The Fear I Will Overcome I have this fear. It causes my knees to shake. I break out in a cold sweat. My heart starts to beat at 100 miles per hour and I get light headed. I am crying inside but try to act strong around people who think that I am the toughest one there. The thoughts of certain death run through my mind as I imagine my own funeral. My stomach feels strange. My palms are clammy. I am terrified of heights. Of course‚ it is not really a fear of being in a high place. It is the view of
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My sister’s friend Cody Spiker called and said‚ "You’re having a bonfire and didn’t invite me?" Little did we know‚ our shop was on fire. It was Memorial Day 2014‚ my whole family was home for the first time in a long time. My family and I were all up at our shop welding a plow for my mom’s new lavender field. We had been working hard on it since 11:00 in the morning. Kaden‚ my older brother‚ was welding‚ and my dad was grinding metal. They worked until it was finished that evening. Later that
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"My shoes! These were my favorite pair‚" he groans. Then as if realizing where the puke just came from he looks at me. "Shit‚ this means you have a concussion or something‚ right?" The whole time I am just trying to hide my mortification; I just puked all over my sister’s idol. On what apparently is his favorite pair of shoes. "Um‚ we should go find Karla‚ can you walk?" he asks. I have no idea who Karla is. I’m hoping‚ Karla is the manager who spoke with me earlier and not one of the nurses
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perfect day when no one will disturb you from deep meditation and relaxation. I expect my ideal day to be spent with my friends and family. I am dreaming about having a perfect day somewhere in India or Goa‚ the place‚ which is not spoilt by civilization. I would probably wake up around 10 a.m. and tuck into a delicious Indian breakfast or pancakes with lots of jam and different kinds of fruit. Later on‚ I`d lie in a hummock‚ sipping fresh coconut milk through a straw and reading a good book. Then
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hide coat and grabbing his short bow and the candle‚ he left his room. "Hey‚ son‚ a bit slower than usual aren’t you?" Jimoel’s father said while smirking. It was a little joke between them. Whoever was slower would get picked on for the rest of the day. "Only because I wanted to give you a head start‚ maybe you could have actually gotten some game this time‚" Jimoel replied with an equally large smirk as he walked towards his bowstring and quiver on the wall next to the front door. He grabbed his
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double space between the information and the title My Christmas Day Of 2010 As I woke up with the sun’s rays in my eyes‚ I hit my phone alarm clock‚ which since it was ringing at 10 a.m. As I walked (the way you wrote this makes it a fragmented sentence. If you add a subject and change the verb it is not fragmented) down the beige hallway‚ into the ocean theme bathroom. I turned on the bathroom light‚ and turned then the water on to wash my face. When you have the same action in the same sentence
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I graduated high school in 2011 but I started my first ever semester of college in the spring of 2017 at Southeast Missouri State University. I was extremely nervous about being in an English class in college. The writing in college is completely different from writing in high school. Writing has never been my forte but I have managed to learn some new things and relearn some old things. My first writing assignment was a literacy narrative. I had no knowledge of this topic. Once the professor explained
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makes my ears hurt. I had slept on the icy cold floor‚ pieces of plastic‚ cardboard and legos prodding my skin. My cheek is still stinging from the smack the night before. Rising‚ I leave the room‚ and step down the stairs making sure I don’t make a sound. In the living room I sit on
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to this day. I was at one of those monotonous‚ obligatory family gatherings that we’ve all experienced at some point in our lives‚ celebrating the engagement of my older cousin. I quickly took upon the role of the event photographer‚ after having been praised for my supposed artistic skill. Then‚ it dawned on me - none of my extended family had seen any of my artworks for at least the past 7 years. The last any of them had seen was likely the deformed stick-figure style I had embraced in my childhood
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One day in Florida‚ two nine-year-old kids are playing in the park. The birds are chirping. The sun is shining. A dead body is rotting. The kids‚ Quentin Jacobson and Margo Roth Spiegelman‚ run home to tell their parents. Quentin wants to push the whole finding-a-dead-body thing from his mind‚ but Margo finds out the man killed himself and wonders why. Nine years later‚ Margo Roth Spiegelman‚ who is now eighteen‚ comes to Quentin’s window in the middle of the night. They haven’t really hung out
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