The Chapel I sat in was lined with wooden pews‚ unadorned as befitted the sombre mood. Inside the atmosphere was oppressive and a faint mustiness hung in the air. I was vaguely aware of the murmurs and rustlings of the other mourners as they took their seats. I dabbed my eyes with the hanker-chief as the deeply moving and melancholy chords of “Amazing Grace” began to filter through the stony walls. Ahead of the pews the mahogany casket was polished to a glossy shine and adorned with pale pink
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Vacation to remember On a beautiful day in July‚ the sun shone brightly above the ocean where a sail boat leisurely floated. A pirate‚ named Nabarun who is the captain of his own boat‚ along with his friend Paandu were sailing on the coast of Vancouver. Nabarun and Paandu had come from India and had been best friends for 10 years; they had big dreams of travelling the world together because Nabarun was a pirate and owned his own sail boat which made it easier for them to travel and see family
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Antwan Mansour S_113 Announcer: “ C_Copy2 and C_Copy 7 to super stage‚ report now.” “ What do you think all of this is about S_112 ?” “ I have no clue‚ they might have some sickness or might be polluted.” “Yea”‚ every time I talk to her I feel something in me that keeps me attracted to her‚ a bond maybe. Polluted‚ that word struck my head‚ what can it be? Thinking as I was strolling through the corridor until I approached a steel door called stage 3 with a sign saying “no
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One by one‚ the raindrops fell onto my head as I looked out onto the front yard‚ eagerly waiting for the postman to make his delivery. Feeling my hair drenched and frizzing up didn’t make me flinch as it usually did. There was only one thing that could summon that feeling. In the distance I could start to hear the grumble of the postman’s bike. As my ears twitched to the nearing of the roaring sound‚ I immediately got up off the veranda and paced towards the front gate. It was only a minute later
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Already the irritating fly that eluded my swatting earlier takes its vengeful residence amidst the rapidly-mounting pool of blood in which I lie; a sea of deepening red that this morning flowed warm and sustaining through my veins. Yet I do not shoo the fly away. My lifeless body is numb and unresponsive in spite of my active mind that buzzes with replays of the horror of this day‚ of flashbacks to the days that preceded it‚ and of visions of the days that would go on without me. Is this an eternal
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It was a beautiful fall weekend; the sunlight shined enough to provide just the right amount of warmth to make it the perfect picnic day. I was on my way to meet my parents for the annual South Florida Police and Fire bar-b-que. I knew that there was a chance that he would be there since a good part of his family is fire fighters. I have been organizing‚ planning‚ helping‚ running‚ and attending this event ever since I can remember‚ and there had only been a few times that he showed up because the
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A flight had just landed in the very crowded Houston airport. It was a very foggy‚ misty morning. The Journey from Belgium to Houston was long and uncomfortable‚ and Peter was cold‚ miserable and unhappy. Huddled up like a hedgehog‚ in his filthy black coat‚ he pierced through the crowd for a familiar face that could help him get through this confusion. Looking in his wallet he discovered that he was penniless. Peter was sixteen years old‚ average height‚ and a child with a mild and simple character
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Ramazan was a thirteen years old boy. He was at a secondary school in Hüyük. He was very clever but he was also naughty. Ramazan was the only child of the family. He didn’t have any sisters and brothers‚ so he sometimes used to feel himself alone at home . He had only a few friends from school but after school he didn’t have enough time to play with them . Because his friends stayed in a dormitory and they had to go to the dormitory after school. Only they were free at weekends. So on weekdays
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A curious child asked his mother: “Mommy‚ why are some of your hairs turning grey?” The mother tried to use this occasion to teach her child: “It is because of you‚ dear. Every bad action of yours will turn one of my hairs grey!” The child replied innocently: “Now I know why grandmother has only grey hairs on her head.” :mrgreen: Wrong email address: A couple going on vacation but his wife was on a business trip so he went to the destination first and his wife would meet him the next
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Title: Story Of An Hour Author: Kate Chopin I. On The Elements / Literary Concepts The short story Story Of An Hour is all about the series of emotions that the protagonist‚ Mrs. Mallard showed to the readers. With the kind of plot of this short story‚ it actually refers to the moments that Mrs. Mallard knew that all this time‚ her husband was alive. For the symbol‚ I like the title of this short story because it actually symbolizes the "time" where Mrs. Mallard died with "joy." And with that
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