There was not a day when someone wasn’t dying. Many of my childhood memories lead me back to the funeral home. Heck‚ I even learned to ride my tricycle in the area where all the caskets were kept! Many of my friends would find it neat that I knew all about the place and would always ask me to take them around for a tour. There is a story that I always tell people that happened at my grandpa’s funeral home one unique day. My earliest memory of my grandpa’s house; which was a funeral home‚ was when
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Everything was silent at first‚ as are most moment’s right before a major storm. People were roaming around‚ minding their own business and going about their days like nothing was wrong. It was quite clear most were trying to rush to get everything accomplished before the downpour‚ but no one knew how soon it would happen. Suddenly‚ as young eyes searched around the area for a treat for being a good boy during the trip‚ the wind suddenly picked up. Papers and leaves blew about‚ some flying in front
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actually said word for word‚ but somewhere in my memory‚ that is good enough for me to think about what writing‚ and being creative mean to me. It was my sophomore year of high school‚ I heard this every time I pull my agenda out and pick up my backpack‚ “they are the same people that go every time.” But before going into all the details about it‚ I think I should introduce you to my mojo in creative writing class‚ too. I think my creative writing teacher remembers me due to my opening line every
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Creative Writing Process Piece Reflectio The piece that I choose to display the creative writing process was my Eleven remodel called‚ Eighteen going on Four.This was a remodel from Sandra Cisneros’s piece Eleven. She displayed such an abundant amount of emotions in her piece which is something that I aspired in my own piece.At first I was very hesitant about using another writer’s piece of model after my own‚ it almost felt like cheating. Of course I love to use other’s writing to inspire me but
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We were all strangers before this was ever planned. No one really thought it was possible to start with. I stepped into the portal of time that illuminated my bedroom wall. Like an endless spiral of darkness is what it looked like. I struggled to place my portal-acquiring-device—also known as PAD‚ in my pocket due to the overwhelming pressure‚ however I managed to just before I reached the other end. Lost in utter confusion‚ I wasn’t entirely sure what or where I am. I sighed in disappointment
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I could only stare agape when our commander stood there lik an ignoramus. Odysseus sneered and cackled nearly overpowering Polyester’s vexing thunder. I faced Odysseus’s backside‚ my lips pursed and dark fists so firm not the cyclops himself could free my grip. However‚ the other men began to lower themselves into a corner‚ ready to cower and continue shivering. For what then had marked our second day in that putrid cave. It was time my docile manners changed... "Nobody‚ I command you to stop
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Homer Homer is a fourteen-year-old mutt that we got at the Animal Rescue League twelve years ago. He is not the brightest bulb on the tree‚ but he is personality plus and part of the family. He’s also a pain in the butt‚ especially over the last couple of years. . . . He has a geriatric tendency to empty his bowels in the living room. He likes to wander off whenever he can—well‚ this is not a new habit‚ actually. He likes to lunch from our neighbour’s garbage—also nothing new. And lately he’s forgetful
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The only sounds he heard were the hypnotic ticking of the clock‚ the occasional chiming of the bell the hung above the door‚ and the falling rain. Due to the late hour‚ it was not difficult for him to find a table. There were only a few patrons‚ besides himself. One he recognized as the homeless woman‚ who often made one of the booths in the back corner‚ her bed for such a night. While listening to the rain drops gently pattering against the coffee shop window‚ his thoughts drifted back to her
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It’s been seventeen years since most of humanity was wiped out. The people that survived are hardened and cooled. Sometimes I wonder if living people are worse than the infected ones. I don’t know how long I have I am in pain but that’s the last thing on my mind. two weeks ago I went into a store to get what little i coled find. I heard infected inside but I had a UV light and these things burn in sunlight. UV lights work but mine was low on batteries and could give out but i didn’t see any infected
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The drive from Tuscon was a long and miserable drive. It had just rained the night prior so the air was hot and muggy. The sweat clung on to you like glue‚ and was impossable to peal off. The only thing holding my sanity together is the book I brought with me‚ Weathering Heights. Otheirwise I would have jumped out of the car an hour ago. Right now I can imagine my two friends Stefanie and Alex sitting in their bedrooms under the artic blast of their aircondetioner. Oh how I wish I was within the
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