I have a story for class, but it doesnt follow the guidelines and its a little long, so here's my attempt at the first fiction exercise

Its altitude is the very essence of its attraction. The ability to feel the superiority it gives you over others is what keeps you coming back. The land that surrounds you is plush with the color of health and life. You can hear the laughter and unbridled joyous scream of children, the soundtrack to a warm spring day. In front of you sprawls the dirt covered battleground that a game for boys in played upon. Above you is the serenity of the baby blue unknown, almost asking you to try to understand its wonders. Beneath you is the rugged yet accepting ground that you have come to know and love upon each visit. In a moment otherwise filled with peace, a baseball is launched off the bat below and lands within arm's reach. You take it in your hand for a moment to study it, if nothing else. The seemingly tattoed-on grass stains testify to its durability. Its plain white backdrop color allude to the purity of the game that revolves around it; in intention, method, and result. Its bleeding stitches signify how deep its tradition runs in the veins of the American subconscious. After making your appreciative observations, you set the ball down, with a tempered grin. And as you take your hand away, it begins to roll away, taking with it nothing but your hopes of ever seeing it again.

Fiction packet 3 was by far the most frustrating and confusing packet we have been given. The story that best exemplifies my point was "When It Rains It Rains A River." Two accepted and often used literary devices are repetition and dialect. Writers typically sprinkle these devices throughout their work for effect, added emphasis, and realism. This story, however, is not just sprinkled with these devices. It is totally and completely covered by a mound of them. To illustrate, in my opinion, the use of repetition and dialect in this story is like that old prank when someone unscrews the lid on the salt shaker when you're not looking and laughs when enough salt to clog the arteries of a herd of elephants contaminates your food. I would say 20-30% of the already short story is repetition of the words "boys" and "brothers." I thought it detracted from the story greatly, and made it borderline indecipherable as a whole. Also, on a side note, is "Girl" a real person or imaginary or some sort of delusion? That wasn't really all that clear to me either.

After reading the passage by Burroway, I honestly believe that it is one of the more insightful commentary on the purposes for art, including writing, that I have read. Over the years, I have heard many descriptions, speculation, and comparisons of what death must be like. However, Burroway's take ("The final absence of feeling is death") has resonated with me far deeper than any other description I have heard. The absolute fear of no longer being able to feel is a fascinating explanation for the focus on death in the many cultutres and societies in the world today and in the past. All of us dread that moment, that time, that feeling, or lackthereof. It is this fear that forces so many of us to hover over concerns such as health and mortality so closely. Of all the things you fear losing in death (family, life, money), I for one would have never thought to list the one thing that we all fear losing, just as Burroway said: feeling.