Puffy clouds were floating on the radiant blue sky. The murky‚ sticky air surrounded the peaceful New York. Contaminated ominous smoke belch out from skyscrapers across the river. Rigid cement was about to melt down‚ animals stayed underground and people began sweltering as if they were the farmers below the fierce sun. Smoothly‚ the breeze danced over the resting people sitting on the wooden wall nearby Hudson River. The day was quiet as the grave to a wonder. The clear blue sky contrasted itself
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As a young girl‚ I experienced what at the time I thought was the end of the world. Yes‚ I was a little bit of a drama queen. At the age of eleven‚ and on my way to a ballet recital a woman who was careless pulled under an awning in a non-parking zone in front of The Girls Club. I was running to catch up with my group. I looked left and right and proceeded to walk under the awing to the parking lot across from the building. From the corner of my eye’s I saw a white car pull up in front of me very
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but finding her face I hesitate. My chest begins to burn‚ cringing in pain I struggle to hold emotion from showing‚ my heart screams for comfort and my mind beckons for help. The pain killing me from the inside‚ I feel disgusted with myself‚ shamed about how selfish I’m being. Racing to the car I hold back my tears‚ it feels as if my head will explode any moment. I feel it coming‚ my eyes are hurting‚ hands trembling‚ trying to unlock my car before I fall apart for someone to see‚ slamming the door
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Queens of The Stone Age‚ Clutch‚ Monster Magnet‚ maybe even The Grateful Dead prior to the passing of Jerry Garcia! I forget my earlier misconceptions and start to daydream of that type of life; living from day to day‚ not worried about what must be done‚ only worried about what you want to do. I could travel from town to town following my favorite band in a rusty old dust covered Volkswagen bus. I could live off the land‚ surviving on only what Mother Nature and the goodwill of strangers provided
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It’s almost last call. It has reached the point in the night where the sensible members of society have left‚ leaving only the hopeless drunks and a few young couples too lost in trivial conversation to realize the bar is closing soon. That’s a lie. This place doesn’t bring in any sensible people‚ in fact it hardly brings anyone in at all anymore. I like to remember how it used to be—so full of life and genuinely pleasant—and pretend that’s still the way it is. But this bar in particular‚ which I
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Writing about Theme in “The Necklace” Directions: Your assignment is to write a response to literature identifying and explaining how the theme is made clear by the action of the story "The Necklace." You must have a topic sentence that includes the name of the author‚ the title‚ the genre and the main idea of your paragraph. You must state the theme of the story. The theme must be stated in one sentence. You must summarize the action of the story‚ focusing on those events that are important
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I awoke that day to the sounds of men yelling and whips cracking‚ people screaming and chains rattling. I had no idea where I was. Though I had a splitting headache‚ I could tell I was moving‚ on something like a stretcher. I opened my eyes slightly‚ and saw that I was being carried by some men who appeared to be Fulani‚ along some sort of beach. I assumed I was on the coast‚ for when I glanced toward the sea it appeared to go on until it met the horizon. After understanding where I likely was
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I peered down at the several plastic bags that I was holding; full of the essential shopping that I had gone out to get last minute for dinner. One of the bags (the one that was hurting my wrists) was clearly overfilled‚ but I couldn’t do anything about that‚ not now‚ in the middle of the street. Letting out a heavy sigh‚ I carried on walking‚ reaching carelessly into my pocket to clasp my phone. In the humidity‚ it felt lovely to have the cold‚ metal block against my hands. I pulled it out‚ feeling
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huge‚ wiry man dressed in a tan leather jacket‚ a white shirt with some strange dark splattering on it‚ and jeans‚ who had definitely not been there a few seconds ago‚ stared down at me. His large eyes were green and bloodshot; they had a crazy look about them. I recognized him as the man who had entered after the other boy into the alley. “The letter. Give it to me‚” he rasped. His rank breath hit me as he spoke the words‚ “You have no idea what that is.”
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“Bro these guys are huge! We are about to get beat so bad. And look how fast they are.” Austin Blake was usually never intimidated. As the captain of the defense he was generally so stoic you would have thought there was no one he couldn’t beat. His attitude always inspired confidence and tenacity in us. He was our fearless leader. But today it seemed as if his lack of confidence was just a foreshadowing of yet another total mental and physical collapse of a team in the face of Westwood High school
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