The graveyard was dark and shadowed; tulips lined the cobblestone pathway that led to the mausoleum‚ looming darkly against the feeble moon. I strode through the graveyard‚ glancing nervously around at the shadows that lay thick upon the graves like a shroud. Tulips‚ protruding like withered stakes from the ground‚ lined the pathway‚ and I could smell their sickly-sweet odor as I approached the mausoleum‚ looming above me like a forbidding monument to the feeble moon above. “Rachel!” I cried out
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to go back to home. I worried about my family and friends and others‚ I left the house more than a week and now‚ I might couldn’t go back to my own belonging world. Thus‚ I need to get into the wormhole. I laid down inside of the capsule‚ I had to save more my energy‚ I was thinking that this would be the last chance‚ the last chance to go back to home. I slowly closed my eyes‚
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Distortion. If I could put that moment into one word that would be it. Everything in my mind was racing‚ as if my thoughts were on a high speed merry go round that was no longer full of merriment‚ but filled with a feeling of disaster. Drowning in a vast sea of uncertainty‚ the light shining from above was slowly vanishing from sight. I no longer had hope. I remember just wanting to sleep. To drift away and have all my pain and worries leave my body. I never wanted to wake up and feel the agony
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was very confident in everything I did‚ never to rely on anyone else but myself for happiness or anything of the sort. However‚ I made one mistake that summer and it never went away. The people in my new group of friends I had started bullying me about it. It started with a few choice words for me every time they saw me‚ then it moved to texts they would send me‚ to pictures they would photo shop me into‚ and then it moved to twitter. I remember one night in particular to this day that stood out
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“ Dr. Hinzman!” “Ah yes‚ my favorite student”. “ But how do you‚ why did you…” Well it’s simple‚ after my family died‚all I had left were swords‚ no owned house or way to pay for my current. I left. One day after learning of its possible existence‚ I became entranced with the thought of a sword that can cut through anything. I needed to have that sword‚ and
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December 29‚ 2013 was the date that I recall when it happened. It was a chilly winter day in Kagawong. I was visiting my grandparents house about a mile from the town on Manitoulin Island in Canada. Ice hung off the tree branches in glistening icicles. Snow‚ as tall as a mailbox‚ was piled up on the sides of the roads. It was only noon when my grandpa walked into the room. My grandpa is a tall man with broad shoulders‚ grey hair‚ and a black and white beard. He always wears his brown boots with a
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so he grew from a scared youth into a young man filled with a fiery hatred for the King and all he held dear. Daegel was a discontented and frustrated young man with no outlet for his rage‚ no way to get back at the man who had taken away his only family. That is‚ until he met another who felt as he
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Juanito is my name‚ it’s been a lot of days without seen the sun‚ iwork alot.My mother is dead and my father said that he is to old and can’t visit me.My my time goes by‚ thinking of my family and the people that stayed in the desert and i think that i could have been one of them. Right now i’m in san diego california the closest place to mexico when i look i always think of heading back to mexico but i also think of getting caught and hold back for jail and it will be worst because i’ll lose
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When Rosie was younger she used to play in puddles. “Jump‚ Brock!” Now‚ she sat in a puddle of sand‚ surrounded by the water that crafted a false ground. “That’s dirty water‚ Rosie.” She was trapped there‚ on some sort of island‚ waiting for Union or Veridee to save her. “Oh.” She needed an escape‚ a way to truly get away‚ yet none presented themselves. It was just her. Alone and waiting for night to come and show tell her who died so she’d know who was left. I’m left. Me‚ me...and five others‚ right
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Laura Anderson English 102-3 Dr. Spence September 14‚ 2011 Lost and Found Love They say it is better to have loved and lost‚ than to never have loved at all. But‚ what about a love that one must hide and keep secret? Or what about a love that you didn’t even know was there? In “Hell-Heaven” by Jhumpa Lahiri‚ Boudi‚ a Bengali-American woman is trapped in a loveless marriage. She discovers the loyalty‚ comfort‚ and fondness that goes with growing old with another person. Through great
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