I remember this account of my life, because I was an especially terrible child during this time. It was a brisk, paltry fall in 1988. I was nine years old. A couple of friends, my two brothers, my sister and I were all heading north along a river in Chicago. We weren’t in a boat or anything; we were walking right along the banks. The banks were filled with trees, shrubs and tall grass, and on top of that, the bank was on a slope. It was a bit difficult to navigate ourselves, but we just had to do it. What were we up to? Well we had heard stories that in this particular area of the river, there were Satanic worshippers who sacrificed women to Lucifer, the Devil. As we go north, on this bank along this river, I will be anxious to reveal our exploits along this path, the “devil’s rock”, and our, almost, disastrous escape.
The morning started just as any other. I would wake to a bowl of cereal and then make a dashing escape out of the house to meet a friend. My friend’s and I all lived on the same block. Anything we had going on involved one of us. We were a very tight pack and never let anyone get in with the group without some sort of initiation. On this particular day, in the late September month, we had decided today that we were going to finally find out whether the stories were really true. The weather was perfect, not a cloud in sight. When all of us finally got together, we began our trip to the river.
Getting to the river was not a very long or hard task. We lived relatively close, to say the least; it was about five blocks from our houses. It was a little strange while we were traveling to the river, because as time went by, the clouds started coming in. By the time we made it to the river, it was no longer a beautiful, bright sunny day, it was now a cool, colorless day. How could the weather change in such a short amount of time? Good question! When you are young and walking with a bunch of friend’s, you tend to talk fast and walk very, very slow. I believe it must have taken us anywhere between twenty minutes to an hour to get to our destination.
A Hazard of New Fortunes is a book placed n the late 19th century. The book tries to paints a clear picture of its times showing the transition from slavery and the changes after the Civil War. through the different characters in the book, it’s clear that people have different backgrounds and there for have different understands of what is good and bad manners are based on their backgrounds.
So as the morning Sun rose. The light beamed on Christopher's face. The warmth of the sun welcomed him to a new day and woke up in a small house in Los Angeles. Christopher is a tall, male, that loves technology and video games. He stretched and went to the restroom it was 9 o'clock and he was thankful it was spring break and didn’t have to go to school. Christopher made his way to the kitchen trying not wake up his parents and made himself breakfast. He served himself cereal Honey Bunches of Oats to be exact with almond milk. Then he took a shower and watched some YouTube videos before doing his homework.
Halfway up it was beginning to look doubtful, the wind was picking up and everyone was getting out rain gear to prepare for the storm. I voiced my doubts to Phil and he said we might as well keep going until the lighting got too close. So we did. The thunder grew in volume and the echoes magnified the noise to a dull roar sometimes. Then suddenly it began to ebb. The wind died down and lightening came less frequently. I exchanged relieved looks with Phil after a bit, but kept the pace up--I didn’t want to take chances. Eventually it hit us, but by then it was nothing more then a heavy rain. We kept moving, if slower, and made it over the ridge with no other problems. That night I enjoyed the meal a little more and slept a little deeper realizing how much is important that easily goes unnoticed until something threatens to take it away.
Years later, I have not been able to understand the meaningless deaths of god-faring people in Salem. The killing of godly men by other godly men is surely a black time. I feel as if Satan was present in the village at the time, but in all of us. Such terrible loss of godly life could only be Lucifer 's work. O, if only I had seen it earlier. I will take the guilt and helplessness with me to my grave, so God help me.
I wasn’t even outside but I could feel the warm glow the sun was projecting all across the campsite. It seemed as if the first three days were gloomy and dreary, but when the sun on the fourth day arose, it washed away the heartache I had felt. I headed out of the trailer and went straight to the river. I walked to the edge, where my feet barely touched the icy water, and I felt a sense of tranquility emanate from the river. I felt as if the whole place had transformed and was back to being the place I loved the most. That day, when we went out on the boat, I went wakeboarding for the first time without my grandma. While I was up on the board and cutting through the wake of the boat, it didn’t feel like the boat was the one pulling and guiding me, it felt like the river was pushing and leading me. It was always nice to receive the reassurance from my grandma after wakeboarding, but this time I received it from my surroundings. The trees that were already three times the size of me, seemed to stand even taller as I glided past them on the river. The sun encouraged me with its brightness and warmth, and the River revitalized me with its powerful currents. The next three days passed by with ease, I no longer needed to reminisce of what my trips used to be like. Instead, I could be present in the moment, surrounded by the beautiful natural
Spivack, Charlotte. "The Journey to Hell: Satan, The Shadow, and the Self." Centennial Review 9:4 (1965): 420 - 437.
I woke up one Sunday morning tired from the night before. My neighbor Sergio called me up to ask me if I would go with him to the car wash in Whittier. I got ready and left my house at about 12 o'clock. As I walked to his house, I noticed that the sun was bright and the sky was clear. "The day is too good to be true," I thought to myself and believed nothing could possibly go wrong. We got to the car wash and washed his car. The day was going fine. Then Sergio asked me if I wanted to go to East L.A. with him. I agreed and went with him. We arrived at his cousin's house and his cousin's friends were all drinking on the sidewalk. I felt strange to be there. I didn't know anyone except Sergio and his cousin. To top it all off, I was in a strange neighborhood with some gangsters that I didn't know.
Spivack, Charlotte. "The Journey to Hell: Satan, The Shadow, and the Self." Centennial Review 9:4 (1965): 420 - 437.
In the morning my father was there to drive us to school. I didn’t ask about the argument that I had heard the night before. I just figured somethings were better left alone. I could tell by my father’s face that he was upset. In all my fourteen years I had never seen him this upset accept for the night that my grandfather died.
It was the middle of the night when my mother got a phone call. The car ride was silent, my father had a blank stare and my mother was silently crying. I had no idea where we were headed but I knew this empty feeling in my stomach would not go away. Walking through the long bright hallways, passing through an endless amount of doors, we had finally arrived. As we
This morning I wake early from the light that creeps underneath my blinds and my bed next to the window. I wake floating on the streams of light, heated, like white wax spilled across the floor, dripping, soft. In bare feet I walk down the stairs, cold on the wood, and find my father in the kitchen, also awake early. Together, we leave the house, the house that my parents built with windows like walls, windows that show the water on either side of the island. We close the door quietly so as not to wake the sleepers. We walk down the pine-needle path, through the arch of trees, the steep wooden steps to the dock nestled in the sea-weed covered rocks. We sit silently on the bench, watch as the fog evaporates from the clear water. The trees and water are a painting in muted colors, silver and grays and greenish blue, hazy white above the trees.
I am jarred out of a relaxing sleep by a voice yelling my name in a loud whisper, and a light burning through my eyelids. Groggily, I open my eyes to see my father standing in the doorway to my messy room. He tells me that I need to get going, that it is 3:00 a.m., and I'm burning daylight. I find my clothes and get dressed. The whole time I wonder why I get up this early to visit the rugged outdoors. I want to go back to bed, but I know my dad will be back in to make sure I am getting ready, in a little bit. Instead, I put my boots and my wide-brimmed, black cowboy hat on, and walked out to catch the horses. The horses are all excited because it is dark and they are not that cooperative. My dad and I get them saddled and in the trailer, and go back into the house to get our lunch, water, and a cup of coffee. Now, we can head for the high country.
I awoke to the sun piercing through the screen of my tent while stretching my arms out wide to nudge my friend Alicia to wake up. “Finally!” I said to Alicia, the countdown is over. As I unzip the screen door and we climb out of our tent, I’m embraced with the aroma of campfire burritos that Alicia’s mom Nancy was preparing for us on her humungous skillet. While we wait for our breakfast to be finished, me and Alicia, as we do every morning, head to the front convenient store for our morning french vanilla cappuccino. On our walk back to the campsite we always take a short stroll along the lake shore to admire the incandescent sun as it shines over the gleaming dark blue water. This has become a tradition that we do every
The dark, black sky was covered with a million bright shining stars. The moon shimmered above a small town in the suburbs of London. The gentle wind swept past the bare trees and danced with the leaves below it, creating a colourful array of orange, yellow, red and brown. Across the street, a light was on in a small house where a tall, dark haired woman stood, talking to her two children Nicola and Erin. While she was tucking them in Erin asked, “Mummy, will you tell us a story please?” “I’m sorry but its time to go to sleep now,” she said. “Please mummy,” begged Nicola “Okay but only one story,” she replied “This story is about how I got lost when I was a young girl and how I met an incredible man. It all began when…”
I awoke to the sun piercing through the screen of my tent while stretching my arms out wide to nudge my friend Alicia to wake up. “Finally!” I said to Alicia, the countdown is over. As I unzip the screen door and we climb out of our tent, I’m embraced with the aroma of campfire burritos that Alicia’s mom Nancy was preparing for us on her gargantuan skillet. While we wait for our breakfast to be finished, me and Alicia, as we do every morning, head to the front convenient store for our morning french vanilla cappuccino. On our walk back to the campsite we always take a short stroll along the lake shore to admire the incandescent sun as it shines over the gleaming dark blue water. This has become a tradition that we do every morning together