New London. A place of opportunity. A place for the future. A place of fierce oppression. I grew up just like every other child in New London. We’re raised by parents that were raised just as us. We’re given predetermined jobs. Twenty thousand dollars is then given to the children when they reach seventeen as birth money. From there‚ they do their job. They’re given a wife at age thirty. And the circuit is repeated. Just as it has been for the last seven hundred years. Complete stability. Nothing
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I crouch alongside the Pennsylvania State House silently. I peek out from the edge towards the front door. Two guards stand on each side engaging in small talk. With a groan‚ I slump back against the building. How am I supposed to get in? I lean my head against the wall and look up toward the sky. The window directly above me suddenly opens and I freeze in fear. “Why are you opening that window? It’s out in the back hall!” “Well‚ I thought we could leave the door open and have a nice breeze flow
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It was a typical spring day; flowers stand tall‚ soaking in the sun’s warm rays as they swing in the gentle yet crisp breeze. A song composed of chirping birds slightly overpower the sound of traffic as it is still early in the morning. Macy Jones awoke after a well rested night. Her facial expressions indicate happiness however‚ a way of reality hit‚ quickly transforming the slight smile into a deep frown. Macy Jones is not pretty‚ nor does she feel loved. She often wished her dull brown hair be
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I miss them already. Despite the freezing cold snow and the nipping air‚ we had a lovely Christmas break. As I inspect my child‚ now grown with children of her own‚ holding tickets back to their home‚ longing envelopes me. Hoards of people push past‚ unaware of my pain‚ on their own schedules and heading toward different trains‚ talking and texting on their cell phones. My family boards‚ time as if in slow-motion‚ and motions goodbye until I see them again. I can’t do anything but wave‚ a fake
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The Cattle Barn It’s a small lot on our farm‚ with white and red tin siding that many people overlook. It’s right next to the voluminous silver towers of our mill. It’s a place where many lessons are learned and see many “joys and discomforts” of agricultural life all throughout the year. Starting in the middle of December all the way to the beginning of July is where I get to watch my project grow and develop. As soon as the herd sees me stumbling down the hill‚ they race to the gate and acknowledge
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Beneath the Ice It was a cold snowy morning on the frozen shores of Lake Superior. I unloaded all of my ice fishing supplies from my truck and back my ATV out of the trailer. The ice was at least a foot thick by this time of year according to the people in town more than safe enough for the trip out on the lake. I gassed up my ATV and strapped down all my gear and headed out to my shanty. Trying to navigate in these conditions is very treacherous having only a general idea on the whereabouts of
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The adrenaline pumped through my veins. My heart was beating so loud and fast. There was the ball‚ held in the referee’s hands‚ about to be thrown up into the air. I stood a few feet behind the boy on the opposite team‚ poised and ready to catch the ball when my teammate smacked it toward me. Oh‚ I was so nervous. Suddenly the basketball hit my stomach with incredible force. It bounced off and rolled away on the floor to be picked up by the opposite team. The game had begun‚ and I had already dropped
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His ruthless heart on the ruby-splattered blade of its guiltless bearer‚ he dropped like a stone to the bloodstained turf‚ letting a cry of anguish blend in with the rapidly retreating footsteps of his cowering soldiers. He knew he would survive‚ but they didn’t‚ and at that moment in time them not knowing was what really mattered. He stared through his supposedly closed eyelids at his killer. A girl‚ this time‚ with blonde‚ wavy hip-length hair and startling cyan eyes. That was what got him that
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Carina Wallace English 111 Ms. Simmerman Jan. 22‚ 2015 My Second Home I wake up to the sound of laughter downstairs‚ and the smell of fresh hot biscuits in the oven. I sit up drowsily in bed; the sun is shining through the window‚ making little patterns of light on my sheets. I rise‚ feeling the coolness of the wood floor against my feet as they touch the ground. I walk to the closet and grab my faded old jeans; I slip them on‚ buttoning the snap in one fluid movement. I pull open the top drawer
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Lai Xu Per. 10 2-4-03 A House to Remember I have moved in and out of many houses throughout the years‚ but none of them were as important to me as the house in which I grew up. I must admit that this house‚ although enormous‚ was neither the nicest nor the most comfortable house‚ yet my nostalgic nature has propelled me to treasure that house above all others. Having parted it for almost ten years‚ some details of the house are out of my grasp. The memory of the house now stands as a symbol of
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