A family as dysfunctional as ours‚ you must understand why being so different is so hard. Having a twin brother who is the perception of a golden child‚ and a sister‚ who is probably going to be the next Miss America‚ really makes you stand out as the ‘other’ sibling. I obviously lack the physical genetics which my brother and sister gained to my disadvantage. Being in my family is hard; not knowing which snide remark would come next towards my supposed unworthiness to sit at golden table for dinner
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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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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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I pulled the trigger. Bang‚ bang‚ bang. Two shots for each police officer that stood before me. I wasn’t high. I wasn’t drunk. And I definitely wasn’t crazy… “I guess the reason I shot them is because I felt trapped. At least that’s the reason I keep telling myself.” “So that’s the reason”‚ said the lawyer. “I guess. I mean‚ I don’t really have a reason. I just did it.” “Did you know who the officers were?” “No‚ sir. All I truly know is that I killed them‚ which makes me the murderer. I have
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The Ghouls Pt. 2 The next second she blinked‚ and her face cleared. Mimi nodded to confirm her answer. “Yes‚ but let’s hurry up‚” she urged. Steve and Mimi dashed through the cemetery gates together‚ leaving the rusty hinges creaking and swinging behind them. The ground was lined with brittle gravel that crunched beneath their feet with every step. For a while‚ there was no other sound. “What’s that on the left?” Mimi questioned. “There’s a faint glow coming from behind that tree.” Her face
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Jonas couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer. The two bumped into a large pile of snow outside the welcoming cabin from his memories and dreams. When Jonas woke up‚ he smelled fresh cookies‚ burning wood‚ and pine. He didn’t remember what had happened at first. He was on a pull-out bed next to a toasty fireplace with a warm fleece blanket wrapped around him. The memories of the past few days came back to him. He sat up and looked around; there was an ancient wood chair to one side with a little
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Drowning: She slams the door shut‚ shaking the house with pure madness. My parents step out of the house‚ and take their big argument outside. I walked over to the window and watched their lousy arguing. It always ends up in the same place. One either gets kicked out of the house or someone leaves and doesn’t come back till a few days later. I was lying down on my lonely bed‚ looking at the ceiling fan go round and round. I was surrounded by the thin‚ white walls and the sounds of bickering outside
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The pyshcologist wasn’t certain to expect what type of Emily Harris would walk through the door. His practice usually consisted of adults‚ and he was practically experienced‚ with the teenage mind‚ particuarly since he and his wife‚ Grace.‚ had put aside plans to have children of their own‚ to forge ahead with their careers. Enough to make him one of the most prominent psychologists in the city‚ and her‚ a senior marketing executive for an international publishing company‚ a position her Father‚
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skills learned in English class. English engages me most through creative writing. I vastly enjoy pursuing my love of creative writing‚ and consider myself good at it. As an English student‚ I stand out as a qualified and intrigued creative writer. My favorite day in English class‚ so far‚ was the day in eighth grade when Ms. Maslanka told us we would do a creative writing prompt every week.
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Tamara Wilson-Ashton 18. Sept. 2013 ENG 099 – B5 Prof. W. Donohue Literacy Narrative #2 Transitioning from elementary school writing and reading to middle school reaing and writing was not much of a struggle for me. I had entered middle school with a much higher placement in my reading and writing level than most of my peers at the time. I was confident in my skills and very much excited. I also had started to write when I had leisure time in my now journal‚ since diary was juvenile and
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