Your Questions About Gardening

I need some feedback.?

Walking- no, stumbling- to the street corner, I leaned against a pole and waited until I could use the crosswalk. Hunger gnawed at my insides and dizziness threatened to final-ly catch up with me, but I forced myself to stay awake. Once I made it home, I could eat.
If I get home.
I shook my head and slapped myself- think of how bizarre it looked from the cars passing by- and tried to focus. As the ’walk’ signal flashed, I leaned forward and charged with all of my speed. But a starving kid can’t run that fast, okay? So I barely made it to the other end before the minivans and trucks started zooming ahead once again. You’d think they were trying to run me over.
But psycho drivers out for blood were the least of my problems. Right now, I had other issues to deal with, like the fact that the short dash had winded me and I was on the verge of collapse from food deprivation. I knew how easy it would be to just reach in my bag and wolf down the bread and lunchmeat, but if I came home with an empty backpack, Dad would get angry. Then the beatings would start. And this time, I know I would die. One of the intense explosions of pain would be my last.
Maybe that’d be the easy way out, just to give up. But I ignored the possibility and stood up.
If anyone looked, they’d wonder why the kid staggering down the street was crying.

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The living room used to be full of life. It’s painted a light blue and accented with white curtains and shiny wide windows. A huge dark table used to be in the corner, surrounded by five chairs. Mom’s special vase was in the center of it and was always full of beautiful flowers from her garden- even if it was wintertime.
We all loved that room- Dad, Mom, Eve, Hilary, and me. Gigantic bookshelves were our substitute for T.V., and we’d just sit and read a variety of books. In the summer, the windows would be open, carrying in the scent of trees and fresh air. When it was winter, Dad and I would go and get some wood, and in a matter of minutes, there’d be a roaring fire to warm us up. To say in the least, we were happy.
But then there was a concert. Eve normally was peaceful, controlled, and tomboyish, but when she heard that her favorite band was coming to our small town, she screamed like a hopelessly obsessed fangirl. After Dad consented and surrendered the car keys, my sixteen- year old sister plastered on the makeup like her life depended on it. In a flash, she hopped in the car and stepped on the gas.
She never came back.
At precisely 3:21 a.m., someone knocked on our door. From my bedroom, I saw police cars, their lights flashing. And an ambulance.
When I rushed down, Dad was already there. I hid behind the corner and watched, curious.
Dad was talking quietly with the cops, and they sometimes wrote things down. The police officer- he looked like the chief- beckoned to the ambulance. Suddenly Dad’s face wasn’t calm. He shoved the cop out of the way and disappeared from view.
I wanted to see what was happening, but I didn’t dare leave my hiding place. There was an unsettling tension in the room that whispered, “You shouldn’t be here.” So I slow-ly lowered myself onto the ground and waited.
In a few minutes, Dad came back into the room. His face was perfectly calm, peaceful, almost emotionless. But the way he walked… it was defeated. Trudging. Reluctant. I noticed his clenched fists and the way he just stared into space.
Then he just broke down, slumping on the couch. Head in hands, shoulders shaking.
The next 30 minutes were a blur. Mom and Hilary came down when the sirens woke them, and soon they were weeping too. Cops came in and out, and so did some paramedics, occasionally. But the time I remember is afterwards, when it was finally over, when everything was peaceful again. Dad had come up to me, eyes red, and laid a trembling hand on my shoulder.
Even though I had a pretty good idea, I asked, “What happened?”
For a minute Dad didn’t reply, but then he answered, “We’re going to a funeral on Sunday, Jace.”
“For who?”
“For Eve, buddy. She won’t be home anymore.”
The way his voice was high-pitched, louder, and unsure bothered me. But I had to know. “Why?”
Suddenly he pushed me away. I felt my back meet the wall, hard. Stooping until his face was directly in front of mine, Dad yelled, “Because she’s dead! A car accident!” Spit flew in my face as he continued to scream. “You little b-”
I covered my ears, but I still heard the words my father yelled at me. Even when I tried to get away, he still took me by the shoulders and shook me mercilessly. Mom, hearing the commotion, had come running. I was released and had scrambled away. My parents’ footsteps faded as they walked up the stairs to their bedroom.
The found myself alone in a darkened room. When I climbed, sobbing, on the couch, I realized something that made everything seem even worse.
Edit: Oh yes, I forgot to add his name (Jace). I usually put it under the chapter number because there are two characters with their own point of view, the other being a girl.
Anyway, thank you very much for commenting. =)
BIG EDIT: (didn’t realize my story was cut off. Continued in the next 2 edits)
Today I turned seven.
After that, everything fell apart. Dad started drinking, grieved over Eve’s death, and starting hanging out at the local bars. He never helped out at home, never did any-thing. Soon he lost his job. It wasn’t long before Mom had to work as an employee at the grocery store- in addition to her occupation as a nurse- to support me and Hilary’s education. But within a few months, Hil dropped out of high school and took up smoking and drugs.
Fed up, Mom was in a one-way moving van to the other side of the country. It wasn’t a big surprise, but it still hurt. She never even said goodbye to her son. The one who didn’t screw up.
Weeks later, Dad totally lost it. The beatings started, so often they weren’t shocking anymore. It was just another regular part of my everyday life.
Years later, the trees are cut down and the river polluted. -(continued)
Foxxy: This is only the beginning, so it’s introducing the character’s backgrounds before I actually launch the plot. At the end of the first chapter, the girl goes in the house after school and is faced with a gun. That’s like the first step. (Yeah, I’m taking things waaaayy slow. :P)
BIG EDIT 2:
A crowded city replaces the woods. The only good thing that happened within the span of five years was Sam Seraph moving into the new city. The rest? All bad.
I shook my head, refocusing on my task. Tonight was the night. Making sure all of the supplies were in the backpack, I quietly opened the window and climbed silently through. Breathing in the now-familiar scents of my home, I looked up at the window to Dad’s bedroom. Then at Hilary’s.
Good riddance.

What happened to us with the advancing technologies and electronics?

Texting, Facebook chat, Facebook messaging, e-mails, Amazon Kindle, Nook, listening to nature voices of the wild… On an Iphone or ipod touch!
I know that it’s all for the sake of being eco-friendly and helping trees.
Therefore, beyond this thought, have your mind ever scrutinize at the electric privileges and think for once that these inventions are sabotaging out outings and adventurous spirits and real life?
Look. People are shopping on the internet! What happened to the regular shopping in those malls, seeing the mall’s gardens and water fountains and the glory of evening lights right outside?
Mountain climbing, surfing, holding a thick library book, seeing the broadway show, talking face to face…. I miss that. Most of those outdoor activities are put into video games, creating an artificial excercise. People are even hula hooping or dancing in front of a video game these days!
As for talking people face to face, isn’t traveling the original way? Instead of looking through a labtop screen with your earplugs.
Remember to not be so into technology even though it’s making our lives easier, such as researching ’cause there are evildoers out there seeking for a prey to confess their home on the internet. How dangerous.
Less people are on the streets and less meetings are made outside. All b/c of the computer. Soon, more people will probably wear thick eyeglasses or contacts, whichever.
Teachers went from the blackbaord and chalk to the expo dry erase board and markers to the Promethian board that uses electricity to write!
What happened to our Earth and our people?

Do you.,any of your cabinet have any concept of why you continue to consign troops to Afghanistan?

Very few Parliamentarians have any concept of life in the Armed Forces. No Pariamentary inmates
seem to have knowledge appropriate to the portfolios they are supposed to represent, but a look
around the libraries and some intelligent googling would show that people like Alexander, the Russian Army (not short of sturdy heavily-armed helicopters and hard-fighting solders, Genghis Khan and others found Afghanistan no easy prize. You claim that you and others like you want to defeat the Taliban..Islamic extremists and rebels so that western-style governance ,just like the UK enjoys can be installed or imposed on the fractious tribes even before Moses and Joseph took
control of the Granaries of Ancient Egypt and made off with some large device which from time to time emitted strange lights and , hummed and sent columns of smoke . Perhaps some primitive
nuclear generator which was use to threaten the enemies of Moses.

The Afghani tribesmen have been crafting their own finely wrought firearms which they produce
in their labrynthine cave networks in the rugged hills. In the caves at their blacksmiths’ forgoes
the long gun barrels are forged from the steel they produce from old vehicle chassis found on
the rock-strewn tracks and passes. the rifled gun barrels are accurately brooched and aligned
and adapted to take the Russian, British, American and other ammunition left behind by retreating armies which have attempted to conquor a harsh land which looks like the domain of the Auks in
prophetic “Lord of the Rings” books and films.
.

Perhaps you and your accolytes need to go walk-about in your constituencies . It would become
apparent that your invasions on targeted countries are the very cause of the streams of refugees
from the war-blasted and war-threatened regions like Yugoslavia, Iraq, Palestine, Sri Lanka,
Zimbabwe and Pakistan. But a read of history would show this did not start with Iraq..

The Celtic peoples of the UK tasted the sword and the axe long ago in this land wih the barbaric attacks on the Scots, the Welsh, and the Irish, curiously later provided the same ‘tribes’ for some of Wellington’s finest that fought in the Napoleonic campaigns. Anglo-Saxon England has a long history of agression against its neighbours And the practice has been brouht through to the present. .

What you could do, Prime Minister whilst still in office would be to get all the lads out of Afghanistan before the end of the year.

Do not drag out the mantra that Al Qaeda will flood into the West.

If you knew anything at all about the Fallahein and the ordinary people of the deserts , you would know that most live in extreme poverty. Many live in tents. Many more in adobe huts- They do
have a common interest- finding water. They worship gardens and growing things.

Those people who live along the Sweet water canak in Egypt were much-maligned by us troopies
in the Canal War, and were treated badly by most. I chose another route and learned some
Arabic and read much. Out on patrol I often found myself in tense situations, I found by greeting
them and sharing my rat-packs I met with humour, kindness and a readiness of the locals to
go running about the desert finding a species of camel-thorn from which they brewed palatable
shai – or desert tea. They were generous with what little they had – a handful of dates, a few wild figs, a piece of rare honeycomb.

I experienced this generosity rmore recently when at El Alamein where I initiated Project Khamsin, a survey to assess numbers and types of UXO still remaining in that WW II minefield , and still killing innocent desert-dwellers. .

My point here is that firepower and brute-force is not an effective or morally justifiable language
of communication.

The Weat has so much to learn from the Middle East and the Far East. The Rambo Age is over,
Mr Brown. Better accept it. With the trillions used to blast the lives, homes and bodies of others,
would it not have been a great thing to have used that wealth to spread around so that the World’s
homeless street kids could be brought to smile with hope as the healing comes ?

Use taxpayers’ money to reconstruct the National health System of this country . And carefully consider the folly of stationing the nuclear submariine HMS Sceptre off the coast of Argentina, armed with nuceal weapons (BBC reports refer). It appears that your government is now engaged with a private oil prospecting company and acting as its escort. A dangerous game , Prime Minister,
and this country, more than any other, cannot punch that much above its weight without provoking.
disaster. ( and what was the truth behind the unfortunate doctor/advisor who protested against the
WMD war against Iraq, who took an overdose (?) during a keep-fit walk.) I believe the previous
Prme Minister has yet to answer questions about that event.

Perhaps it is now time to respectfully propose tha