Hate and Regret

I am showing you an ideal essay, ordered on speedy paper reviews. It can be used as a template for your essays.
Dear Mother and Father, I can’t go. Going to relocation camp is just not the way I want to spend a few years. I’m sorry it had to come to this. If the Americans had a tad bit of sense in them, we wouldn’t be in this huge mess.

I’m running away from home. I have no other reasonable choices left. It’s either this or years of misery. Don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself.

Much love, Renee Ozawa

I sighed as I reread my letter and left it outside my parents’ room. If I was found and taken back here, I would have a ​lot o​ f explaining to do.

But I didn’t intend to be found. I shouldered my backpack and, opening the door as quietly as I could, stepped outside into the dark night, with the stars and moon shining brightly above me and the trees swaying slightly in the wind.

Now what? I​ wondered. I didn’t know where to go. Dread began seeping through me like a cold trickle of water down my spine. I was just beginning to think this was a ​very ​bad idea when I heard a rustle in the bushes behind me.

Ni 1

I whipped around, trying to find the source of the noise, but it isn’t easy looking for something in the middle of the night. Nothing out of the ordinary met my eyes, and I stepped onto the sidewalk. I must have been hearing things.

I started walking without really having a specific destination when something of a sixth sense told me that someone must have been following me, but when I turned around once again, I didn’t see anybody. I was either going insane, going blind, or being painfully correct.

It turns out, as I turned a corner on 88th Street, that I was so, so painfully right.
A hand gripped my shoulder and jerked me to a stop. A cloth was tied around my mouth so I couldn’t scream for help.

Before I knew it, a strange, sickly sweet smell hit my nose and I fell unconscious from the sedative.

I should have stayed home and went to relocation camp. I woke up in a dark, dusty room. I coughed, my nose still tingling from the smell of the sedative. I sat up...

And was met by a giant metal figure. I screamed and kicked the giant thing, but that was a bad decision. Making bad decisions was becoming my specialty. Pain shot up my leg, and my ankle felt as if a million needles were stabbing through my skin. “Oh, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid,” I muttered under my breath as I hopped on one foot.
“You okay?” A boy’s voice came from behind the metal beast, and I immediately backed up. If he was my kidnapper, he was seriously going to get a fist in the face.

Ni 2

But the thing was, he didn’t look like a kidnapper. He looked around my age, with tousled black hair, sky blue eyes, and a smirk that matched the mischievous glint in his eye. Kidnappers weren’t fourteen, and they ​certainly ​didn’t worry about their hostage’s painful ankle.

“I’m Jonathan. Jonathan Davis,” he introduced, holding out a hand to shake, but I didn’t trust him enough to take it.

Instead, I stayed silent, not trusting myself to open my mouth without screaming. As long as the giant metal monster was here, that would always be a possibility.
“Wow, nice to meet you too,” he said with a laugh.

Any other day I would have snapped back with a snarky reply, but I was too tired. And there was also the fact that the big metal thing was the only thing I could think about at the moment.

“What is that?” I demanded, hoping that I didn’t sound as panicked as I felt, because Renee Ozawa did ​not p​ anic. Ever. “It’s just a robot cop,” he replied, laughing. “Pretty sure the Black Falcon stole one and messed with its programming. Now it works with them, which could be the worst thing possible right now.”

“The Black Falcon? What’s that?” I asked.

Jonathan looked surprised that I didn’t know. “They’re a rebel group who’s been kidnapping Japanese Americans to show us, quote unquote, ‘what happens to those who don’t belong in their country,’” he said, making air quotes. Nice. A great, scary organization with robots to help them do their creepy things. Could my future possible look any brighter?

Ni 3

I didn’t know how to comment on the Black Falcon, so I decided to ask, “What are you doing here? The last time I checked, you didn’t seem Japanese American at all.”
Jonathan’s clear, sparkling sky blue eyes that had shone in the darkness of the dusty, miserable cell dimmed, and his confident smirk faltered.

“I’m working as a double agent here on the White Swan’s orders, and they’re an organization that’s kind of like the opposite of the Black Falcon. They’re trying to bring the Black Falcon down, and they haven’t been having much luck. I was sent here to learn their secrets and help prisoners escape. Trust me, it ​hasn’t ​been fun,” Jonathan sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

Nobody seemed to know what to say after that. The tension was so thick, it felt like it could be cut through with a knife.

Jonathan broke the uncomfortable silence. “I have a plan to get you out of here, but it’s pretty risky,” he whispered, looking towards the door as if he were afraid that a member of the Black Falcon would come bursting in at any moment, which was undoubtedly possible.

“Yeah, that ​really m​ akes me feel better about this whole getting-kidnapped-by-a-bunch-of-creepy-guys-and-getting-saved-by-a-stranger thing,” I said, rolling my eyes. Ignoring me and keeping his voice low, he continued, “If we do this right, the robot should be able to help us bail you out. There’s a compartment in it that holds the key, and I need to find a way for you to get to it in a second. You’ll get the key, unlock the door, and get outside this facility as fast as possible with the robot. Meanwhile, I’ll be on the other side, distracting

Ni 4

everybody else, making sure they aren’t going to come this way.” He made it sound so simple, but I knew that it would be nearly impossible for everything to go right.
“And... what are you going do if you get caught?” I asked.

“If I get caught somehow, whatever you do, ​don’t t​ urn back. Our main priority, ​my ​main priority, is getting you out of here,” he said grimly. Suddenly, he brightened.
“But I’m pretty sure it won’t come to that,” he said cheerfully. “Now let’s go get that key.”

Jonathan walked over to the robot. After lots of opening compartments, and managing to get his finger stuck in one; pressing buttons, telling me to press my fingertips onto random things; pressing buttons; snapping wires; lots of “Oh no no no no no no no no”s, “NO STOP STOP STOP”s, and “Oh god no, stupid stupid stupid”s; pressing buttons; and finally telling me to press my fingertip on one more surface, another compartment opened to reveal a pair of keys.

“All yours,” he said, dropping the keys in my hand. Jonathan then explained to me about how to control the robot cop. He gave me an entire, fifteen minute lecture (that was totally unnecessary, I might add) about how I was ​not to touch the red button. I​ ’m fourteen, for goodness’ sake. I get it.

But was it really that easy? I get kidnapped, this dude comes and gets the keys for me in half an hour, I get out of here with a robot for protection, and he does the rest? It didn’t feel right. After all he had done for me, I was just to leave him here?

I snaked my arm through the bar of my cell, jammed the key into the lock from the other side of the door, twisted it, and with a satisfying click, the door swung open.

Ni 5

“Hey,” Jonathan called after me before I walked away to the other side of the facility where I could get out. “Aren’t you going to say ‘thank you?’ Seriously, where did your manners go?”

“I never had any. And yeah. Thanks,” I replied with a laugh. He jogged away, pulling something that looked like a match box out of his pocket. Wondering what he could be planning, I turned away and started walking to the other side of the giant building, with the robot following me. It turned off all security cameras and microphones so that the Black Falcon wouldn’t know that we were escaping.

The smell of smoke hit my nose. “What is that boy doing?” I muttered under my breath. I heard shouts that probably came from the other members. I found the door after several minutes of walking (read: several minutes of getting lost even though I was following the map Jonathan gave me). I stepped outside. It was still dark, and morning hadn’t arrived yet.

I decided that I was going back home, that I was going to relocation camp. But before I could start finding my way back to my house, I saw Jonathan running towards me, his hair singed slightly at the tips.

“Goodness, what have you done?” I asked him. “I just,” he said, breathing heavily from running, “burnt all their clothes. That should keep them busy for a while. They don’t know that it was me.” I shook my head, smiling. He was even crazier than me, and that was saying a ​lot.
“Well,” Jonathan said through a sigh. “I guess this is it. I’ll make sure the Black Falcon stay away. Good luck,” he said, giving me his signature smirk and turning away.

Ni 6

“Wait,” I called after him. Jonathan turned around.
“Are you... going to just stay here?” I asked him.
“What other choice do I have? The White Swan sent me here. They’ve taken care of me all these years. If I disobey them, they’ll kick me out of the order and I’ll go back to living on the streets,” he replied, not quite meeting my eyes.

“Besides,” he told me when he noticed my concerned expression, “it’s not that bad here. At least I get a bed to sleep on and more than enough food to stay alive.” He opened his mouth to continue, but he was cut off by a man’s voice behind us. “Well, well, well,” a cold voice drawled behind us. We both whipped around to find a man in his early thirties with curly brown hair and green eyes sneering at us. Jonathan threw on his hood, but it was too late. The man had already seen his face.

“What do we have here?” he asked. “I have to admit, Jonathan, you fooled me well. And that was my favorite pair of sweatpants that you just burned. You’re going to ​pay.​”
Jonathan looked panicked. “Look, Dillon, I can explain—” he started, but was cut off by the evil dude whose name, I assumed, was Dillon.

“Oh no, you ​can’t. B​ ecause I,” Dillon whispered as he took a step forward, “overheard everything. ​The White Swan’s little puppet, are you? Well, we’ll see about that.”
And with that, he covered his mouth and nose and threw a vial down at our feet that shattered, leaving some type of liquid exposed. As soon as I got a whiff of the familiar strange, sickly sweet smell, my vision blurred and everything else I heard turned into faint noises in the background, and I fell unconscious.

Ni 7

I woke up in the same dark, dusty cell. This time, there was no robot in the room. That was a shame. It would have been nice if we could have just reprogrammed it again and gotten the key.

But this time, instead of a robot guard, we had a real human this time. He and Jonathan were having a soft conversation.
“It’s nice to see you in a cell, Mr. Davis. Dillon has favored you for so long, and now I finally get revenge,” he said.

“Thanks, Quinn,” Jonathan muttered. I sat up, turned around, and saw Jonathan beside me, glaring at Quinn.

“Jonathan?” I started, not really knowing what to say. “Are you... alright?”
He turned to me. “I’m sorry,” was the first thing that came out of his mouth.
I blinked. I was ​not e​ xpecting that. How about a, “Hey, Renee, are you proud that I burnt Dillon’s favorite pair of pants?” or a “Let’s find another way to break out of this miserable cell!” but, with Jonathan, you learn not to expect things, “Sorry about... what?” I asked.”

“I should have been more careful. If I was, we wouldn’t be here right now. Everything is my fault. You could have been going home, and I could have been doing... whatever, and we would have been able to get that robot, and—” I cut him off.
“Hey,” I said gently, “none of this is your fault.”
Jonathan dropped his eyes to the floor and looked away. He mumbled, “I’m still pretty sure you hate me now.”

Ni 8

“No, I don’t hate you. I hate a lot of people, but not you. We’re in this together. I made a lot of horrible, stupid decisions that I regret, and making you a friend isn’t one of them. I don’t regret this at all. I don’t hate you at all,” I told him.
“Yeah, but—” “If you say one more word, I will tear your hair out, and I will ​not r​ egret it,” I snapped, with an air of finality in my voice that sent the message that he was ​not ​to argue.

I asked him if he had any of the sedatives they used on me, and looking confused, he told me that he did and pulled out a vial of it. I pointed at Quinn, making sure my movements were small enough so that he wouldn’t see them, and Jonathan seemed to understand. We covered our noses and our mouths and he it at Quinn’s feet, sedating him.

“Now, unless you want to stay in this miserable cell, let’s make another plan to get out of here,” I said, pulling Jonathan up to his feet. “You’re going to help me get out of this place or I will leave you here to rot.” We didn’t make a plan.

After our first try of getting me out, we learned that plans ​never​ go the way they’re supposed to, so what was the point of getting a headache from brainstorming if it wouldn’t do anything?

“Just trust your instincts,” Jonathan told me. “Improvise when something goes wrong. Trust me, it’s much better than panicking when your plan doesn’t go the way it should.”
I trusted him, all right. You tend to trust someone when they burn your kidnapper’s favorite sweatpants.

I reached through the bars of the door, stole the key, and opened the cell door.

Ni 9

And after lots, and I mean ​lots, o​ f trial and error, mistakes, panicking, almost getting caught again, me tripping and almost cracking my head open, and getting lost, arguing, we got out of the miserable place.

For two teenagers who broke out of a cell without a plan, we did pretty well.
“So,” I started, examining my bloody, scraped knee, “where are you going to go? You can’t stay here anymore.”

Jonathan shrugged as his dark hair was blown into his glinting eyes by the wind. “I guess I’ll go back to the White Swan hideout. I’ll have to endure some ​nasty p​ unishments, but other than that, I’ll be fine.”

We both just stood there, not knowing what to say. This time, I was the one who broke the silence.

“Well, I’ll be heading home now,” I started awkwardly. If I got there in time, I would be able to hide that letter and pretend nothing happened before my parents woke up. “And you keep... doing your crazy things with the White Swan and burning evil villains’ sweatpants,” I said, punching his shoulder. It’s how I show affection.

“Oh, don’t worry. I ​will,”​ he laughed. “Well, I’ll see you around. Somehow,” he said, rubbing his shoulder.“Oh, and you still haven’t told me your name yet. How rude of you.”

I opened my mouth to snap back, but I decided not to. I’ll probably regret that later, but that doesn’t matter. It’s pretty funny, actually, when you think about it. I should have hated him. If anyone else had said that to me, I definitely would have. But it turns out, it’s pretty much impossible to hate Jonathan Davis. “Renee,” I answered. “Renee Ozawa.”