“Red hair is beautiful,” said Mum. “And Abby is eight, the same as you. Isn’t that sweet?” That tall girl was my age! I didn’t think it was sweet. Now Jake and Sophie had new camping friends, who was I supposed to play with?
She felt the warmth Hansel radiated, the very heat that kept her woe at bay. That was 4 years ago. Gretel had now grown into a beautiful teenage girl. Her golden hair that fell like curls around her face and the mesmerizing pair of blue eyes she was enough to sweep any guy off his feet. She had a cruel, evil woman for a stepmother now.
During her childhood, everything seems to go on quite well: she plays with girl games like “dolls; GE stoves; lipsticks” (v.1-4) and she is living a “magic puberty” (v.5).... ... middle of paper ... ...urity and innocence coming out of her since the very beginning of the poem but tarnished by the bullies. The verse 23 is then of a tremendous importance as “everyone” is looking at her to see if she finally suits the physical standards of beauty in death. “Putty” (v.21) and “consummation at last” (v.24) echo and highlight the falsity of her surrounding and the importance given to the ‘façade’. Maybe she is cutter in death because of this “putty nose” created thanks surgery. We may wonder if the poetess shares the beliefs of these foolish people.
"I so love my little collection," I mused as I skipped along the hallway to a little room, wincing a bit as my tail knocked a wall mirror off balance. After a jog today that little collection became a bit larger thanks to you. I stop at the door and open it a crack pausing long enough to pull my tight little gym shorts out the crack of my butt, after all can't let the new toys see me doing that right? I felt myself laugh again, like a school girl as I bound into the room, happy with all the dolls and other little knick knacks I'd come across during my assignments for Sunset. I pause in front of the apple of my eye, an ornate cage, well not the cage but what's in the cage, I mean what kind of goofball keeps a cage as a hobby?
I am the smartest girl in my class and that’s a fact. “What’s wrong?” Resa asked me “Look behind you,” I mumbled She turned around and yelped in surprise. “Oh, hey Molly,” She smiled at us, but the smile was more… Satisfied smile then a kind one. “Losers,” She whispered as she started to walk past our table and toward hers. I put my foot out for her to trip on.
Through us she could live them, breathe them, feel them, win them. Once my mother had finally stopped fussing with the sewing needle, she pulled all my hair to one side and looked at me like I was some kind of sparkling jewel. I happily took a few steps in a pageant walk, turned and returned to my oroginal spot. Truthfully, it was nothing spectacular, but it looked like my mother thought it was some fantastic moment, so I played along just like I always did. “Oh, honey, you look perfect,” she said to me as her eyes glittered, “I just know that you’re a lock for winning the pageant tomorrow.” “I know, Mama.
Thinking that books are stupid, Mr. Wormwood calls her stupid and foolish for wasting her time on such things. Despite the verbal abuse from her parents, Matilda continues with her interests and does what she can to get back at her father for constantly denouncing her. For instance, she replaced his hair tonic with her mother’s hair dye, causing Mr. Wormwood’s hair to be turned a platinum blonde. On her first day of school, Matilda’s teacher Miss Honey becomes very interested in her abilities, wondering where the child picked up such an ability to solve complicated mathematical equations and read such great novels for a child her age. Miss Honey is a petite woman.
Sandra was the kind of girl that any guy would fall in love with the minut he laid his eyes on her. Like a goddess, she had long silky hair, big sparkling eyes, and the most luscious lips. The first time I saw Sandra was on the first day of my first grade. I was immediately attracted to her. She was the most beautiful girl I had ever seen at that point of my life.
We plop ourselves down on the gray, matted carpet and begin to make necklaces and bracelets. Something makes us chuckle, and before you know it we are grabbing at our sides with laughter pains. Michelle laughs so hard that she pees all over our beautiful creations that we, and the classroom, left on the floor. Her angelic smile turns immediately into an expressionless stare. I look into her puppy eyes and watch tear after tear streak down her cheeks into the pee that surrounds her.
“The Cookbook Diary?” she read out loud, rather amazed and raised her head to reveal two perfectly sparkling eyes which demanded an explanation. “Well…..I started. I told you it was my journal before. And if you’d have some time to spare, I could even tell you one or two stories from it.” Julie’s face was lit up with eagerness and excitement. She looked down for a moment and nodded her head “Grandma….” her lips formed a crooked smile “I’ve got all the time in the world.” She handed me the book, leaning closer to me.