Do you remember that time when I stayed overnight at your house‚ and your sister got mad at us because she wanted to have me over‚ and I was hanging out with you not her? Oh yeah‚ you aren’t my cousin Samantha‚ let me tell you about her. Samantha is a pretty girl. Her long strawberry blonde hair goes a couple inches past her shoulders. Even though she is only 14‚ she is about the average height of a woman‚ which is about an inch or two taller than me. She also has freckles and braces. It doesn’t
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The school had just finished for the weekend‚ and a storm was gradually getting worse‚ trees swinging violently back and forth as the gust of wind became stronger. No one dared to walk in that‚ but Ashley and Alison did. They lived much further than everyone else as they were brought up by a wealthy family and lived in a big house at the far end of Boomer village. The girls were well known in the village and got on with everyone‚ but that night everything changed for the sisters. As the weather
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All he thought was what’s happening to me. Scott kept seeing things that weren’t really there. Once he would blink‚ it would disappear. Scott went to school thinking he probably didn’t get enough sleep. On his way to school scott thought about all the stuff that had happened to him and his friends. Well they all had been through alot with Scott becoming a werewolf‚ Jackson becoming the kanima‚ and Deucalion and his whole alpha pack. Scott and his friends fought through it all but Scott just couldn’t
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"So this it." said a man with blonde hair in a wolf tail. He went forward to entering a large university. "Ben." called a voice. The man turned around to see a dragon with black scales covering the most of him and white scales going down his neck running up to him. "Mena. You made it." said Ben giving him a handshake. "Yeah. It was not easy either. I can deal with everything but these uniforms." The both of them wore a white dress shirt and black tie that was covered by a red colored blazer
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An Upbeat Ascent Wind in my face‚ I tramp up the mountain. Only the summit lays ahead‚ a monument of fear‚ casting doubt in the hearts of adventurers. The cold penetrates the security of my jacket rendering me stiff. A brave drop of sweat fights its way down my forehead‚ only to be swept away by the enemy. Craning my neck‚ I see the endless ascent of sharp rocks and jagged edges. Cold and discouraged‚ I fall into despair. Today was the day. I was going to summit Mt. Hyndman. Piling into the van
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a poor shooter‚ has three bullets in his rifle to finish off Davey. Munny misses the first shot. He misses the second shot. Just before Davey almost moves behind the rock‚ Munny fires his last bullet and hit Davey in his gut‚ which is a fatal wound that eventually tortured him to death. In this scene‚ the camera specifically emphasized on the pain of Davey. Audiences observe the painful facial expression of Davey‚ and hear the painful moan of Davey. We also observe that when Munny shot Davey in
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Every morning‚ I go through the same agonizing routine. Wake up to my alarm clock screaming at me‚ eat a chocolate-chip croissant with strawberry milk while watching the glamorous‚ yet slightly annoying‚ Olivia Morgan and the rest of the cheesy morning news cast. Olivia is the type of person that can make you want to take a step back from life and look at how miserably bad you have done compared to her‚ though‚ at the same time‚ makes you want to gouge your eyes out every single time you hear your
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At the age of 2‚ I was signed up for ballet lessons. Once a week‚ I would travel to my town’s small‚ run-down studio to dance for a half and hour. Caitlin‚ my sister‚ was in the same class with me even though she was 2 years my elder. As time went on‚ I became more serious about ballet. It became my passion. Nights at the studio multiplied from one night to two to four. At the age of 10‚ I surpassed my sister‚ and became a level IV ballerina. She eventually quit‚ but my love for ballet went on. By
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Bondage I reminiscently mentioned a story to my mother‚ decades after she told it‚ when I was very young. I explained how occasionally the thought of it would rear its ugly head and briefly haunt me. Mom didn’t recall the event‚ but was mortified she could have told me such a story. Or did she? My recognition was she told me the story one night as she tucked me into bed–a bed with a nice big head board. (<This‚ pertinent to the story.) And on this night‚ in lieu of a nice bedtime story
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It began as any 9-year-old girl would spend her Saturday‚ sleeping over at her best friend’s house. My friend Kennedi and I have been friends for a little over a year at this moment‚ we met in the 3rd grade and when this incident took place‚ we were 4th graders. We woke up that morning to breakfast that was prepared by her mother Mrs. Gross. We didn’t necessarily have anything planned for the day‚ just to play games and watch TV. Kennedi and her family were far more fortunate than my family was
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