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I flop down on my bed and answer the phone "Hello beautiful," "Alex," when Autumn says my name she sounds so scared, my heart starts to pound and images of every possible thing that could be wrong fly through my head "Autumn, What's wrong?" I ask, panicked "He's drunk again. He is smashing all the pictures of me or mom. He is getting closer to my room. I'm scared Alex, talk to me." She keeps her voice low so her dad can't hear her talking to me "About what baby?" I ask softly, trying to keep her calm. If she freaks out and he tries to hurt her, she could freeze up and get really hurt. "Anything." She whispers "Did you see the sun set?" I ask "Yes, it was amazing." I can practically see her smiling as she talked about science. "What do you want to do for our date tomorrow, when I'm officially ungrounded." I smile, barely able to contain my excitement, I can't wait to see her tomorrow. "I don't care, as long as I'm with you." She says laughing quietly. "That was cheesy as hell." I laugh "I know!" Autumn giggles but quickly stops "Alex he's coming!" She whisper yells "Okay Autumn, stay calm, if I need to I will come get you." I say, slight panic in my voice "Okay." She answers. I hear a knock at my door so I hide my phone. My mom comes into my room …show more content…
Her dad will kill her, mom! He hits her and eventually he will kill her!" My voice cracks. I open the door and start running toward Autumn's house. I hear my my calling my name behind me but I keep running, Autumn is the most important thing right now. I get to her house and run to her window. I peek inside her window and find Autumn standing near the corner and her dad in front of her, yelling. He raises his hand and hits her right below the eye. He hits her again and her nose starts to bleed. I want to run to her, see if she is okay, and then punch her dad so hard that he is knocked out for days. Her dad leaves the room and I knock on the window and and she rushes over and opens
“Ok ok, I’m going.” I reply again I slowly drift to sleep thinking of that cute girl I saw today, I think her name is Jill…
My relationship with writing has been much like roller coaster.Some experiences I had no control over. Other experiences were more influential. Ultimately it wasn’t until I started reading not because I had to read but because I wanted to, that's when my relationship reached change. I would have probably never cared about writing as I do today if it weren't for the critics in my family. When I was a child, my aunts and uncles always been in competition with who's child is better in school. I have always hated reading and writing because of the pressure to prove my family wrong was overwhelming for me. I had to prove them wrong and show them that I was capable of being "smart" which according to them was getting straight A's in all your classes.
My literacy journey began long before I had actually learned how to read or write. While recently going through baby pictures with my mother, we came across a photo of my father and I book shopping on the Logos boat, a boat that would come to my island every year that was filled with books for our purchasing. Upon looking at this picture, my mother was quite nostalgic and explained how they began my journey to literacy through experiences like this. My earliest memory of experiencing literature was as a small child. My parents would read bedtime stories to me each night before I went to bed. I vividly remember us sitting on the bed together with this big book of “365 bedtime stories for 365 days” and we read one story each day until we had
Her mom came into the room rubbing her eyes. “Is everything ok? What’s going on?”
I peer at him in suspicious. “Are you sure you’re not drunk also?” We laugh briefly before his face suddenly turns serious. “I’d hate to ruin your night by asking this, Magnus, but-” He begins, but I quickly cut him off.
“This your time first right? So far, so good...nice and calm, you’ll be alright, just stay calm.”
“Fine.” She stated scrunching her eyebrows in frustration, whipping out her phone in the process.
A thick plume of black smoke and ash hung in the air in a heavy haze, almost completely obscuring the lurid red glow of the waning sun. Below, a cloud of grey plaster dust twisted and writhed amid the sea of debris as intermittent eddies of wind gusted by.
“Ah, right,” he says with a small chuckle, his gaze quickly moving over to his daughter. “Let’s go see mom now, mm?” Anticipating her to hop off the bench, he picks her up again before he
She stalked carefully down the hall. She took a deep breath and walked around the corner. He was still standing there "Why are you here dad?" she asked, her voice shaky. "I'm here to apologize."
“I would love that so much Mom! Are we going? Are we going?” I asked excitedly.
Kenna says, tilting her head. "What are you thinking?" "You've been watching me?" I ask, smiling. She blushes and tucks a piece of hair behind her ear.
“Fine,” I finally reply. “I’ll do it next week.” My mom pulls in closer and I start toward the car.
There are many different types of events that shape who we are as writers and how we view literacy. Reading and writing is viewed as a chore among a number of people because of bad experiences they had when they were first starting to read and write. In my experience reading and writing has always been something to rejoice, not renounce, and that is because I have had positive memories about them.
"This was definitely an awesome experience for me." I thought to myself. "I really hope that I can do it again."