it.Me maggie and ava are walking around when we hear maggies mom‚she stops us and ask if we want to take a picture so we said yeah so we got in a line tallest to shortest‚Then jordan pops up and joins in . I see the black camera‚ as i hear Maggie´s mom say 123...say cheese as she clicks the black button.I knew that it was a bad picture of me but at least i smiled. My ear aching from the loud children screaming their heads off .My eyes have a shape when i close my eyes
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and some cookies while he waited for his friend to pick him up. We talked for about an hour when there was another knock at the door. The police were here looking for a murder named Harry. Harry had just escaped from jail and stole a guard ’s car. The guard ’s car was located outside of my house. We went into the kitchen to find the man with car troubles missing. The police jolted outside to try to catch him. They couldn ’t find him‚ but questioned me about him for what seemed like hours. When they
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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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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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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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Gazing into the landscape of Berlin‚ I sit propped up by concrete rubble. With my sentry duty over‚ I smother my cigarette and begin wading through remains of previous battles to get back to camp. Inside the camp the atmosphere was grim‚ full of depression and malice. There were bodies laying in piles on the sides of the street. Empty bullet shells scattered everywhere. Blood stained pavement as far as the eye could see. The camp was far from welcoming. After being awake for 10 hours I rest my head
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very few could manipulate it to their will. The man in this story is me‚ my name is Rayn and I write this story to chronicle my rise to power. My journey started when I was in my mid twenties and our country was at war with a neighboring kingdom. I was a guard for a small village which was ruled by the empire of Luton grod. One day while out on patrol a strange old man was making his way to our village. This is where our story begins. The
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Short Story Scrutiny. Scepticism. Shock. It was all too familiar‚ the look on the faces in the room. An aboriginal female in a doctor’s coat. She glanced around the room as she sat down. The dullness of the grey walls seemed to absorb the lost hopes and dreams of the young men around her. The stale oxygen that lingered in the small room was slowly suffocating under the sterile smell of disinfectant. The only glimmer of light was a small corner of a window where the morning sun shimmered through
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