I recognized Francis by three things‚ her strong southern accent‚ her rich intoxicating perfume‚ and the color of her skin. She was my “Black Grandmama.” When I was a little kid‚ my family would drive down to my father’s hometown of New Orleans Louisiana‚ and stay with his parents for months at a time. My grandparents‚ very wealthy‚ had an ensemble of workers. Maids‚ butlers‚ cooks‚ all of which had one thing in common; they were black. Growing up in Dubuque I had very few encounters with people
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"we’ll take him for a trial spin.” After filling out the papers‚ and paying the fee‚ we took Bobo to the grooming salon inside the store. “For ten dollar extra‚” the groomer said‚ “We will trim his nails‚ bathed‚ groomed‚ him and be ready to go in about an hour and a half." “Otherwise‚" he said. "It might take up to three hours.” As we walked to the Bakery to get lunch my wife asked‚ “I wonder how often he pulls that‚ ‘For an extra ten dollars scam.’” That worked out great it will give us time
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and chestnut colours spiralled; taller and taller the figure grew. The people watched in bewilderment; where the bird once landed‚ now stood a ravishing young maiden. Her face was shielded by a basket hat‚ and her mountain goat skin shawl danced about in the harsh wind. The Kwakiutl chief‚ Pure River‚ stepped forward to greet their enchanted guest. “Who are you?” He offered. The maiden looked up. The people saw at once that she was a descendant of a Great One‚ for her eyes contained the passion
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JUSTICE FOR INJUSTICE Have you ever encountered injustices? How did you faced it? In the short story‚ Truth About Sharks by Joan Bauer‚ Beth‚ faced injustice at a very young age. I believed that we all come across discrimination and unfairness‚ and we should stand and speak up for our it because we don’t want other people control our lives. In the story‚ Beth encountered injustice unexpectedly and pointlessly. She already experienced discrimination against his Uncle Al. Well‚ it does not
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He waited as he had at every appointment‚ month after month‚ year after year. Repetition had dulled him to the monstrosity of what he was about to do. He could not live without a Body Surgeon‚ he reasoned. But the reasoning had become a mantra‚ an ever-‐crumbling self-‐delusion. Mirrors
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my make-up on in preparation. I was heading out to the nearby town of Attleboro. It was there that I would start my first day volunteering at the Food Kitchen of Hebron. After a thirty-minute ride‚ I had arrived. I walked into the building nervous about volunteering. I started off by wrapping bread loaves‚ bagels‚ and donuts in plastic wrap for the homeless to take with them once they left. After successfully accomplishing that task‚ I proceeded to give out plates of eggs‚ pancakes‚ sausage‚ and pumpkin
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What the fuck is this? Iska wondered to herself‚ fingers plucking at the weird outfit she was made to wear. She was a proud Gaul‚ but here‚ the Romans saw fit to dress her like a savage‚ a barbarian‚ for that was how the mighty fuckin’ Romans saw the Gauls‚ nothing more. She paced the cage that she’d been locked in. Iska had proven to be an unruly gladiator at time‚ sometimes even assaulting fellow gladiators of the same ludus during training with the slightest provocation. She was still paying the
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many people were aware I had taken Fawad Asdar in my custody‚ all I was told that I had to go off the grid for a while. There was recently a failed assassination attempt on my life. I was shot near my heart. My partner Ali Safdar had heard rumor about my life being in danger and he kept a close eye on me. He saved me just in time to let the bullet miss my heart by an inch. Surgeries‚ operations went on‚ until I finally was able to stand up on my feet again.
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Betrayal of Freedom Here I am again; working for another rich family to do their labour. I hate having no freedom. I have been owned by different rich families ever since I was born. I am now 16‚ 17 in a month‚ I think. I kind of lose track. I never met my parents. They were slaves for other folks so I guess I won’t ever get to meet them. I don’t get jealous of the rich families though. They got no respect; the young spoilt‚ spiteful children treat me like a piece of shit on their shoe. I can’t do
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I am JB. Just JB‚ it doesn’t stand for anything. I was born a wild and free hunter‚ but these days I live with my humans. It is easy food‚ and much warmer than the outdoors‚ but I miss the grass beneath my paws‚ and the wind in my fur. Don’t get me wrong‚ my people are good people‚ but they’re a little… handsy. A stomach rub every once in a while is nice‚ but a cat can’t even walk to his litter box without being grabbed and hugged so tight I can’t escape! Just the other day I was waiting
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