him in the snow.  He has died.  The snow comes down heavier as if the mountain is crying frozen tears.  He is soon covered in a snowy grave.  The snow slowly stops and the sun tentatively peeps through the clouds.  Only the wind doesn’t stop.  It sings a bone-chilling song of love and death as it mourns for the dead man.

            It sings, “My friend, child of the mountain, herder of sheep, farewell, farewell, may your spirit always dwell in peace, you will never be forgotten, for now you lie with the mountain, you are home, farewell, farewell, my friend.  The man of ice.”

By: Krista