“Hopppeee,”Grace beckoned. My high school sister’s voice carried through the open screen door of our house. Even though we went to different schools, we left at the same time. My mother never trusted me to make it to my fourth grade classroom on my own, so, she left that job to my sister. In return, she got an extra dollar on her allowance each week! I am nine years old, thank you very much! There is no need to babysit me on the way to school. I know very well, not to be attracted when someone calls, “free candy,” and pulls up in a white van. Either way, mom said I have to be walked, so, there we are every day, walking, side by side, to Lincoln Elementary. But still, she is getting paid. Grace could be a bit more patient with a little weakling, like me. “Come on sis! It’s time to get to school, now!” She called again. I was about to add the line from the movie, Alice in Wonderland, “We’re late! We’re late, for a very important date!” sung by the rabbit. However, something told me that it would not have such a great turn out for me, so, the wonderful reference was locked inside my brain to use for a different time.
As I bounded down the stairs, the foul stench sifting up my nostrils told me I forgot to do something. At the bottom of the stairs, I was certain of this mistake when my mother confronted me and asked me, “Open those choppers, let me see.” My mouth opened quite slowly to ensure that she understood, that Hope Goodman does not need her mom to check her teeth every morning. “Uh, uh, uhh. Looks like someone forgot to scrub these teeth in here,” my mom chastised. My face turned a bright, peachy rose and my feet swirled around on the wood floor and raced up the steep blocks of carpet.
My mother shouted to my waiting sister ...
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... language! If your going to torture me thats fine, just please do it in English!
“Hoolllaa!” Señora Tapia greets cheerfully. I groan, at the events playing out in front of me. My reoccurring Monday nightmare comes back to haunt me yet again. Even my dad was suspicious about her, so she looked up her name. With result, he told me that her last name means “protective wall” in Spanish. This scares me because I have absolutely no understanding of what this “protective wall” could possibly protect. It is only a definition but it leaves me with an excuse to dislike Spanish class. Meanwhile, I miss the beginning of the welcome song. Señora comes over to my desk to scold me. She doesn't seem to understand that scolding someone in another language does not have much an effect. Either way, I don’t want to let off my apparently “sassy” side and mouth the words to the song.
“Hi Daisy”, Abby says while taking a seat across from me. At that moment, my jaw literally dropped, and my mouth went speechless and dry. “Daisy!” Mom snapped, giving me “The Look”. I quickly closed my mouth and said hi. As we spent a few minutes in awkward silence after I said hi, I sat there staring aimlessly into her face. I wasn’t trying to be rude but she w...
Losing hope is like living in the darkness where you ignore the stars. Hope is easily lost in certain circumstances when people start to believe that the situation they are in will never improve or be in their favour . In the novel, "The Cellist of Sarajevo," the war going on results in the characters to lose all hope they have of living past this war and living in the Sarajevo they once knew and loved. Hope is crucial in order to survive the war, however, in the novel "The Cellist of Sarajevo" by Steven Galloway the characters Dragan and Kenan's hopeful side is absent.
Nowadays, it is impossible to open a newspaper, listen to the radio, or watch television without being bombarded by debates about abortion, divorce, gay marriage, feminism, animal rights, and especially religious. Some can even say that religion is a major force in human experience since it has shaped the world’s history, art, literature, politics, ethics, culture, and economics. Thus, it is no surprise when a lot of people all over the world depend on religion. They pray to God for the strength to get through hardship. However, sometimes, human feel a doubt about existence or justice of God, especially when they are in unbearable poverty, sadness or adversity. Persepolis, a book written by Marjane Satrapi, paints an unforgettable picture of a daily life of a young girl during Iran war with Iraq. The story explores how that little girl’s perspective of religion change; yet, at the same time reflecting the impact of family and society on one’s religion.
I woke up to the sound of my mom calling my name. ‘’Just five more minutes,’’ I said as I pulled the covers over my head. ‘’We’re going to Yosemite.’’ my mom said. My mom finally dragged me out of bed. I trudged into the bathroom and then brushed my teeth and got dressed. ‘’Well look who got up.’’ my grandma yelled. My sister ruffled my hair. ‘’Hey bro.’’ my sister said sitting down for breakfast. I went and joined her. “Do you want cereal or french toast?” asked my grandma. “I’ll have cereal please.” I said. We all ate breakfast and packed some backpacks with waters and got on the road by 8:30. My sister sang a song I didn’t recognize. “What song is that?” I asked. “Heart of gold” she replied. “Never heard of it” I said. We pulled up to the
The night before, I didn’t practice my English so I knew what to say. By now, I knew most of the words, so I would just let my heart guide me. Besides, my cramped old house, which is actually just a junky garage in an abandoned alley, is too small to let out my feelings. Once I got to school after a cold walk in the snow, I placed myself by her locker and waited. Fourteen minutes had gone by, and still no sign of Lily. I only had a minute to get to class now, so I hurriedly collected myself and ran to my locker. I was disappointed, knowing that without Lily here, it would be the hardest day of school. I opened my locker and to my surprise a note fell to the floor. I quickly picked it up and gazed at the neat handwriting that clearly spelled my name.
“OhmygodwhatifsomethinghappenswhataboutmythingsIwantMommy-” I blabbered until Shania Bognot slapped her free hand over my mouth before I could burst out into a mental breakdown, furrowing her eyebrows at me. “Shut your mouth,” she said, slightly glaring at me as I smiled sheepishly from behind her hand. We boarded the bus and sat down, me with the window seat as we put down our bags. “BYE MOM!” I said, waving to her through the window of the bus. “BYE HONEY!” She replied , smiling at me. The bus slowly started to move towards the entrance of the school, ready to depart to the location. I looked to Shania, who was staring out the window over my shoulder, sending a small wave to her mom.
Stepping through gray doors, I finally felt a breeze on my face. I felt like I was suffocating wrapped in my wool jacket, 3 pairs of pants, and a hat that buried my entire head. I was an example of what a child would look like if they had an overly cautious mother.
Ding! Ding! Ding! chimed the school bell, to some representing the end of just another arduous engagement with the American education system. For me, however, the bells’ tintinnabulation signified the beginning of a different bout. Armed with a bouquet of ravishing red roses, with gallons of perspiration cascading down my freshly groomed face, I stumbled outside. There she stood, her figure like that of a meticulously crafted hourglass, her perfect visage unmarred by a single blemish. In spite of the butterflies parading in my stomach, I garnered the strength to walk up to the girl. As I attempted to speak, my lips quivered vigorously, as if they were sentient beings attempting to retreat from the impossible situation I had placed them in.
Mavis stumbled down the narrow crooked stairs of the small house. Her mom sat on the couch, with a beer in her hand and a cigarette in her mouth. Blowing small puffs of smoke into the stuffy air. Before her mom could wake, Mavis grabbed her schoolbooks
I went upstairs and tried to do something natural in the mirror and looked to see if it was cool. It was shocking. Not only did it look cool my brother gave me a compliment which was like a once in a lifetime thing. I zipped up the jacket up and down and poked the spikes like the moon falling on the Himalayas. I went downstairs to play with my dog Brownie. We rolled around and played in the grass. I was making bird noises and Brownie bit my sleeve. No blood, but there was an L shaped tear. “Stupid dog,” I murmured.
It was a cold, dark morning when the phone rang. It was boisterously loud and the clock read six o'clock. The deafening noise jolted us again, and there was only one way to make it stop. Chris picked up the phone and in a tired, drowsy voice, answered, "Hello."
...ng with words and ideas and visions and her bladder about to burst. She limped away from the door, along the polished floor, through the thick door separating the upper rooms from lower orders. She limped slowly towards the staff toilet on the second floor, her mind in both a state of joy and at the same time feeling out on a limb, out of her depths. She entered the toilet and shut the door. Footsteps moved across the room above. Voices called from along the corridor. Some one laughed. She sat and closed her eyes; her bladder emptied, her heartbeat slowed, her nerves calmed. A lady's maid. She repeated it in her mind; turned the phrase over and over in her mind like a boiled sweet. What would Mrs Broadbeam say? How would the other staff be with her now? She saw the child in her mind. How had she crept into her bed? And why? Suddenly, unexpectedly, Mary began to cry.
William Blake, born on November 28, 1757, in London is one of the greatest English poets. His work is studied today all over the world. One of Blake’s poems, “The Chimney Sweeper”, shows many signs of immortality. In this poem, immortality can only be reached by maintaining hope in a hopeless world and embracing happiness. An example of this is line 20: “He’d have God for his father, and never want joy”. Immortality is something people have chased for years and have never been able to capture. In Webster’s dictionary, immortality is stated as, “Not mortal, deathless, living or lasting forever.” In “The Chimney Sweeper”, Blake saw immortality in a different sense than Webster states. Blake saw immortality as happiness throughout life and the importance of hope.
Jackie's small features curled up in horror as I unceremoniously plopped down on the hotel room floor. "Ew! That's so disgusting, Sarah!" she exclaimed, stomping her slipper-clad foot soundly on the floor. "I can't believe that you're sitting on the carpet! You know how germ-a-phobic I am!" Rolling around some more, I laughed as her hands clasped around a jumbo-sized container of Lysol. Even on the band trip to Colorado, she was still as cautious of "infection" as ever. Shaking her head at me, she smiled somberly as she shook the can, preparing to thoroughly disinfect our room.
Too late. I could already hear my mothers graceful footsteps ascend the stairs. She carefully opened the door that entered my kitchen, and I flung myself into her arms. My mother yelped with shock and a hint of exhaustion, “Meggie honey, Mommy is very tired. Please be a little more careful next time.”