You remember all too well the bittersweetness of your first cello. Your ma had given it to you begging with you to keep it hidden from your father. Every night, when the man of the house was off at work, you'd play sweet melodies that filled your mother's ears and often flew down to the window's of your neighbors. A few drunk scotsmen would yell out their windows for you to quite down, but often times a femenine yell would shut them up and compliment your playing all at the sametime. News gets around fast in a town of only 200. When a few whispers reached your father's ears, you came home to a shattered cello lying on your bedroom floor and your wet eyed ma yelling furiously in the Scots language to no one in particularly. Her hands were holding
At only three years old, Ma learned to play the violin and viola. Under the direction of his father, Ma became a fluid violinist. Around the age of 5, he began to beg for a much larger instrument to play. Had he been left alone to select an instrument, he would have chosen to play the double bass. Of course, his parents knew the bass would be much too large for Ma to play, so he compromised, and decided upon a cello. It was very difficult for Ma’s parents to find a small enough cello for him to play upon, so Ma had to learn to play a viola with an endpin to simulate a cello.
As I lay there resting, I closed my eyes and just soaked in the joyous sounds of the holiday. I could hear my father chatting with my grandmother, reminiscing of childhood memories and the joy of raising kids. Soft acoustic guitar melodies from the stereo sounded above the snapping and crackling of the fire. The ...
“Ah! Somebody call the police this guy just stole my purse!” a random woman screamed. As I remembered, my cousin works for the police at Pembroke Pines, so I called her and told her to come very fast; there was burglary going on. She got the there in less than a second. Everything happened very quickly; she got the burglar and gave the woman her purse back.
SWISH! I turn my head to the right with a grin and see my mom cheering as I scored my first points of the season. The last game of the season I scored my first points of my middle school basketball “career.” Now sit back and relax as you read the story of how I got my first points in middle school basketball.
Growing up as an only child I made out pretty well. You almost can’t help but be spoiled by your parents in some way. And I must admit that I enjoyed it; my own room, T.V., computer, stereo, all the material possessions that I had. But there was one event in my life that would change the way that I looked at these things and realized that you can’t take these things for granted and that’s not what life is about.
On the Monday October 27th, 2014, for the first time in 4 years I did not wake up at 5:30 in the morning, I was not putting on a green skivvy shirt and shorts. There was no formation, no one that was higher command I had to report to, telling me where I had to go, what time I had to eat breakfast, what was I doing this day or what our platoon plans were for the day. There were no PT (physical training) I had to do this morning. Instead, I woke up grab a regular t-shirt, khaki shorts, and my two sea bags full of clothing and gear that I collected during my time in the Marine Corps. I threw everything in my vehicle and drove from Camp Pendleton, California to Quincy, Illinois. Within two weeks I was accepted to Southern Illinois University Carbondale. For three days, I stayed at the
Nora was walking down the street she lived on, just outside of Marshalltown Iowa, not able to think of what instrument she wanted to play in her music class. She just moved into Marshalltown about 9 days ago because her family thought they needed a change in scenery. They were fairly wealthy compared to most that lived in Marshalltown. She already got to see her school and her classes and one of them was music, which had 1 variable that the other classes didn’t. She had to choose what instrument she wanted to learn to play.
It's been almost one hundred years since Adam's War. Since Supers were exposed to the world and almost tore it apart. No one knows where exactly they came from or why they were born, but super humans soon made their mark on the earth. Humanity wasn't ready for them. At first they speculated, they doubted, they questioned their existence and what it meant. But then they got curious. They imprisoned them, experimented on them, determined to find out what made them different and replicate it for themselves. Supers were the next stage in human evolution, and humans wanted a slice for themselves. The Supers continued appearing in the general population, no one spoke about what was happening, and for a time everything seemed okay, but really
In the middle of my reconnaissance mission I was in the Himalayas searching for a lost Soviet nuke I was drawn to an ostensively creepy cave, as if my conscience was telling to go there. I was lost from my team, couldn’t be deported, and had all resources at my dispense. With all of that under consideration I entered the grim cesspool of a cave. As I entered what appeared to be hundreds of cave dwelling creatures came running out as if something was chasing them. Ominously a light appeared and habitually I pulled out my gun and slowly advanced. It was a small insignificant light, almost as if it was from a flashlight that you would get from a dollar store. I moved forward. Or at least tried to. It was like a invisible wall was keeping me from going any further into
I remember being packaged. In a plastic bag, packed with all the other paintballs just like me, I was shoved in a cardboard box and shipped off to a remote location, where I waited. And waited. For months...until one day, my box was thrown violently onto a table, ripped open, and my plastic bag pulled out. After adjusting to the sudden rush of light, I realized I was being lifted into the air by something large and magical (which strongly resembled my hand, just much larger...). I completely lost it. I began rolling from side to side, trying to escape my captor, but to no avail; there was no way I could pass through the bag, and that seemed to be the only way I could escape. After several more long moments, my bag was brought into another room, and tossed onto another table.
One dark, stormy October night me and some friends went trick or treating. Then we saw this abandon house so we decided to go in it well when we did we found out it was haunted. We went in and went up the stairs and one of my friends somehow got tripped and fell down the stairs and almost broke his .leg. Then we heard a voice that said get out or die.
Previously, When I got home I saw my brothers and sisters running and screaming, I thought they were just excited to see me. When I went inside I saw all our stuff packed in cardboard boxes.
“ Of course I am!” I answered with a mouth full of luscious velvet cake.
When I was a kid, everyday I’d prayed for my dad to come back, and Noodles for lunch everyday.
A month later a boy of fifteen is on stage. He goes over the first few lines of Beethoven's Fifth Symphony in his head, before he places his grafted hands on the keys. They land and start to play. But it's the wrong music. His fingers move with such an aptitude and speed that the boy closes his eyes and lets them go on. At first he doesn't notice the different tune. This song had been in his hands since he got them. But up until that very moment he had not been capable of naming what his hands had been playing, Prokofiev's Eighth Sonata.