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Fear as a human act
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Dinner is Served
I ran into the kitchen to perform some last minute preparations for the night’s joyous festivities. I could smell the inviting aroma of the freshly smoked salmon which I had smothered in a light cabernet sauce and topped with dill to complete the presentation. I must admit that I was quite nervous in regards to the night that lay ahead. I quickly set the table because dinner was to be served in fifteen minutes. I could see the look of anxiety on my face through the reflection of the recently polished silver and stemware. I decided that Ben and Bill would sit across the table from Tim and myself. I knew I was taking a chance inviting the three of them back to my home considering what had happened the last time, but I was in the mood to engage myself into some stimulating conversation. The doorbell rang as I was pouring the last of the Pinot Grigio and my nervousness quickly ceased the moment that I opened the door. I said a little prayer that the night would go smoothly and proceeded to twist the doorknob, opening myself to the world of luddites and fetishists.
Bill Henderson was the first to arrive. He walked into my house with his head held high and placed his cane next to his seat. Bill was in his late 60s and was sure to add his own spice into the dinner party. I asked to take his knee length, brown suede jacket but he looked at me and mumbled, “I think that I can do it myself. You do realize that I can sufficiently run my life without an absurd amount of help that others seem to need.” "I'm sorry." I said. "I just thought it might be easier for me to take it.""That seems to be the only thing that concerns you people these days! Why must everything be so easy? I actually enjoy taking my coat and putting it behind my chair like the good old days."
His breath permeated the smell of aged whiskey throughout the dining room. I led him to his predetermined seat and pushed start on the CD Player. He reached for his glass of wine as Beethoven’s String Quartet in C sharp minor gently entered the room.
Everything was going great at Oakville farm, I mean everything was normal and okay how it should be if you don’t count that the fact Donna came home late last night. She came home around two or three o’clock in the morning when it was pitch black outside, and believe me this isn’t the first time it ever happened either, maybe it’s not that big of a deal to you but to me it is, Donna here is the farmer’s daughter. While Mr. Salem is away she’s the one in charge of us,and because she’s the one in charge of us we haven't eaten in two days! Mr. Salem always made sure we were cared for, and was handled with love but , Donna on the other hand she just doesn’t care. There’s a lot of us here on the farm, we have a variety of animals here like horses,
From start to finish. The old man examined how each individual water droplet splashed once it reached the ground one after the other. He would lay on the bed and watch how the raindrops fell from the roof and how reunited they became once they landed. His rusty, most prized, phonograph, played in the background, the sweet melody of The temptations singers, soothed his ears. The rhyming beat of the instruments made the man feel young again and brought back part of the happiness he once carried with his significant other. “I guess it’s time to get up and make my breakfast already.” he said, as he looked at the clock.
...ce near Mean Lady Ming’s where we bought shrimp lo mein. I grabbed Vonetta and Fern and we all ran off. Five minutes later of running we were at Cecile’s house. At the doorstep, I heard crying. This crying sounded like Cecile. Could she have really changed? We opened the door and ran in and hugged her. Surprisingly the door was opened. She must have went searching for us because there were two distinct footprints on her welcome mat before we entered the house and before we stepped on the mat. She really has changed. “You all better hug tight Vonetta and Fern.” I said with tears of joy. “My babies, my babies! I will never treat you that bad ever again. I am so sorry!” cried Cecile. “ From now on I will care for you and be a good mother. I am sorry for however I treated you.” cried Cecile. For the first time in forever, my sisters and I actually had someone to call Ma.
To start, the two men from The Interlopers did not deserve their fate as they made a great effort to try and make amends and become friends. Even though it may be questioned if the apology was legitimate, their was sti...
Here, Beethoven takes melodic expression to a new level: The appoggiatura in bars, 14 and 16 create a harmonic tension over a diminished 7th chord that creates “the highly expressive progression used by nineteenth-...
Earlier that morning, we were at the Quinn motel, in Ironwood Michigan. We were staying at the motel because we lost our trailer due to the winter weather caving in our trailer. *** Explain why and how many years of hunting*** Stupid snow… I just woke up, thinking to myself I’m gonna get ‘em today! The Quinn motel was nice, not a very fancy motel, but it had everything you would need, the beds are nice, the bathrooms are fairly nice, they really don’t have a little kitchen but we stayed in the house that they rent out and that was actually pretty decent talk about what you stayed in not overall rooms. Our morning went like this, got up, brushed our teeth, my dad drank coffee like usual, then we went to Toni’s Place. Toni’s Place is about as good as the Quinn motel not fancy but, they have really good food. Toni’s place it can only fit like 60 people at a time it’s got a little bar in a curved line the bottom of its chrome it looks like the 70’s or 80’s in my opinion. It’s not very modern! Back to reality, so we are at Toni’s place, too detailed-not an important part of your story I’m eating an omelet right now, it’s so good! Bacon, Bacon, Bacon! When we got done eating we went to our stand. Shows don’t tell! The bears hit last night. The biggest paw print ...
So, seeing Devon pull out his revolver, in addition to the other four guns pointing at me, didn’t erupt too much fear in my heart nor did it convince me to bargain off my hidden, life-saving stash of money. At this point, I’m fed up with life and won’t put up a fight. Guess today’s the day I meet God, who probably won’t be pleased with the account I will give. Glancing to my right, the man at the bar is cupping a glass of whiskey with shaky hands. Melissa, who is standing behind the counter, avoids my eyes and pretends to clean a cup. Just last week, we were laughing about politics over two glasses of Sprite and speaking kindly of her government-working husband. This transition in loyalty is disheartening.
Graham Hill writes, his life was unnecessarily complicated. He thought it was nuts to have a big and empty house because there were lawns to mow, gutters to clean, floors to vacuum, roommates to manage, a car to insure, wash, refuel, repair and register and tech to set up and keep working. He says, “To top it all off, I had to keep seven busy. And really, a personal shopper? who had I become?
It began in the County Mall food court. Resting at one of the tables after my lunch, I casually glanced around the place. The food court wasn't crowded, and consequently I had no trouble spotting him: a tall, dark, gray-haired man. He caught my gaze, and started walking towards me. As I took in his gaunt frame, his tattered red t-shirt, and the holes in his great sweats, it dawned on me that before me stood a homeless man. Reaching my table, he asked if he could sit down with me but I declined. I wasn't in the mood to talk to him, and so mumbling a poor excuse and an apology that was probably a few octaves below any decipherable level, and not particularly caring whether the man heard me or not, I got up and walked away. The man called out after me, assuring me that he didn't want money, but rather only someone to talk to. I was rattled by his persistence, and pretending I didn't hear him I quickly walked away, my heart pounding in my chest.
It was just like any other day of my life. My mother had conned me into coming to help her out at her job, the Washington Parish Activity Center. Of course I did not want to go down to that old, creepy, cold building after hours. It was a Friday night, and those torturous finals had finally came to an end. Spending the first night of that long, difficult semester at that place was not my plans. Sleeping, eating, and watching television was the kind of night this college student had in mind, but mother had other boring plans for her child. Hearing my mother’s nagging voice was not an option. If I did not come, she would have been complaining from here all the way to China. During that long conversation, she used the famous mother’s line, “I
I looked around, the room had exposed pipes on the ceiling and the entire room smelled faintly of Clorox wipes. Around me girls and boys talked and caught up. The majority of them had apparently gone to Kindergarten together. While I was the new kid, the outsider. Seats were scarce. I looked for a familiar face, for some reason. I settled next to a girl with fiery red-orange hair. “Hi, I’m Halley.” She introduced herself. Her smile was the fake kind, seen in school pictures everywhere. I smiled and responded, “Hi, I’m Lorna. I just moved here from Texas.” Her smile became increasingly forced, “Um, cool.” She turned her body away from me. Ok, I though, sorry I offended you, I guess. In my head, I was sneering and thinking rude thoughts to no end. In class, however, I upheld my morals. I was silent for the rest of the
Kamien, Roger. "Part VI: The Romantic Period." Music: An Appreciation. 10th ed. Boston: McGraw-Hill Higher Education, 2008. 257-350. Print.
I enter an exquisite room welcomed by a benevolent host. I glance around and see dining tables strategically set as if the queen were to be expected. White flowers with silver sparkles adorn the tables to add a final touch. The lights are dimmed low and classical music plays in the background to create a placid atmosphere. A savory aroma fills the room making me crave the chef’s fine platter. The host leads my party to a table and offers us drinks. As we wait for dinner to begin, murmurs fill the room with general conversation.
I exited the shower shivering, the sizzling smell of mouthwatering eggs and bacon hit me. My stomach was growling to eat. I quickly ran to the kitchen and grabbed a plate and told my mom “Thank you” as I kissed her on the cheek. “You’re welcome baby” she replies as she poured me a cup of freshly squeezed orange juice. I ate as fast as I could because I didn’t want to risk being late. I go in my room and put on my socks,
As usual I woke up to the sound of my father pounding on my bedroom door, hollering, “Get up! Get on your feet! You’re burning daylight!” I met my brother in the hallway, and we took our time making it down the stairs, still waking up from last night’s sleep. As we made our way to the kitchen, I thought about what to have for breakfast: fried eggs, pancakes, an omelet, or maybe just some cereal. I started to get hungry. As usual, mom and dad were waiting in the kitchen. Mom was ready to cook whatever we could all agree on, and dad was sitting at the table watching the news. The conversation went as usual, “Good morning.” “How are you today?”