Once there was a girl. A girl that didn’t think she ever mattered. Sure‚ she had good parents and decent grades‚ but she never thought herself to be worth anymore than a plastic wrap on the ground. The girl isolated herself whenever she could‚ only speaking when it was required by her teachers. Even so‚ half the grade thought she was mute. She learned a fair amount of sign language to encourage the rumor‚ just so that more people would leave her alone. If anyone had truly paid attention to her
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‘Please take a seat‚ I will be back in a second’ Said Mr. Alford‚ as he pointed his hand towards the lounge. I nodded gently as I walked pass my parent’s old bedroom. As I looked around‚ the bedroom itself hadn’t changed much since I was a little kid; I haven’t seen it in a while thought. I remember how I came in here a lot in the middle of a thunderstorm at night to wake my mother up‚ as I was too scared to sleep by myself. My father hated that! However‚ my mother always laughed her head off as
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characters that have more similarities to each other than differences. They describe a tall and masculine fellow who follows the orders of their smaller and more bright individual. The perception is that Capote created these characters but his novel‚ “In Cold Blood‚” the character’s Perry Edwards Smith and Richard (Dick) Eugene Hickock are real people. That is why Capote’s book is considered a nonfiction novel. On the other hand‚ John Steinbeck writes the book‚ “Of Mice and Men‚” which is about what it means
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talking to him and his girlfriend for a bit‚ I’d tell you what we talked about but these sort of trivial conversations seem to go in one ear and out the other for me. And as this rather redundant exchange of words comes to an awkward pause something cold runs over my skin‚ at first‚ it feels like a breeze but then there’s something more to it‚ something electric with a warm afterglow. “this is it” I think to myself. It’s funny how I can never quite remember how it’s going to feel‚ but when it hits
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I lean forward‚ the tips of my fingers on the track‚ back foot at a ninety degree angle from the ground. My eyes dart towards the tree about a hundred metres away from where I am. Dad blows the whistle; a high-pitched squeal that echoes throughout the isolated park. I push my whole body forward with my back foot‚ and I’m at seventy percent of my full speed for the first sixty metres. The brown grass beneath me is soft and I’ve reached sixty metres now‚ and the once hidden beast inside me has
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express your feelings through a song and with all the emotions being expressed through the guitar. Even though I am aware that music is haraam‚ I can’t seem to give up on my passion for the guitar. The guitar and I have a bond that runs deeper then blood. The guitar is something that I hope to share with my future soul mate. For many years I had a phobia from water‚ I have finally overcame that fear through my local masajid. My masajid has a muslim girl swimming team and I was asked to join. I accepted
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Don´t cut on the lights My nose was filled with the scent of old people and medicine as I roamed the hospital halls. I was searching for my brother. I looked around the long narrow hallway trying to find my brother’s room. I looked into the room closest to to me. I grabbed the paper file beside the door and opened it. “Nope not his.” I stated. I went to another door. There was no file. The room must have been empty. I had checked a few more rooms in this hallway. “If he’s not in this hallway‚ he
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Bright‚ blood red colours saturated the makeshift tent‚ signalling the arrival of a new year. Red papers rustled in the breeze. Inscribed on them were golden characters each indicating happiness‚ health and prosperity. Red flowers bloomed in their various places around the tent. Bodies piled in ecstatically‚ one after another‚ sniffing‚ as they entered‚ the heavenly aroma of the vast array of foods present. Greetings were exchanged. So was money‚ which remained silent in the red packets they were
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Insomnia A/N: I don’t ship EreRi‚ but this was surprisingly easy to write. And quite enjoyable. I hope you enjoy reading this just as much as I enjoyed writing it. I’m now going to cry because I’m a piece of shit who doesn’t know how to prioritise and is really‚ really stressed because of it. . . . For the fourth time in a row‚ Eren can’t sleep. Throwing the sheets away from his body‚ clammy and gross as shit‚ Eren scrubs his hands over his face and emits a groan of frustration. He (figuratively
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hand and clenching it into a fist. "Why?.....why did this happen to me? more importantly why did Kanako’s life have to be taken!?" I say as I punch a nearby small boulder nearly cracking it in half. I got up and stood there silently watching blood drip down from my right hand. Letting out a brief sigh I started to climb my way out of the crater. As I reached the top I could see the village off in
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