“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.
“Our horse chestnut [tree] is in full bloom, thickly covered with leaves and much more beautiful than last year.”
The unpolished floors and graffitied lockers with pictures of the Beatles glued to them indicated to me that no summer cleaning had been done at school, for what seemed like several years. As I walked, a neatly folded piece of paper, which I placed in my pocket earlier this morning, grazed my outer thigh was not letting me forget its purpose. My palms were sweaty and all I could think of was that on the first day of school, I had decided to tell my crush that I liked her. What a stupid decision. I decided to wash my hands and then put my plan into action. My walk across the hallway continued till I reached the guy’s bathrooms. Just as I was about to push the door, it opened and out ran a blonde and petite girl. My crush. Her face was surprised and her hazel eyes were
“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...
She walks up the stairs. The house is very noisy. The music is so loud that the floor vibrates. The smoke alarm is off and the little girl is coughing and sneezing. The living room looks cloudy. “What’s burning? What is up? Whose jacket is this?” Linette asks hanging her bag. “What has come over my son, God?” She asks rhetorically looking up the ceiling. “Didn’t we discuss this before I left for Dubai?” Linette asks Brian, her eldest son who is slowly becoming a drug addict. “What are you up to this time round? What are you smoking, my dear…pot?” Linette asks as she bends to pick pieces of what looks like packaging manila. “Oh my goodness!” She pauses. “Look at what you are doing to your sister. Can’t you spare her at least?” Linette wonders as she stretches her arms to pick up Kimberly, her youngest daughter. “Mom…” Kimberly utters. “I miss you!” Kimberly says as she reaches her mother’s ears. “I know ma’am! I am back and I missed you too. How are you?” Linette asks as she looks into her daughter’s eyes. “I am hungry. I ate lunch, though!” Kimberly
Hallelujah woke up from her soft cozy bed. Same time for school everyday, even on the weekends. It was a part of her routine and she was so used to it. Sleeping in on Saturdays and Sundays were very difficult. When she got up, she shivered the cold in her room hit her like a slap after doing something wrong. She looked at the brown sack that held a secret she was dying to find out but Hallelujah had to head over to Lake Michigan. She headed over to her bathroom across the hall and used the pail of water to wash her face and scrub her teeth. She used the towel hanging on the rack to pat her face, dripping with water. Hallelujah put on her Saturday outfit, a typical long sleeve shirt with a gray, long fluffy jacket and put on some pantalettes. She headed downstairs with the sack in her hand and a tissue in another. As she headed downstairs, smelled a large whiff of Miss Tilly’s scrambled eggs topped with cheddar cheese, toasted bread, shreds of bacon, a sausage link and a cup of coffee. There was a side of strawberries too.
Predictable enough the morning started off without a hitch, my mother had woken up the house before the sun even knew it had gone to sleep with her insistent wailing over who knows what. What I had not expected, or at least not for a few more weeks till her medication ran out, was her face inches from my sleep crusted eyelids screaming obscenities. If I was not currently in the predicament I found myself in I could have gotten lost in trance and counted the sprinkles of cocaine that powdered her face, just below her nose. Sadly time did not stop nor did my mother, yanking our arm’s she drug my sisters and me out of bed. They rubbed their swollen eyes while looking up at me expectantly, ignoring my mothers usual rant over how she would have fared much better off without scum like us. Meagan and Cheyenne waited patiently for me to assume the usual position. I was the oldest, it seemed only fair that in situations where our mother used us as punching bags that I would go first. But today was different, I could see it in her eyes as she wound her hand back for the opening jab. Today she would not just stop with me, it would not be enough to knock me over and hit me till her hands hurt, it would not be enough to grab Meagan’s hair and yank her around, she did not even find adequate satisfaction in seeing Cheyenne cry out for her to stop. This was the day she kept
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.
The sounds of laughter echoed around the living room and the smell of sweet potatoes, dressing, chitterlings, and turnip greens filled the air. The living room walls were white and red curtains were hanging in front of the window seals. The fire place had black coal around the edges of brown brick that formed from burning short days and long nights. I could hear my little cousins’ feet hitting the brown and shiny hardwood floor as they ran to the kitchen. Their laughter echoed around the dense hallway, and those sounds reminded me that I had the longest day ahead of me. I rolled out of bed and stared at the reflection of myself and let out a deep sigh. As my feet rubbed against
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."
	The poem "Peril of Hope," by Robert Frost is about having hope. The poem speaks about no matter how things are one minute they can always change. Hope, however, is constantly there and will always be there to help get through the tough times until things get better.
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
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.”
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.
It was finally the first day of school; I was excited yet nervous. I hoped I would be able to make new friends. The first time I saw the schools name I thought it was the strangest name I’ve ever heard or read, therefore I found it hard to pronounce it in the beginning. The schools’ floors had painted black paw prints, which stood out on the white tiled floor. Once you walk through the doors the office is to the right. The office seemed a bit cramped, since it had so many rooms in such a small area. In the office I meet with a really nice, sweet secretary who helped me register into the school, giving me a small tour of the school, also helping me find
... Looking back up at the top of the fence, to my dismay, I observed there the skin from my wrist. My basic instinct was to run to wherever I could run. I ran around the building and into a dentist’s office, which was located directly next to the playground. I walked in at top speed and headed straight for the receptionist. From afar she noticed me and at the top of her lungs shrieked, “Get off of the carpeting, it’s brand new!”