Hero Reflection

The answer to how does a hero become a hero can be answered in many ways with varying amounts of opinion's. My point of view on it though is that a hero becomes a hero when the media thinks their story is interesting enough to pull in more ratings...

The hero in my eyes project was about figuring out what makes a hero and how to concentrate on a single moment and show strong emotion in that moment that shows why they are heroic.

We had to do quite a few steps to get to the final product but one stands out to me. I didn't turn in my second draft in time which in turn caused me to rush on and not change anything on it. This caused my character sketch to turn out less than what I would have wanted it to be.

I learned that it is hard to pick a single moment in someones past and focus on it especially when they are fuzzy on it themselves. A challenge I encounter was that I didn't pick good enough questions and I was forced to use them and ended up fighting against myself because of it. I would have definitely picked better in-depth questions that really pinpointed on one single moment. All my mistakes with this project really taught me what not to do later on... which is helpful...

I guessed I tried, failing horribly, to use innovation in my character sketch... I wanted to do a broader look at why he was a a hero and try something different, but that didn't turn out quite like I wanted it to.

This is a link to my Character Sketch.

Origin of Zero

I think what hit me the most in the articles was how much zero seemed to have evolved over time and how it appeared in multiple spots around the world. I believe the way we decide who discovered it is by telling who came up with the original concept for zero. The person(s) that came up the base concept were the ones to discover it because the person who made up the number couldn't have really done that without that base work done ages before. The way we all come to the same conclusion eventually is the fact that math is flawed without zero. Mathematics just doesn't work out without that crucial number that means nothing. So I think that eventually advanced cultures realized they can't go any further with their idealism's of math and had to evolve it to a new level. I think the Sumerian's were the first people to discover zero because they discovered the base concept that set the ground work for the entirety of zero.

German GI

“I guess I remember the horrible living conditions more than the actual war…” my Grandfather’s soft voice did a muffled chuckle at that. I nodded slowly as I tried to grasp at the idea of just how bad they had it. I got an image of him shaking horribly in a foxhole that is filled with tarnished white and sometimes red snow. I was talking to him over the phone as I imagined him sitting in his Lay-z boy chair looking out over the lake. My grandfather fought in the last six months of WWII… To this day he can’t stand fireworks because they remind him of artillery. Before I interviewed him I had a very sketchy idea of where he ever fought and what he saw.

“So what feelings did you have when you saw the death camp near Munich?” I heard his voice crack slightly and I knew he was reliving a painful memory. I could just see him as an 18 year old soldier with a look of horror plastered on his face as he walked around the camp of dying people. I always respected him for this… He has to live with the burden of these memories.

“Revulsion, anger, and revenge… It’s hard to imagine a man doing that to another man…” his voice trailed off and I sat there listening intently as he sniffled under his breath. “All those images you see of those camps… They are all true!” his voice cracked some at the end and I sympathized with him on how stressful this might be. I felt sad for him… For the war truly scarred him. The images I’ve seen of the death camps were horrifying even in that bad quality… I couldn’t imagine having to see it with your own eyes and have to smell the horrid and rotting flesh of the prisoners.

“What was it like being in Germany during the war?” I was expecting what he said next.

“The army had a non fraternization rule to keep the GI’s from chasing the girls… The citizens… They were real back-stabbers!” I nodded slowly envisioning GI’s running after pretty German girls all over a town. I also saw civilians lying about the Death camp just to save their own asses and seeing an angry GI punch them for lying.

“Who were the DP’s?” I could hear him smack his lips in thought.

“I was put into the Military Police after the war and I was given the duty of sorting through thousands of displaced people because I could speak German… We called them DP’s.” I mentally nodded as I saw him shifting through dozens of people from all over Europe trying to get them back home. I saw their frantic and shell-shocked face as they stood there locked with him as he stared at them and sighed wishing he could get back to his country like they were getting to do. Most soldiers from WWII would say being in Germany was interesting…

“It wasn’t fascinating… Just duty…Even the sights got to be usual.” The image of him walking through a dreary, bleak, and utterly mind numbing place filled my mind… In black and white of course. I could see this dirty young GI just staring at the Alps and getting pissed at them because they weren’t home. Most vets when asked about how they felt as they were heading into war usually did that quip about fear and anxiety.

“We were taught in basic training that we weren’t the ones to get hit but the other guy next to us… I guess that made us foolish.” I still got that image of him running through a field with other soldiers as bullets fly by hungry for blood, and there’s always that one soldier that has blonde hair, blue eyes, and is 16 or 17 that should survive. I see him getting shot as he is right beside my grandfather who dives down and shouts for a medic. The soldier dies but says he never thought it was going to be him

Literary Devices

Catching the signal from one of her friends, Angela brushed her skirt, took a deep breath and walked towards where he was sitting. He sat cross-legged as he played a lament on his violin. He had come from Gettysburg where a massive battle took place that killed millions on both sides. The sad melody brought him back to the battle. "Infantry! fix bayonets! prepare to counter-charge those tyrants!" The commanders voice ranged out through the ranks as a wave of clanking and clicking noises spread. He crouched there as his wandering eyes looked down from the hill to see the corpse of trees and farther away the Federals. His bayonet gleamed brightly in the morning light begging to be used. The howitzers boom filled the still air... The Hegemons message plays in fog of static "What happens there this day, the fate of this nation in the balance it hangs!" His lament slowed and increased in emotional waves as he remembers the death that happened there. As Angela approached Captain Anderson his playing abruptly stopped. His dirtied black combat uniform, now brown, stained the fresh grass that he sat on and all in all looked horrible in that shade. He turned his head to face Angela and stared straight into her eyes. It felt like his eyes were burrowing into her soul and forcing her to feel the sorrow that he now felt. "Lieutenant..." was all he said before looking away again. Sighing Angela kneels down next to him and oddly remains there, silent, for a long time. Her eyes got locked on the distant black smoke coming from the battle as drop ships swarmed over the site. "Anderson-"

"go away, I don't psychiatric help..." His voice is rough yet empty.

"Isn't that for me to decide? After all I am the on duty psychologist and You have been to hell and back in the last week..." Anderson sits there for a long while just staring at the horizon. Angela remains locked on him waiting for him to come back to this world.

"I need to take a shower"

"wait!" Anderson stood up and briskly walked back to the compound making sure to escape Angela's grasp. Looking over she gives a pitiful face to her friend who nods in sympathy as she goes back to talking to a private who is shell-shocked.