The Fosdyck family is running through the airport‚ pulling our suitcases behind us. Parents all around us are doing a mental roll-call to make sure they haven’t lost any little ones along the way. Outside the huge glass windows that line every corridor‚ airplanes’ engines are heard. We board our flight‚ kids‚ parents‚ and grandparents‚ and buckle up. We stayed in a cabin on the beach. When I say beach I mean a rocky‚ windy shoreline with lots of ocean spray. My brothers played outside and chased
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penetrated by bullets‚ forcing me to the cold‚ snowy ground‚ I felt nothingness again. I am now irreparable. There is nothing to do now but escape life and find relief in death. No more living vicariously through others‚ or being conscious through days and days of torture. The Moosehead Tavern changes into a hotel lobby. New‚ more productive members of society are brought into the location‚ unknowing of its previous appearance. The cycle of life decides the fate of many things‚ but I welcomed it with
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step I make towards the doors that lead outside resonate inside my head as if the sound was mocking my emptiness. Even as I closed the door‚ she could still be heard swearing and throwing mess around. I’m sick of fighting with her every second of the day‚ but the thought of Snow leaving‚ well it just tears me in two. “Where did we go wrong?” I chuckle to myself‚ staring into the eyes of my reflection. Even after the fights we’ve had‚ I always have a hard time not being around her‚ stealing a glimpse
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Kyuss‚ Led Zeppelin‚ Blue Oyster Cult‚ 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
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Le Fou was a spectacular musician who loved to perform in front of spectators‚ and he loved playing all assortments of instruments. But by far‚ his favorite was the harp. Le Fou was infatuated by all string instruments‚ almost to the point of insanity. He enjoyed the feeling of the soft but coarse cords against his fingers. So when Le Fou heard the rumor of the golden harp he was obsessed‚ he had to find this “magical instrument”. Fortunately‚ Le Fou was born into a wealthy family and had inherited
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calm me down‚ handing me a blue bear telling me to point on teddy where it hurt. As he began to work on my foot he told me to look at the pictures‚ he had taped to the inside of his ambulance. I remember sitting there looking at the pictures‚ to this day‚ I could describe every face color and background of each
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of my many routine walks through a cemetery near my house. It was night time‚ and everything was cold and damp. But the moon made this atmosphere that I just loved that I had to write about it. It should also be noted that it was around valentine’s day and I was thinking about my “perfect” mate (don’t judge me‚ you’ve done that before) This piece is also about on how I would be a “perfect” mate‚ and how I would have to change in order to actually protect who and what I love. Now‚ a problem I ran
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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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directions‚ and frozen white powdered water would lay like an infection for months to follow. I had a thick coat. It was safe to say that I was perfectly secure until weather conditions furthered. Luckily‚ the weather had been at a still for the last day or two. The sun beamed down upon the land with relevancy. I stopped in my tracks behind brush; a clearing a couple of feet before me. Something to steer clear of as travelers roam as they see fit. They had been here. Their prints were visible. An arrow
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“What do you expect to achieve in UVI’s Summer Bridge Writing Class Xavier?” mom asked. “I am not too sure‚ but I know I plan to pass my placement test for sure by writing good essays like I always do” I said. I honestly did not expect to have to work hard in my writing class until the second day in Dr Harkins-Pierre’s class. On my first day‚ I had to construct a narrative essay based on the day I came in second place for a modeling competition. It consisted of a prewrite containing a cluster chart
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