The building appeared daunting. Cold, grey, stone walls towered before
me to a roof of gables and tall chimneys. The dank, green, lifeless
ivy swept across the walls. Clumps of withered plants straggled along
the path, everything was grey or black or dull, shrivelled brown. I
made my way cautiously to the front door.
I unlocked the large, creaking door and stepped into the chilly hall.
The house had a cave-like smell of mould. For some unknown reason a
feeling of dread gripped the pit of my stomach.
Only a few weeks ago I learned that I had inherited a country house
from a distant relative and the keys had been handed to me that
morning.
I continued down the hallway into the kitchen which was at the end of
the corridor. It was a large room and, after putting down my bags,...
The story starts out with the narrator riding up to an old and gloomy house. He stresses that the overall persona of the house is very eerie. The reason he is at this house is because he received a letter from an old friend by the name of Roderick Usher. Roderick and the narrator were intimate friend at a young age but they had not spoken to each other in several years. The narrator examined the house for a great time as he rode toward the house, he noticed that the house had been severely neglected over time. That the house’s beautiful woodwork and Gothic type of architecture have not been maintenance to any degree since he had last seen it.
Everybody has heard the old saying that crime does not pay. Eventually crime and breaking the law will catch up with you. This theme is one commonly found in literature, TV and cinema. And, it is one of the messages Law & Order: Special Victims Unit represents. In this NBC television series, the SVU specializes in sexual offense crimes. This is told to viewers in narrative form in the opening sequence of each episode. Through the representation of the vicious and heinous crimes being investigated in each episode, the ideology of this show is that while the criminal justice system may be hard and flawed at times, as a whole it works and is best for American society.
I stare around at my surroundings. It looks like a normal Manhattan apartment, small and cramped. There is a tan couch pushed against the wall. Coffee rings stain the polished oak coffee table nearby. It reminds me of the life I used to have, clean and polished only to be stained with another's actions. The kitchen is still littered with yesterday’s meals. Bits of food,
I sipped slowly on a cup of hot chocolate after the sun set, and pondered in my head what my first activity might be when I woke up in the morning. Should I build an impenetrable snow fort inspired by images of Minas Tirith? Or perhaps amass a pile of snowballs to use for the inevitable war that I would start with my sister. Quickly I became distracted by the beautiful, handcrafted wood which formed the dwelling. The rich orange and distressed brown mixed perfectly to create something so easy on the eyes, I had difficulty comprehending how it came to be. The smooth and flawless texture led me to run a hand over to test for splinters. The smell of the wood was intertwining with smells from the fireplace, the kitchen and my cup of hot chocolate. All of these sensations came together to form a feeling of tenderness, akin to a mother’s embrace. I never wanted to return back home. I had discovered a place so perfect, so inviting and peaceful, I vowed to never return to the familiarity of home. This was only the first day with vastly more to look forward
Allison Vandemore looked back one last time at the dilapidated weekly rental as she pulled a dark strand of hair behind her round ear. How it looked even less livable than what it had ten short months before, she wasn’t sure. Still, she was certain a small part of her would cherish the time spent in the duplex style apartment. Although she was ecstatic this chapter of her life was finally over. The rotten siding, broken window panes, as well as the sagging roof with patches of missing shingles, felt like home. It’s the only real home I’ve known, she thought pressing her lips thin and nodding to herself.
My most distinct childhood memories are at my Grandma Darlene's house, a quaint trailer on the edge of Anderson. Grandma lives near the end of a tiny little dirt road and has lived there for more than thirty years. We can barely get through the door because there are mountains and mountains of boxes, clothes and barrels filled with who knows what. At the bottom of all that there is a fairly large wooden rocking bench, my great uncle made right before his wife died. Cushioning these layers upon layers of junk is a nasty, old, mated scrap of carpet. The carpet is a burnt orange, calico color that has been stepped on and had people's shoes wiped off on more times than a welcome mat. Bordering the side of the porch is a barbecue from what looks like it is from the 1950's. It's all charred and where the black paint once was now is a thick coating of orange rust. In the corners there are millions of spiders that have taken up residence.
I moved to the house I now live in when I was three years old. I was so excited to move as this meant I was going to live closer to my grandpa. What I did not realize was what wonderful neighbors my family would have. Although the neighbors’ kids were all a lot older than my brother and me, they were always very nice and would play lots of different games with us. I thought this was so cool considering that they were all boys. The oldest boy, Jayson, had cerebral palsy. Jayson was 18 years old. He walked a little funny and talked a little funny, but he was so friendly.
I thought I was going to leave empty handed until I spotted the stack of boxes in the far left corner. There was a small wooden box on the top labeled David Walker with black sharpie. This is it. I thought. I sprinted out of the attic holding the box in one hand and the ladder in the other. Out of breath, I plopped down onto my bed, sitting with my legs crossed and the box out in front of me. Answers… Please give me answers. I thought as I opened the box. Inside held a picture of a man with dark skin and short black hair. I assumed this was my father. In his arms was my mother. They were both smiling uncontrollably as if it was the best day of their lives. What went wrong… I thought. Underneath was a black journal, tied shut with a thick string. I lifted it out of the box, untied the string, and began to read the
It was a beautiful, sunny day in South Florida. I was six years old, playing by the pool with my new puppy. I loved swimming in the pool almost every day after school. I also enjoyed going out on our boat after school or crossing the street and going to the beach. My father came home one evening with some interesting news. Now, I do not remember exactly how I felt about the news at that time, but it seemed like I did not mind that much. He had announced that we were going to move back to my birth country, Belgium. I had been living in Florida for five years and it was basically all I had known so I did not know what to expect. I had to live with my mom at first, and then my sister would join us after she graduated high school and my father finished settling things. I remember most of my earlier childhood by watching some old videos of me playing by the pool and dancing in the living room. It seemed like life could not get any better. However, I was excited and impatient to experience a new lifestyle. I realized that I could start a whole new life, make new friends and learn a new language. Belgium was not as sunny as South Florida but it has much better food and family oriented activities. Geographic mobility can have many positive effects on younger children, such as learning new languages, being more outgoing, and more family oriented; therefore, parents should not be afraid to move around and experience new cultures.
The subdivision looked like a disaster area after the tornado hit. The storm had claimed the town like a bounty hunter collecting on a bad debt. Mercilessly, it kicked down the door, held us captive as we shivered fearfully, then left nothing but the slabs where our lives once stood. To the east, the angry sky roared and shook its fist, celebrating an arduous victory. To the west, the sun peered from its hiding place. Just moments before, it had fled from the danger and left us to fend for ourselves. I began to choke on the thick, dirt laden air as the debris floated softly to the ground. The taste of metal permeated my tongue as blood spilled down cheek and onto my lips. I awoke from my shocked state to an incomprehensible realization;
In Philadelphia there are many problems, like the amount of shooting or the way our sports fans act. That is not the issue at hand; the issue is homeless individuals around Philadelphia. The major parts of the city that house these individuals are very urban parts, which is basically the whole city. Being homeless is not only a problem for the human that is homeless; it takes a toll on people that happen to see it every day. Encountering a homeless person may make a lot go through your head, if you happen to care. You might think that “Wow, I am glad I do not have to live that way” or maybe you are thinking “He has to be faking” or maybe you just do not surrender them your attention. Living in Philadelphia for almost most whole life I have seen a good amount of homeless citizens, they bring this depressing aura when they are around. All I can think about is “Maybe they use to be someone.”
Move-in day is always remembered as one of the most frenetic and nerve-racking events in a freshman's year. Take into account the lack of space or time for everything that must be purchased, assembled or hung which makes the task that much more annoying. Now think how much harder the day turn out to be when three people are anticipated to fit into a room planned for two. Within a forced triple or what some call a “enhanced double” there contains everything an ordinary double dorm has. The additions in a triple are an extra desk, a wardrobe to serve as a closet, and an added upper bunk bed. "They pack us in like hamsters and do not care if we have space to move or live, just as long as we have a room with a bed," said Jill Torigian, a junior majoring in pre-med (Wojcicki). One of the more exciting parts of moving away from home and going to college is the anticipations to live in the dormitories. Living amongst your new peers is a thrilling experience for freshman. Many former and current students would agree that living in the dorms their freshman year was a memorable part of their ...
Her home was a magical place where my cousins, my brother, and I could run wild. Auntie, as she preferred to be called, was not a strict disciplinarian, so we were free to do what we wished. She resolved that her niece and nephews must learn to enjoy life as she did. We often visited her white cottage while on vacations. The front door of the house was a large wooden door with black iron strips running across. The handle was also made in the shape of a serpent, which symbolizes wisdom and the Earth spirit. Auntie always opened the door with her smiling wrinkled face greeting us as we walked through. As we entered the house we were led into a main room. It was simple and relaxing. To the right was a large window that overlooked the cobblestone driveway and entrance to the garage. To the left were two sectional floral Victorian couches that connected together in the corner of the room with a small square wooden table.
The dark, burnt red house with wood siding and white trim sat in the middle of a large green yard. My brothers and I spent many hours outside. We fed and played with our pets and various farm animals that lived in the scattered outbuildings. An old refrigerator turned on its side, with the ends cut off, had been turned into a rabbit hutch. As I turned the handle to open the oversized chicken coop, the hens clucked and jumped off the roost. In the frantic exit ou...
In the summer of my grade 8 year, my parents announced that we were going to sell our house and move to a different city. This was the year that I shed tears for a month and my grades begin to fall. We had never moved since first grade and I was immensely attached to our childhood home and all my friends. I could not stand the thought of leaving all my peers and starting anew. I remembered watching a movie once where the students of a school bullied the new girl until she committed suicide. I did not want to get bullied nor take my life but it seemed inevitable.