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Arvin Veerappan
Mrs. Shumaker
English 10 Honors – Period 6
8 May 2014
Miles Apart
“49ers! Boo! Leave!” The fans yelled in unison. These three words rang in my head the entire chilly December 20 night at Levi’s Stadium, as I wore my San Diego Chargers jersey to the game. The sky was pitch black with a glowing full moon illuminating the rest of the city and the bright lights beamed as if it had been the biggest star in the city by the bay. It was an important regular season game to determine playoff spots, and the score read 24-24. San Diego had the ball at the start of overtime. I stood as the lone navy blue jersey in a sea of “The Faithful” sporting red and gold. A wave of these fans confronted me, talking trash.
“Get out of here! The Chargers suck!” the fans shouted simultaneously. Out of the corner of my eye, this dark figure blindsides me and a few moments later, I ended up on the floor, my mouth spewed a river of blood. The man was around my height with spiked black hair. He wore red and gold paint all over his body. I could tell he’s one of the crazy fans that just wouldn’t leave me alone.
“Stand up and fight me,” the man demanded. “The Faithful” surrounded me, and I knew I had no choice. I got up and caught him by surprise and landed a punch to his face just as the Chargers scored the game-winning touchdown. A pair of buff security guards rushed to the scene and grabbed the man by the sleeve of his Kaepernick jersey, but I bolted away with only a few scuffs on my Chargers jersey (pun). The guards only caught a flash of me and left with the other man. The last I saw of him showed him with my blood on the gold part of his face from when I wiped my bloody mouth with my fist and subsequently punched him.
On Christmas Eve, I got a knock on the door. Two chubby, middle-aged policemen, Officer West and Officer Hale, were there with the man who punched me. My assailant introduced himself as Dorian. I gazed into his dark brown eyes and saw flashes of my past. [Officer West explained]: “Miles, you were apparently involved in the brawl at Levi’s Stadium. We tracked you down by analyzing the blood on the other gentlemen’s face and wanted to tell you that you’re banned from the stadium for five years, but don’t have to serve time. I don’t know how to tell you this, but you’re twins. Your DNA samples matched up with Dorian’s.” Suddenly, the tension and mystery of the moment solidified as if it could be cut by a knife (simile).
“This is preposterous!” Dorian and I shouted cohesively. Despite the odd predicament, we slowly lifted our scarred arms and shook hands. In my mind I couldn’t imagine having a twin brother and I couldn’t remember him. We must’ve been separated at birth, but we didn’t look too much alike. Even though we’re identical twins, our appearance could have transformed as the years went by, I postulated. The police drove off, and I was alone with my twin for the first time I could remember.
“There are my parents,” Dorian pointed out as his parents pulled up to my house in their car, a black 2014 Toyota Camry XLE, and honked their horn. His mom (now my mom presumably) rushed towards me and kissed me on the cheek. The rest of those few minutes were a blur because all I remembered was reuniting with my family after being betrayed.
I knew I was adopted, but I never knew that I had a twin brother who was raised and loved by my parents. I was the inferior child, given up for adoption to an Italian family. “Oh, my life is just splendid!” I screamed angrily (irony). I logged onto my laptop and typed Dorian Underwood. It instantly got over a million hits; I realized he served as a high-ranking executive at Google Headquarters. I was just a worker at a biotechnological IT company. I made five figures and he made seen. On the Internet, I was able to find my parents’ names and I called them.
“Hello,” a weak, raspy voice commented. I did not respond because a whirlwind of 20 years of memories encircled my cranial capacities. “Listen, we only put you up for adoption because at the time we couldn’t raise multiple kids. Please, forgive us for the last 20 years Miles,” my mother remarked. I hung up the phone. How could I be betrayed like this? I needed to Google the answers to my life question (irony). Dorian stole my life. I need to seek vengeance against Dorian, I pondered.
“Meet him by the local coffee shop,” I preached to my henchmen, Pedro and Jackson. I peered through my binoculars and spotted Dorian. Pedro engaged in conversation and the three walk together laughing. The two men closed in on Dorian as they approached Pedro’s vehicle, a lunar blue 2015 Mercedes S550. They quickly push Dorian into the car. The car drives off quickly and I hoped they tied him up. About an hour later, I got the confirmation that Dorian is tied up in Pedro’s apartment and I remarked, “I will give you the $500 tomorrow.” Operation “Trap Dorian” was a huge success! I reflected to myself. Dorian was now tied up and I was shouting for joy on the crisp, beautiful December 26 day in San Francisco. I was set to act like him; nobody would catch me because I’m his identical twin. I searched for his image to make sure I looked like him and altered my hair and accompanying clothes to match Dorian’s appearance.
I pulled up to the large and surreal Google Headquarters at 345 Spear Street with the name badge I had Jackson make. I took in the ambiance of one of the world’s most successful website’s headquarters. I showed up to the office and my coworkers greeted me like I was Dorian. For the next 10 days, life was good as I attended meetings for Google’s future. The coworkers started to grow suspicious of me and stared at me awkwardly with idiosyncratic glances as if to suspect I’m not Dorian. I attend meetings for Google, and Larry Page, Google’s CEO, ignored some of my pitches to try and improve the efficiency of the company. The rest of the board members started to suspect that I wasn’t the real Dorian. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Dorian storm through the door. My jaw dropped in awe as I saw my rival exploit the complexities of my masterful plan.
“How is there two of you?” Page questioned.
“He is an imposter!” Dorian repudiated, “I can prove it.” He pitched some of his new ideas, and they boded well with how Google could affect the posterity. Page loved them and immediately put new reform policies into place.
“Call the police!” Larry Page proclaimed, and the police showed up within a few minutes. I was taken to court, and I’m declared guilty by a fair trial. I was sentenced to 10 years for impersonation of a high ranking executive. This guy just keeps ruining my life, I ruminated.
I was trapped in a rugged, gray asylum. The enclosed area reeked of body odor and the stench of desperation as some of my cell mates tried to get out. Some people had gone absolutely insane, and my claustrophobia began to seep into my body as the 4 walls started to close in.
“Are you a Chargers’ fan too?” a large cell mate inquired. It turned out Dorian had set him up too just a few seasons ago.
“Mr. Underwood, you have a pair of visitors,” the prison guard dictated as he interrupted our conversation. Two Dorians appeared in front of me and before I could respond the real Dorian gave a voice to my thought.
[Dorian justified]: “This is Daryl, my twin. Daryl helped me out because he was near the coffee shop. You aren’t our brother; my mom lied to you so you would end up in jail. It served as sweet revenge for us. I switched out your DNA for my own genetic code as well. Our last names just happen to be the same.
“You risked your life to set me up for eternal dissatisfaction because I like the Chargers!” I countered.
“Watching football is my hobby, and making poor decisions through jealousy is yours. Twins make the worse enemies, now enjoy the next 10 years,” Dorian acknowledged. Dorian held the sword at just the right angle and I quickly fell upon it (metaphor). I should have spewed out the naked truth to cover my doubts about his capabilities. Jealousy is simply a measure of insecurity and it just so happened to lead to my demise.
Mrs. Shumaker
English 10 Honors – Period 6
8 May 2014
Miles Apart
“49ers! Boo! Leave!” The fans yelled in unison. These three words rang in my head the entire chilly December 20 night at Levi’s Stadium, as I wore my San Diego Chargers jersey to the game. The sky was pitch black with a glowing full moon illuminating the rest of the city and the bright lights beamed as if it had been the biggest star in the city by the bay. It was an important regular season game to determine playoff spots, and the score read 24-24. San Diego had the ball at the start of overtime. I stood as the lone navy blue jersey in a sea of “The Faithful” sporting red and gold. A wave of these fans confronted me, talking trash.
“Get out of here! The Chargers suck!” the fans shouted simultaneously. Out of the corner of my eye, this dark figure blindsides me and a few moments later, I ended up on the floor, my mouth spewed a river of blood. The man was around my height with spiked black hair. He wore red and gold paint all over his body. I could tell he’s one of the crazy fans that just wouldn’t leave me alone.
“Stand up and fight me,” the man demanded. “The Faithful” surrounded me, and I knew I had no choice. I got up and caught him by surprise and landed a punch to his face just as the Chargers scored the game-winning touchdown. A pair of buff security guards rushed to the scene and grabbed the man by the sleeve of his Kaepernick jersey, but I bolted away with only a few scuffs on my Chargers jersey (pun). The guards only caught a flash of me and left with the other man. The last I saw of him showed him with my blood on the gold part of his face from when I wiped my bloody mouth with my fist and subsequently punched him.
On Christmas Eve, I got a knock on the door. Two chubby, middle-aged policemen, Officer West and Officer Hale, were there with the man who punched me. My assailant introduced himself as Dorian. I gazed into his dark brown eyes and saw flashes of my past. [Officer West explained]: “Miles, you were apparently involved in the brawl at Levi’s Stadium. We tracked you down by analyzing the blood on the other gentlemen’s face and wanted to tell you that you’re banned from the stadium for five years, but don’t have to serve time. I don’t know how to tell you this, but you’re twins. Your DNA samples matched up with Dorian’s.” Suddenly, the tension and mystery of the moment solidified as if it could be cut by a knife (simile).
“This is preposterous!” Dorian and I shouted cohesively. Despite the odd predicament, we slowly lifted our scarred arms and shook hands. In my mind I couldn’t imagine having a twin brother and I couldn’t remember him. We must’ve been separated at birth, but we didn’t look too much alike. Even though we’re identical twins, our appearance could have transformed as the years went by, I postulated. The police drove off, and I was alone with my twin for the first time I could remember.
“There are my parents,” Dorian pointed out as his parents pulled up to my house in their car, a black 2014 Toyota Camry XLE, and honked their horn. His mom (now my mom presumably) rushed towards me and kissed me on the cheek. The rest of those few minutes were a blur because all I remembered was reuniting with my family after being betrayed.
I knew I was adopted, but I never knew that I had a twin brother who was raised and loved by my parents. I was the inferior child, given up for adoption to an Italian family. “Oh, my life is just splendid!” I screamed angrily (irony). I logged onto my laptop and typed Dorian Underwood. It instantly got over a million hits; I realized he served as a high-ranking executive at Google Headquarters. I was just a worker at a biotechnological IT company. I made five figures and he made seen. On the Internet, I was able to find my parents’ names and I called them.
“Hello,” a weak, raspy voice commented. I did not respond because a whirlwind of 20 years of memories encircled my cranial capacities. “Listen, we only put you up for adoption because at the time we couldn’t raise multiple kids. Please, forgive us for the last 20 years Miles,” my mother remarked. I hung up the phone. How could I be betrayed like this? I needed to Google the answers to my life question (irony). Dorian stole my life. I need to seek vengeance against Dorian, I pondered.
“Meet him by the local coffee shop,” I preached to my henchmen, Pedro and Jackson. I peered through my binoculars and spotted Dorian. Pedro engaged in conversation and the three walk together laughing. The two men closed in on Dorian as they approached Pedro’s vehicle, a lunar blue 2015 Mercedes S550. They quickly push Dorian into the car. The car drives off quickly and I hoped they tied him up. About an hour later, I got the confirmation that Dorian is tied up in Pedro’s apartment and I remarked, “I will give you the $500 tomorrow.” Operation “Trap Dorian” was a huge success! I reflected to myself. Dorian was now tied up and I was shouting for joy on the crisp, beautiful December 26 day in San Francisco. I was set to act like him; nobody would catch me because I’m his identical twin. I searched for his image to make sure I looked like him and altered my hair and accompanying clothes to match Dorian’s appearance.
I pulled up to the large and surreal Google Headquarters at 345 Spear Street with the name badge I had Jackson make. I took in the ambiance of one of the world’s most successful website’s headquarters. I showed up to the office and my coworkers greeted me like I was Dorian. For the next 10 days, life was good as I attended meetings for Google’s future. The coworkers started to grow suspicious of me and stared at me awkwardly with idiosyncratic glances as if to suspect I’m not Dorian. I attend meetings for Google, and Larry Page, Google’s CEO, ignored some of my pitches to try and improve the efficiency of the company. The rest of the board members started to suspect that I wasn’t the real Dorian. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Dorian storm through the door. My jaw dropped in awe as I saw my rival exploit the complexities of my masterful plan.
“How is there two of you?” Page questioned.
“He is an imposter!” Dorian repudiated, “I can prove it.” He pitched some of his new ideas, and they boded well with how Google could affect the posterity. Page loved them and immediately put new reform policies into place.
“Call the police!” Larry Page proclaimed, and the police showed up within a few minutes. I was taken to court, and I’m declared guilty by a fair trial. I was sentenced to 10 years for impersonation of a high ranking executive. This guy just keeps ruining my life, I ruminated.
I was trapped in a rugged, gray asylum. The enclosed area reeked of body odor and the stench of desperation as some of my cell mates tried to get out. Some people had gone absolutely insane, and my claustrophobia began to seep into my body as the 4 walls started to close in.
“Are you a Chargers’ fan too?” a large cell mate inquired. It turned out Dorian had set him up too just a few seasons ago.
“Mr. Underwood, you have a pair of visitors,” the prison guard dictated as he interrupted our conversation. Two Dorians appeared in front of me and before I could respond the real Dorian gave a voice to my thought.
[Dorian justified]: “This is Daryl, my twin. Daryl helped me out because he was near the coffee shop. You aren’t our brother; my mom lied to you so you would end up in jail. It served as sweet revenge for us. I switched out your DNA for my own genetic code as well. Our last names just happen to be the same.
“You risked your life to set me up for eternal dissatisfaction because I like the Chargers!” I countered.
“Watching football is my hobby, and making poor decisions through jealousy is yours. Twins make the worse enemies, now enjoy the next 10 years,” Dorian acknowledged. Dorian held the sword at just the right angle and I quickly fell upon it (metaphor). I should have spewed out the naked truth to cover my doubts about his capabilities. Jealousy is simply a measure of insecurity and it just so happened to lead to my demise.