An almost deafeningly obnoxious sound errupts from my alarm clock. Startled, I attempt to launch myself out of bed, hit my forehead on my headboard, and almost instantly create a rebarbative lump. Reluctantly, I check the time. Repulsive, red numbers tell me it is time to wake up. Usually, I am quite happy in the morning, and I like to sing and curl my hair and drink a glass of water. However, my throat is burning, my head is throbbing, my back is aching, and my fever is rising. I am most certainly sick. After peeling myself out of bed, attempting to prepare for the day, and choking down some medication, I leave for school. English seems to last an eternity, and then I’m on to math. Equations and symbols of all kinds fly before me …show more content…
Coach Becky hurries over to see what the fuss is all about, and when I open my mouth to tell her, her face pales and her eyes widen. I have laryngitis the week of my senior …show more content…
In response, I scratch my arm, and it feels like hot lava is being poured down my shoulder, dripping down my arm, and taking every bit of skin and muscle with it. I screamed out loud in front of my tumbling coaches. When I looked down at my arm it was tomato-red, swollen beyond belief, and there was a black dot on the center of my bicep. Terrified, my mom rushed me to the doctor, where we found out I had been bitten by a brown recluse. So there I sit, in urgent care for the second time that week, sick as a dog, spider bitten, behind in homework, unable to sing in choir, stressed out about my pep rally the next day, and completely unprepared for my homecoming game in two days where I was supposed to sing the national anthem. Doctor Khan completed yet another prescription for me, and I took a pill the size of precisely half my pinky finger. All this to say, I did make it through the week. I took my medication on time every day and my spider bite had calmed down a bit before the game. My co-captain, Lanae, was able to call cheers for me since I was not able to. Senior homecoming was still a blast, and I danced until I could barely
Today is the day before we go over the top. I’m dreading it, dying or
Brock awoke to the sound of a trumpet. He was ready to get training. Brock put on his long johns, pants, shirt, coat, and hat. Then he slowly walked out of his tent. When he walked out he was greeted by Major General Wayne. He said, “Follow me i'll show you where you will be training.” Brock followed him for a about a mile until they walked into a large field with hundreds of saddled horses, and about 80 other men. Major General Wayne said,
The fog was heavy, the distance we were able to see was less than 30 yards from our position.
I have received your letter, are the children healthy and well? How are you lately? Have you been sick recently? I am fine, well, as right as one is capable of being over in this land. I have thought of you every second of every day, there is not one moment I have forgotten about you. I just wish to be back home again. Last time you said that Henry was feeling slightly ill, I have some medicine stashed away in the bottom cupboard near the grand clock. If he shall start to feel very poorly, you may go there and find him medicine. You will know which one it is once you see it, I do not want Henry to turn out like poor Will did.
In school I 've learned that there are a total of five stages of grief - denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. After learning of the truth of The Runaways Project, I was definitely no longer in denial that Hayden may have done this on purpose. My anger meter was beyond full and anyone who stood in my way were simply looking for trouble at this point.
I was sitting with my friend, Pistol on one of the bucking shoots watching the barrel race.
The day has come. The day I've feared but tried so hard not to. Two men grab me by the arms and lead outside to the blinding sunlight, reluctantly. My tattered shoes scrape along the rocky sand of the camp, everyones watching me now. They all know what's happening and feel sorry for me, except for a smug figure in the distance, obviously Sergeant Hanley. My eyes dart helplessly around the camp, I see the firing squad and a lump swells in my throat. Then I see Tommo, and remember my promise to him.
Life in the camp is epitomised by one big question mark. Uncertainty is the order of the day. I don’t know how long I’ve been here or why I’m here. I’m lost in desolation and blended into the sea of blue and white. Papa tells me everything will be fine one day but he has lost the spark in his eyes and is now filled with despair. Today we continue to work on building huts, I can make an escape and meet up with Bruno like I usually did. A soldier gives me a wheelbarrow and I barely manage to hold it upright. I run towards the pile of rubble that hides me from the soldiers, the place where I meet Bruno. But before I could escape a blonde soldier yells at me. “Hey you! Come here. Faster you rat!” My heart pumps loudly, ringing in my ears. I run towards the soldier and he raised his hand, I immediately cower and waited for him to deliver the fatal blow. Instead he grabbed my arm and pulled me towards the entrance gates. “We need someone with tiny fingers, you’ll be going somewhere where you are not allowed to talk. Is that clear?” The soldier ordered, I didn’t want to think what they wanted with my small bony hands.
I didn’t know what happened, but worse, I didn’t know what was happening. The sounds of footsteps neared my body, but I was too hurt to react.
I turn to the clock next to my bed. 6 AM. Way too early for any sane person to be awake. Wishing for the humming to culminate, I try to fall back asleep. It’s no use.
Coming Home Ethan Vangosen p.3 Ottenad Adv. LA I see darkness with my eyes closed like a night with no moon or stars to talk to. My eyes open to glare of light flashing over me after sleeping for what feels like eternity. There is a man hovering over me with white clothes giving him the appearance of a cloud.
“Hurry up, we almost arrive our base camp! Once we climb over this mountain, we will be able to see the camp.”
My morning always begins around seven o'clock when I am awakened by a sweet, gentle, little voice calling . . . "DADDY, I GO F'RIDE!" This is followed by a dainty smack of tiny lips on my cheek, then another smack of Mom's lips on my lips. A few minutes later, the front door slams shut and I slip back into a slumber. The next thing I hear (a few hours later) is the bloodcurdling, screaming caw of a pterodactyl about to swoop down and pluck me right out of my bed. Actually, it's only my alarm clock. I don't dare hit the snooze button, as I do not even want to hear that again.
The tendency to get up before the sun rises is not a virtue. I believe the saying should have went, "Early to bed, early to rise, makes a man healthy, wealthy.... and boring as hell because he is dead on his feet."
At the crack of dawn, the prolonged intense ringing got louder each time I snoozed my alarm clock. I had snoozing my alarm clock down to a science that it became useless, I knew the exact angle and position of the button. Now I know why my alarm clock did not work for me, but it definitely woke my family up, especially my mother. After five snoozes, my mother’s heavy stomp headed towards my room and her intensely intimidating voice scared the sleep out of me. Once i heard her coming, I would jump up faster than you could blink your eye, wrap my towel around me and head to the bathroom to get ready for school.