I rush downstairs as fast as a five year old with snow pants a pink puffy jacket could. I put on my warmest socks that I packed and sit down on the couch so my mom can put on my snow boots. It’s 2007 and my parents decide to take us to our grandparents house in Vermont for our school vacation. We’re getting ready to go sledding on the Mount Snow golf course. After we all have our winter clothes on‚ we head outside. We all gather up the best sleds and start our journey to the hill. Me‚ being the
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Bright white lights shining above my head‚ while I watch the red velvet curtains cascade to the sides of the stage. I walk up to a sea of unfamiliar faces‚ as I hear the deafening sound of my heartbeat fill my head with anxiety. My body as still as a statue. The first time I ever performed in a play was my last. I got in a role in seventh grade‚ I was playing the Fairy Godmother in “Cinderella”. Since I never had that much acting experience‚ barely even one year of theatre. I also haven’t had much
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Even though I have ridden the Magical Express bus from Orlando Airport many times‚ I always vibrate with excitement as I crane my neck out the window to get my first glimpse of Space Mountain. The monorail zooms beside our bus‚ pointing the way to the Magic Kingdom. Finally‚ we reach the sign announcing our arrival at the Magic Kingdom. When we walk through the dark tunnel at the front gate‚ it always feels as if I am entering another world. I see Pluto hugging a boy and signing autographs.
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what many people think‚ Big Bend has more to offer than just deserts‚ cacti‚ and zero wifi. It is filled with beautiful wildlife and splendid mountains. My aunt used to live and work there as a park ranger and seeing her so little during the year made our visits over Christmas break that much more meaningful. One of those times sticks out in my mind more vividly than the others. The drive‚ though long‚ was worth every minute once we got far enough away from society. The road cut through small mountains
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Staphylococcus aureus: From a Spot to the Hospital The hospital is silent this morning‚ as the sun breaks through the blinds and casts off all the silver objects in the room. My hospital bed is uncomfortable‚ and it makes me yearn for my 100-year-old mattress and many unnecessary plush-pillows. The smell of bleach and cleanliness lingers in my nose and almost makes me feel sicker. How did I end up here? Well‚ that is not an adrenaline rushed injury or a freak accident‚ but something that started so small‚
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the plane that was being flown at 600 miles per hour‚ the impact of when the plane collided with the building‚ the screams and cries for help‚ along with my fellow passengers calling their loved ones to say they’re not going to make it. Yes‚ I said my fellow passengers. My name Lauren Kriewitz‚ and I am a survivor of the treacherous 9/11 attack. My flight was in route to Los Angeles‚ when all of a sudden we were hijacked and made a sudden turn for New York‚ which I thought I heard our pilot saying
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I used to love Cape Grim. It was an unspoilt coastal wilderness. My father and I would hike there every weekend in spring‚ when the heat wasn’t yet unbearable and the fresh breeze would caress the light beads of sweat on our foreheads. We’d go down the hidden path on the cliffside to the white sands below. It was a tranquil place down there where the soft sunlight would shine down from the boundless blue sky‚ dyeing the sea hues of orange and magenta. Now I can’t even bear to think of Cape Grim
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against the wall. Their eyes‚ cold and merciless‚ pierce through my skin‚ sending shivers down my spine. The strong scent of impending rain hangs in midair as the clouds loom in the sky with every shade of storm grey. Sealing my eyes shut‚ I breathe in deeply diverting the stares to face my rich‚ black complexion. A colour so gloomy should be invisible among the fair‚ but instead it shines so vividly. I begin fidgeting with the hem of my hoodie before jerking it over hoping that it would envelope me
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whistle shook my ear drums‚ numbed my chest‚ and crippled my legs. Prior to this‚ Pine Richland had kicked a field goal that gave them a three point lead with only seconds left. We had one play to win: a kickoff return to hopefully save not only our season‚ but to justify the twelve years I had devoted to this game. As the ball was hopping down the field‚ I stood there trying to stop my hands from frantically shaking. After what felt like an hour‚ I could finally feel the pigskin leather on my fingertips
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violin in my hand was drenched with sweat and my legs were shaking uncontrollably. My only resilience and my Beta-blocker were the fellow companions standing with me. This was my first ever orchestra performance in a grand theater. I sat down facing the conductor with my legs still not under control. One signal from the conductor‚ I let my heart do all the work. The music that we were playing was Tchaikovsky’s Marche Slave. With my violin in hand‚ I became a soldier marching into war. My violin was
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