Without these elements‚ we in this short hour‚ wouldn’t be able to enjoy this moment in our life‚ it wouldn’t be special. It wouldn’t rememberable. However to my sadness‚ this hour does end. We must leave the grass ditch which beholds a hall of memories‚ this is our place‚ our miniature world‚ the world Which is around us we forget about‚ but once we leave we are apart of the chaos. To
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It’s still fresh in his mind‚ festering like an open wound. The pain in his soul throbs when his memory drifts to what he witnessed. Over two hundred Roman soldiers and Temple police‚ torches blazing‚ marched through the dark and deserted streets. I would normally give them a wide berth and leave by another route. Then I saw him. The man at the head
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It was another terrible day. It has been more than five years since the zombie apocalypse began. Normally on a day like this‚ it would smell like flowers‚ and sometimes car smoke when cars passed by‚ but when the zombies came‚ it always smelled like a dead body. Outside‚ the only sound you heard were the dead wind‚ and a zombie would make a sound every now and then. The sky was rarely blue anymore‚ it was always a dark grey sky. Food now was very hard to find‚ and when you did find some‚ it tasted
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fear. As he experienced it all over again‚ his eyes darted everywhere looking for any perceived threat. When he glanced down at his hands‚ he saw again the little boy’s blood. For years he tried to scrub it away‚ it was indelibly imprinted in his memory. The sights‚ sounds and smell of the moment when he took that young life‚ panicked him. Guilt‚ like a firestorm‚ raged within. ‘What
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The empty room echoing my thoughts was getting too much. Continuously reliving what had happened yesterday was making it even worse .The piercing shrill of her scream coming to a sudden halt. The smell of burnt rubber leaving behind a hint of hatred and fury repressed by her killer. My tears blur my vision as I realize that I will never see her mesmerizing emerald green eyes again. Never to see that smile that could light up a whole room. The worst part of this is that this was all undeniably
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the midst of it sits a girl waiting with only her instructions for company‚ to follow what she was told and do it without complaint. She has nothing to complain about‚ she is free‚ free from the life she left behind. Her mother is long gone‚ as are memories bound to her soul‚ such as the time when the gunfire and explosions would not cease replaying in her eyes and ears‚ her mother wrapping herself around her like flames envelope the timber which fuels its light‚ and the voice of warmth and spirit recited
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who is nice‚ warm‚ and cooperative on the outside. However‚ in many situations‚ she apparently can heat up and embarrass people in a professional manner and grow in size as Chief likes to say‚ whereas the common folk may shout at each other with creative vocabulary. We enter the doctor’s office‚ and Dr. Spivey stands. “Good morning‚ Mr. Johansson. I am Dr. Spivey. We have brought you here for an introductory interview to discuss some fundamental information and concerns about you. May you
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Mustafa Hafezzada A Renewed Drive (Historical Site Report #2) The Getty Villa‚ located in Pacific Palisades‚ is by far the museum that resonates with me the most. From the artwork to the building itself‚ I’m in love. I went with a childhood friend of mine because I had an extra ticket and I coerced him to join me. The tickets were free‚ but the parking was fifteen dollars; a very fair price in my opinion. To get to the Getty Villa you must drive on a pathway that felt very rough in my car
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Assignment B: imaginative writing “No Mans Land” A cold wind blew across the barren landscape. shrapnel and rifle magazines were discarded among the wreckage. The survivors of the onslaught looked more dead than alive‚ their pale green-grey flesh almost rotting. Blisters bubbled like lava‚ their crimson spots cracked and flaking. The atmosphere was cold and distant. Not a sound could be heard‚ not even the morning bird song. No mans land was like a corpse. Not a sign of life could be found‚ not
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We have explored a variety of writing styles with food as the central theme throughout. My first essay was an ode to steak‚ which took you through all the senses from the hint of smell to the first savory bite. The second essay was a deconstruction of meatballs and how my first true cooking experience came about. Next was an essay on the adventures of Chinese cuisine and the garlic phenomenon. The last essay was to capture and critique a moment shared with lobster. I am proud of all my essays. If
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