The Legend of Sleepy Hollow

         The Legend of Sleepy Hollow takes place in a Dutch settlement, where Ichabod Crane lives. Ichabod was a tall,lanky man who had fallen deeply in love with Katrina Van Tassel. But Katrina's beauty and affability lead Brom Bones to fall in love with her as well.
       While Ichabod Crane was wise and sage, Brom Bones had nothing other than his appearance and was nowhere near being as profound as Ichabod. Seeing that Ichabod was also competing for Katrina's love, Brom began to abhor him.
         One night Katrina's father organized a fest at which Brom and Ichabod were invited and attending to. Brom was very irascible and at the first sign of Ichabod and Katrina interacting and dancing he became furious. But refusing to become despondent, he pulled Ichabod aside and told him the story of the Headless Horseman, the spirit that haunted the Sleepy Hollow Woods.
         Ichabod, being the superstitious man that he was, left the party tremulous that he might find on his path home through the woods, the Headless Horseman. On his way home Ichabod, finding his fears becoming reality, heard the laughter of the Headless Horseman reverberate off every corner of the chilling woods.
         Ichabod Crane was never seen again and although the author never officially states it, it is believed that Brom's jealousy had impelled him to dress up as the Headless Horseman and scare Ichabod off.
         After there were no more signs of Ichabod, Brom, taking advantage, entreated Katrina to become his wife. Soon enough Brom Bones and Katrina Van Tassel were married.

Johnny's Mitt

                          Johnny was my younger brother. He was a baseball player and when I say baseball player I don’t mean a mediocre one; that would be an understatement. He was good, really good.
                 But his excellence didn’t stop there. He shined in so much more. Just like his fiery red hair shined from miles away. In academics he would excel the teacher’s  expectations every time; they would always rave on about how smart of a boy he was. And he was too, he really was. Even though he was two years younger than me, his intelligence was superb to mine.
                But back to him being a baseball player. He wore this baseball mitt, and boy did he love it. Honestly, back then, I didn’t know what he found so special about that particular mitt. But it was very important to him, his most prized possession. On the mitt he had written poems.  Words flowed all over it. I remember watching him writing, he would write all through the mitt’s pocket and fingers. Just take out that green marker and continuously mark down his own poetry.
            During games he would look down at the glove, every time. He reads the poems and then plays.  He would read the poems I mean, Johnny is gone. And that insignificant mitt that I found no importance to when Johnny was alive is now mine. The mitt in whole is mine. With poetry and all, the only remains I have of Johnny is that mitt.