Creative Story: The Lake It was the middle of springtime and across from my house where the incident took place. There was a lake there in which my brother and I loved to explore from time to time. The humidity and waterdrops where reminiscent of a fully functional sauna. The onslaught of heat and burning glow of the sun was relentless. Nonetheless‚ this fact did not bother us one bit‚ but gave us more incentive to dance with our cool and embracing "long-lost love". The first step of
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Worrying is all I can think about. I all wonder is if he will be okay. My father is an United States Marine who has been gone in Iraq for almost a year now. His third mission. Luckily‚ he has been able to return but how many more times? How longer can he dodge the bullets or not be raided by the enemy. Emma‚ my mother‚ is worse than I am. Both of us confused on what to do. Yeah‚ he calls every once in awhile but we cannot see his face. Missing that one person you love the most sucks. “Jakob‚ go
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brunette) and was surrounded by a swarm of people‚ flocking around her like chickens. All chattering and gossiping at once. A ton of the popular kids were with her‚ jocks‚ athletes‚ girls with way too much make-up on. All acting ’’buddy buddy’’ with each other. There was no way I just stroll right in without surviving. I’ll admit‚ I am a little shy and get nervous easily.
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remained. Wandering through a thicket‚ the hunter felt unnerved as every primal instinct urged him to run. He was a seasoned visitor to this forest‚ explorer of it’s secrets for decades‚ but today it was a different‚ silent world. It was as if a long-time friend had become a total stranger. The hunter stepped on a stray tree branch‚ his first misstep in almost half a century. The sound
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minutes tick by for what seemed like the hundredth night in a row; Cassie knew the feeling well. Every few minutes or so her eyes would flick over to the glowing red numbers as they crawled towards the time her alarm would go off‚ signalling a new day. The demonic red numbers switched to 3:00 am; the time for sleep fell to four hours. Cassie forced an inhale‚ and then breathed out slowly. It had been hours since she had persuaded herself to lie down in bed‚ yet her mind was still reeling from the day
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beat bark was blistering under the harsh weight of the freezing bitter quilt which strained their aching ancient backs. A tunnel had been formed. It was as if they were frail‚ vile and disfigured old men with a dozen spindly limbs to wrap around each other for dear life. The barred branches resembled a prison in my eyes. This endless tunnel was hiding us from the crucial light of the evil eye‚ the moon. There were gaps in the endless arch so as to let the descending snow slowly fall on to the path we
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one inch gap. The clanging and cracking of lustrous spiral turning echoes the night once again. His pupils fully concentrating on his hands‚ but his ears guarding him behind his back. Every minuscule movement he hears‚ pumps up the adrenaline 100 times in his body. He feels as if there is a pair of eyes watching him. There is a rubbing sound against the asphalt. He tries to jiggle out the doorknob‚ two more screws to go. Two pairs of tires gradually creep closer behind his back. With the tail of
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Fianna bent down low to the ground her fingers tracing the familiar patterns of human feet. “They’re not guards‚ the footprint is too light for the heavy metal of the boot.” She stood looking down at the trekking of the small foot prints‚ “It’s either a woman or a small man. They appear to be wearing soft commoner slippers‚ and have a slight limp in there left side‚ which could be from a bag or a weapon of some sort. Possibly even an injury.” She turned to the figure standing beside her‚ brushing
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Analyzation of Two Poems Melinda Polom September 12‚ 2013 I will first be giving to you‚ my analyzation of the short poem‚ titled‚ "First Fig"‚ written by author‚ Edna St. Vincent Millay‚ who was born in the year of 1892‚ and died in the year of 1950. I am at first‚ making the assumption that‚ when the author is speaking about a candle‚ which "burns at both ends"‚ that she must be comparing a candle‚ and the "light that it gives out”‚ using the candle‚ as a symbol‚ or as a “representative”
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suffered through a thousand blazing hells for the Lord‚ slaying the lives of my mortal brothers and sisters as a penance for my sins. The name Thanatos‚ permanently etched into my soul as a blade of silver strikes death upon each fated life I reap. Time has no effect on my unresting spirit. The rays of sunlight set across the dull horizon in the morning cast shadows upon my dark figure. As I walk through the ashen streets of the plaza with my black cloak billowing in the autumnal wind‚ a premonition
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