for the cool‚ winter air‚ a sky filled with stars‚ and her. Tonight however‚ the wind is blistering‚ damp‚ and unforgiving‚ and courses through the wolf like a banshee’s cry. But with what can be mistaken for the fur of a humble dog‚ his pelt protects him from this almost supernatural presence‚ or at the very least‚ muffles it’s cry. Upon getting to the spot‚ looking over the cliff‚ down to the cold winter see below‚ ‚ he hears a faint whisper from behind. The wolf’s shadow begins‚ “She is awake”
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such “small” presents as $100 Lego or a Barby’s house in 6 rooms and garden furniture. Therefore‚ I thought that Disney Land was a good invention for loving parents.” The Sacred Grove of Oshogbo by Jeffrey Tayler The following essay contains descriptive language that helps to paint a vivid picture for the reader of an encounter with a man. “As I passed through the gates I heard a squeaky voice. A diminutive middle-aged man came out from behind the trees — the caretaker. He worked a toothbrush-sized
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of 9/11 like they were yesterday. The enormous‚ burning building collapsing to the ashy ground‚ people desperate to stop 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
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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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A dozen squealing‚ laughing little girls tugged my arms‚ legs and hands. They were so excited to show me their bedroom. Meeting all the orphans at the Colima‚ Mexico orphanage was very overwhelming and very emotional. At first‚ I felt very out of place‚ like seeing grass during a Michigan winter. All these kids surrounding me right now have no families and have nobody to love them. These kids were all beautiful in their own way and really knew how to make you smile without even trying.They were like
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present discomfort. From inside the front portion of my billfold‚ there money was stolen from the man that I impatiently waited to return home. Consequently‚ stronger my anxiety grew thinking of the money stolen from me. In fact‚ hearing the baby’s cries unnerved me‚ when she wanted additional food from only having a drop left of her formula. Not understanding quite what to do or how to feel left me frozen in a trance. My husband and I only shared one car between us‚ and I needed him to hurry back
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The Chase My wrists started to ache terribly as I trudged along the hard concrete road. Usually‚ when I took this route home‚ I passed all sorts of strange looking people. Where we lived‚ was an odd place‚ the people there were very friendly‚ but sometimes too friendly‚ getting in the way of your private life‚ asking personal questions that you didn’t really know how to answer. But on this particular night‚ a humid night at that‚ there was absolutely no sound to be heard. Not even the squeal of
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it was a cold grey day in late September. The weather had metamorphosed overnight‚ when a backing wind brought a granite sky and a mizzling rain with it‚ and although it was now only two fifty-seven in the afternoon the ashen hue of a winter evening seemed to have closed upon the hills‚ cloaking them in mist. It would be dark by five o clock. The air was clammy cold‚ and for all the sealed windows it still penetrated the interior of the carriage. The leather seats felt damp to the hands‚ there must
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of grass‚ refracting the first rays of dawn like tiny prisms. A lone robin perched on a branch‚ its melodic song breaking the serene silence. The air carried the scent of damp earth and blooming flowers‚ a delicate fragrance that whispered of new beginnings. Far in the distance‚ a river meanders through the landscape‚ its waters glistening under the soft glow of the waking sun. A gentle breeze rustled through the leaves‚ creating a soothing lullaby that swayed the branches ever so slightly. Time seemed
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September 12‚ 1988‚ I was 13 years old. It was about week into the beginning of the new school year. Every child was very happy going back to school. I tried on my uniform the night before school. I was very excited‚ because it was first day at a new school (Highgate All Age). Most of my friends from primary school were also in attendance. I remembered listening to the radio and heard the meteorologist said‚ “It is coming It is definitely coming‚ Hurricane Gilbert is coming.” That was a day before
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