Another night of that bloody rain again. God I hate winter. Lying in my bed‚ the pound of each raindrop as it is thrown from the heavens onto my roof rings in my ears. The gusts of wind freeze the hairs on my neck straight. Snuggling down into my bed‚ I feel a warm‚ almost happy sensation as my blankets form a protective cocoon around me‚ saving me from the terrible monster brewing outside my window. My eyelids attempt to glue themselves shut as I feel relaxation consume my sore old body. It all
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I walk around the dance floor awkwardly‚ looking for groups of people that I know well enough to be able to go and stand with and pretend like I’m part of whatever mind-numbing conversation they’re having. I check my watch for the fifth time in ten minutes‚ which is making time go even slower. It’s 8:50 I made the rule for myself to drop my first at 9 so I wouldn’t have to take the next until midnight. “Ten minute’s” I thought to myself “Stuff it”. I pulled out my wallet and reached my index finger
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Exiting onto the unpleasant frigid city walkways of Oslo‚ Norway in the early winter morning of the Walk. The wind was blowing over the rough scene of the rural city. He is pacing down the bustling roads and pondering which foot will come next. "Left‚ Right‚ Left‚ Right‚ Right‚ Left. No‚ no‚ that can’t be correct." He murmured under his chilling breath. He slipped on the newly solidified walkways‚ he stood up and glanced around‚ feeling humiliated… he saw nobody‚ heard nothing‚ it was as peaceful
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There is silence. Silence everywhere‚ such silence that the soft sounds created by swift movements happening around me are amplified. The water droplets explode into tiny particles as they hit my hot skin and flow down my body and you can even hear the water gushing into the drain. Correction: swirling into the drain. Gushing has negative connotations‚ but swirling has an optimistic twist to it. I look down and open my eyes‚ allowing the water to pour over my head down to my face. All I can see
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The smell of the sea was an overbearing smell that grows on you after awhile. The same was not for the smell of the fish my cooks were preparing. I am a huge fan of fish. I love seeing the way cooks can prepare different types of fish such as: salmon‚ crab‚ lobster‚ clams‚ oysters‚ calamari‚ alligator‚ shark and so on. Once these glorious fish or sea urchins are cooked it’s a whole different story. The aroma is addicting and something that you never forget. You may be wandering why I am talking
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I pulled the trigger. Bang‚ bang‚ bang. Two shots for each police officer that stood before me. I wasn’t high. I wasn’t drunk. And I definitely wasn’t crazy… “I guess the reason I shot them is because I felt trapped. At least that’s the reason I keep telling myself.” “So that’s the reason”‚ said the lawyer. “I guess. I mean‚ I don’t really have a reason. I just did it.” “Did you know who the officers were?” “No‚ sir. All I truly know is that I killed them‚ which makes me the murderer. I have
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The Ghouls Pt. 2 The next second she blinked‚ and her face cleared. Mimi nodded to confirm her answer. “Yes‚ but let’s hurry up‚” she urged. Steve and Mimi dashed through the cemetery gates together‚ leaving the rusty hinges creaking and swinging behind them. The ground was lined with brittle gravel that crunched beneath their feet with every step. For a while‚ there was no other sound. “What’s that on the left?” Mimi questioned. “There’s a faint glow coming from behind that tree.” Her face
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Jonas couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer. The two bumped into a large pile of snow outside the welcoming cabin from his memories and dreams. When Jonas woke up‚ he smelled fresh cookies‚ burning wood‚ and pine. He didn’t remember what had happened at first. He was on a pull-out bed next to a toasty fireplace with a warm fleece blanket wrapped around him. The memories of the past few days came back to him. He sat up and looked around; there was an ancient wood chair to one side with a little
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Diagnostic Essay There was a time that I loved creative writing‚ and even one day‚ with the insistence of my mother‚ planned to write my memoirs. In the inscription in my Webster’s Dictionary that I received in my 10th year‚ my grandfather wrote‚ “3-16-94 this book is dedicated to Anna and her hope to become famous as a writer.” I loved everything about writing: the word play‚ the endless possibilities‚ the absolute creative freedom‚ the thrill of making others feel. I not only took my characters
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Creative Writing: X-Men Zach Dotsey English 101 Section 30 12 December‚ 1996 When many people hear about the X-Men‚ they think of a silly kid’s comic book‚ but that is not so. X-Men‚ actually most comic books in general‚ are a unique blend of two classic art forms; drawings‚ sometimes even paintings‚ and storytelling. A comic artist must be able to convey the right mood and feeling for his or her art. They must also be able to fluidly tell a story and fit it all in the allotted number
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