was so young during that time period‚ I had absolutely no idea that my family was homeless. The word homeless comes with such a bad attachment‚ so for a long time I never spoke about it to anyone. But‚ I think it’s important to share your personal story‚ in hopes that another can relate. About three years of my life were spent either in a car or a shelter or once in a while at a family/friends home. Given that‚ I think it would be best to speak only about the first year. Granted that it was the most
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character‚ and the one whom the reader sympathizes or in some way identifies with. This character is commonly “the good guy”. Antagonist: Usually the opponent of the main character‚ who in some way prevents or obstructs the protagonists goal in the story. This is often “the bad guy”. Types of characters: Flat: Not much is known about the character. Reader doesn’t usually see this characters thoughts or feelings. Character can be summed up in one or two sentences. Stereotype: a type of flat character
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the drive-thru line moving too slow to no fault of my own. Yet‚ despite all this‚ I was happy at the change of pace. I think it must have been being poor that has made me love philosophy because I can more easily see how all of our lives are so short that it becomes absurd to care about many material things. I suppose that my love for thinking about living and how to act merited me to become a Telluride Association Summer Program finalist among the hundreds that have applied and had made me want
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Zichao Huang Mr. Lambert English028 March 17‚ 2015 The Story of an Hour “The Story of an Hour” is about a woman named Mrs. Mallard who is married to a man named Mr. Mallard. Mrs. Mallard does not have a very good heart‚ and she is sick. Something bad has happened‚ and people do not know how to tell her about it. Josephine is her sister‚ and she tells Mrs. Mallard that Mr. Mallard died in a train accident. Richards is Mr. Mallard’s friend‚ and he is there because he knew about the accident. Richards
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focus. The humidity overwhelmed Karlie as she took a deep breath of the horrid‚ bitter air. Upon stepping into the place‚ her reflection gleamed in a mirror. Brassy blonde hair‚ blue eyes‚ her hollow eyes compliment her high cheekbones. Once a model student‚ now running for her life. Two bunk beds filled the room‚ each with a set of crusty‚ yellow sheets lining it. “Well‚ this is better than nothing‚” she thought to herself. “I can spend the night here‚ then leave when the sun rises”. Karlie threw herself
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BELONGING STORY(2) Coughing violently‚ I passed the glass pipe along to the young man beside me‚ who took a long drag before handing it on the next in the circle. I could feel the foul-tasting smoke tear down my throat and withstood the urge to vomit. The entire room was overflowing with a fetid haze; it grated against the back of my throat as though it were sandpaper. I fought to maintain my composure and appearance of serenity‚ but if anyone looked close enough they would easily be able to distinguish
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It started like any other day up on the hills of Rhein‚ but that day had the scent of freedom floating in the air. The journey ahead of me had been teasing me for weeks‚ I was just so anxious to get away and start all over again. I had made certain arrangements before I left‚ our family dog was not allowed on the ship that we were going to be arriving in America‚ so I had my parents take care of the dog for us. It was a hard thing to do seeing that the dog had become more than just a pet to the
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He’d never felt so alive. The dance studio that he’d spent most of his time in as a wide eyed five year old in his first pair of tap shoes was akin to his home. In fact‚ it felt more like home than his actual home‚ where his dad often teased him about his ’prancing around the stage like a bloody pony’ but he knew that his dad preferred him doing this - his passion - than on the streets at ten o’clock at night smoking glue or sniffing weed. He’d never try those. For one‚ his mother would probably
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Clang! A mountain of falling goblets and dirty silver platters pierces my ear drums and I instantly wake. As the pungent odor of boar wafts through the air and my eye catches a beam of the mid-morning sun‚ I realize that I failed to return from the mead hall. That could prove to be a costly mistake. “This isn’t an inn‚ Cathasach‚” said Judoc‚ my friend‚ the hall’s keeper and‚ fortunately‚ Amoorhi’s finest chef. “Have clemency‚ brother! I am still weary from last evening’s battle against the
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minutes reaffirmed their belief in his kindness and courage. And they are committed to making sure his life‚ and death‚ were not in vain. Jeff Crowther hopes his son’s story will inspire people to become a volunteer firefighter‚ to give money to the homeless every day like Welles did‚ to set goals and follow through. "If Welles’ story helps people to think of others then God bless them‚ God bless him‚" said his father. "He didn’t live long enough to be head of a corporation or do good works or endow
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