With my brain becoming heavier and heavier I thought of my happy place where Spongebob and I would share a bowl of honeycomb and banana ice cream, I drifted off to sleep. However, to my surprise that was not the end of me. I awoke from my slumber to witness the evil master taking off the gas mask and lifting me off the torture chair. I heard my mum thanking the evil master, “thank you so much Dr Eath” she exclaimed before proceeding to lead me out to the car. My heart started again as mum lead me to the ice cream shop on Green Street to give me my sweet “reward”.
I took a deep breath and said, in the kindest voice I could muster, "Nathan, you... ... middle of paper ... ...int was chipped on the outside, and on the inside the chairs had holes and writing all over them. Oddly, though, this bus smelled slightly of paint, which was a huge contrast to its shabby condition. But to us, this dingy yellow vessel was beautiful; it was warm, and it would take us home. This old/new bus continued our route, and we all sat quietly, awaiting our stops. Everyone had a tired, almost forlorn look, as though they had been through much more than just switching buses.
"Way in the midnight he woke up Janie in his nightmarish struggle with an enemy that was at his throat." (Page 174). When Tea Cake expound his dream about the "enemy" that was at his throat to Janie, it was simply just his voicebox having spasms every time he'd try to swallow in his sleep and he'd choke. "... Tea Cake came home early one afternoon complaining of his head.
Picking the ripe, red apples off of the tr... ... middle of paper ... ...s mystery closet stayed shut unless we asked our grandma for permission to see its possessions. Inside, there were endless amounts of toys for us to play with. I remember the small, rubber figurines of the smurfs that my grandma had kept from when her children were young. They were complete with almost all of the different smurfs, their mushroom houses and accessories. As I look back on my childhood a great number of memories hide in my mind; sleepovers with friends, hanging upside down on the monkey bars, eating ice cream are but a few.
Blacktop reflects on the rocker-panel of my car and its constant monotonous pattern has been following me for the past 200 miles. The mile markers on the side of the road stand like a line of obedient soldiers at attention to mark my way toward freedom and salute me when I pass. Eventually they become somewhat invisible because the beauty of the background wins my competitive eye and draws me to its splendor. The copper-colored mountains mix with the purple base to form a contrast that compliments the sunset, and the road curves through the giant rocks as if God put His finger down and drew squiggly lines in the malleable sand. When I need to clear my head, I come here.
While my husband showered, I begrudging pulled sleepy little girls from their warm beds, which lead to whining, threats of lateness and all around muffin morning unhappiness. Blissfully unaware of muffin day’s darker side, a whistling and clean-shaven muffin day creator arrived in the kitchen to collect his two angels with backpacks, shoes and jackets on bouncing with muffin day excitement. (At least, that’s my perspective). With horns sinking back into our heads, we’d all wave farewells and blow kisses no matter how tense muffins mornings got. Van Halen thumped and vibrated from the car long after I could see them.
The smell of sweat was in the air as everyone bunched up together to see the floats in all their brilliant glory. I can also recall the taste of sweet syrup as I licked it off the snowcone I was eating. Mardi Gras in New Orleans, however, was a whole new experience for me. On Fat Tuesday I woke up early so I could go to Canal and St Charles Street to watch the parades. The smell of trash filled the air.
He is later humiliated by Dr. Bledsoe by being expelled from college and given letters that were far from recommendations. In the end, the narrator is left out from everything that he has worked for in the Brotherhood. It seems that everything he does comes back to haunt him. In Ellison’s Invisible Man, the narrator is degraded and humiliated three major times throughout the novel. Works Cited Ellison, Ralph.
After a brief questionnaire and a walk through, Mrs. Whitmore spotted the one, Lucy-Lou. She sat in a colorful corner playing with two dolls, setting tea for three. “She’s perfect, Allen,” Mrs. Whitmore whispered into her husband’s ear. Mr. Whitmore didn’t know what to think, about any of it really. He was here moreover to cease Mrs. Whitmore’s incessant pleading above all else.
The sound of an ice cream truck can stop time for just a moment, but as soon as the time starts, the flood of children can wipe out an entire ice cream truck with their impatience and eagerness to fill their tummies with delicous ice cream. Especially for one little five year old boy. The little boy’s name was Tommy Jones; he had blond fine short hair with beautiful hazel eyes with fair and soft skin. He never knew that ice cream existed until that one summer. Little Tommy would cry of happiness to anything related to ice cream, but now he cries of sickness to the words ice cream.