The Wounded Soldier A blast of cold air hits on his face like the blade of a shredding knife. Bodies of fallen comrades and enemies lay all around him. The smell of flesh from both sides of the war together with the dust and smoke almost made him sick. He has never been more aware and cautious‚ cowering in fear at the sounds of machine guns. The thought of reuniting with his family is the only hope that gave him the strength to continue‚ allowing him to forget about the inclement taste
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With a lawn chair slung over one shoulder and a large cooler in hand‚ I struggle to slam the trunk of my Ford Expedition. I embark on my trek up the steep‚ grassy incline to the field‚ making sure to feel my pocket for the bottle of Advil I promised to deliver. Besides the coaches meticulously raking the field and chalking the foul line‚ there is no one around. The rickety‚ rust coated bleachers remain barren in the sliver of shade. I unfold my chair‚ positioning it at the perfect angle to view the
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hair while trying to reach for her poncho. “ The is not the place to die.”‚ I thought. If we were to just paddle just a little more than we’ll be free. I started paddling again and Day still didn’t move an inch. I yelled at Day with tears in my eyes‚“YOU BETTER START PADDLING! I DON’T WANT TO DIE HERE!” Which turn out more of a whin than a command but still manage to make sure she can hear me over the heavy rain and crazy
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playing in the crisp‚ cold water‚ while their moms and dads lounge lazily by the pool. On the Fourth of July‚ a glass of ice-cold lemonade with ice cubes that turn to puddles after leaving the cold of the freezer for more than five minutes is just what you need keep cool on such a sunny day. As the sun dips behind the hillside‚ children start to chase fireflies all over the block and place them in jars so their flickering‚ gentle lights can send the kids to sleep when their bedtime comes. The Fourth
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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 in.” An older man around his forties replies. I hold my breathe until his I hear his footsteps fade away into the other room
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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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towards the entrance of the colosseum. On our way there we could see people tailgating. The smell of hot dogs and burgers being grilled tickled my nose and enticed my senses. As we got closer to the entrance‚ we saw a bunch of stands up which let you practice soccer skills. I‚ without thinking twice‚ ran up to try to win a brand new soccer ball. The ball was very cold‚ smooth‚ and had a bunch of little bumps on it which allow for better grip when dribbling. It’s colors were bright red‚ green‚ and
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bricks were broken. As you neared the house you got a better look at the house. The right side of the house‚ right under all the window sills‚ there were dying flowers. My grandma loved to tend to her garden but since she was getting up in the years‚ it became harder and harder for her to do so. The paint on the house was old and weathered and some of the bricks were broken and missing which brought out the real age of the house. There was a weird sound that you heard as you entered the doorway that
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It was the most horrific April night. The moon was nowhere in sight the stars hid under the cover of dark storm clouds. The wind shook the trees violently and the temperature was biting. Thunder could be heard rumbling and lightning lit up the night sky. Emery Clarkson‚ a man in his thirties‚ emerged out of an Clarkson Corporations after a late night of trying to finish the never-ending‚ mountain-of-work on his desk. His hair was dishevelled‚ his face exhibited a weary expression‚ his suit was wrinkled
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evaluation of data‚ which can be drawn upon to make conclusions (Aron‚ Aron‚ & Coups‚ 2006‚ 2). Two branches of statistics exist‚ including descriptive and inferential domains. Extrapolation beyond the data is where the real difference emerges. Indeed‚ these two subcategories vary in function and definition. However‚ a relationship exists between descriptive and inferential statistics‚ irrespective of the distinction in purpose and meaning. The function of statistics is the "collecting‚ analyzing
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