I Am A Man On Social Media

I Am A Man On Social Media
There was a soft wind blowing that morning. The birds were chirping in the trees and the glow of
the rising sun tinted the sky with shades of yellow and orange. As I walked to the car, I could feel
the soft breeze pass through my hair so gently as if an angel ran its fingers through each strand. I
paused for a moment to enjoy that delightful feeling before I began my journey to work.
On the way to work, began to think of the guy that has stolen my heart. Every song that played
reminded me of him. As I listened to "Baby, Hold on to me" by Gerald Levert, I began to envision
us looking into each other's eyes and slowly dancing the night away. I met this wonderful man on
social media. Never had I imagined that I would ever fall for someone that I have never met in
person. This man is one of a kind. He is handsome, intelligent, loving, and an all–around good guy.
No one is perfect but he makes me feel as if I am in a fairytale; I am Cinderella and he is Prince
Charming. With his words he assures me that he is not here to hurt me but to cherish me. With every
passing day, I feel more connected to him than ever. After months of courting, he called and notified
me of a surprise that is coming for me. For days I wait anxiously for the unknown surprise. Friday's
are normally a quiet day in the office and this Friday was no different. My morning was really slow
and it was nearing my lunch break. While sitting at my desk, I hear a knock on the door. I assumed
it was a client arriving
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A Short Story : A Story?
"Now Sar––Gwen, my mother said as soon as Ben walked into the room. "I want you to remember
not to be out too late tonight; it's a school night, remember. And did you give me Chia's number?"
"Yes, moth––aunt Pam, I wrote it on a piece of paper and left it on the kitchen counter, remember?"
Are you giving each other space names?" said Ben, "can I be Darth–Ben?" "Scram Benjamen," I
said as Ben's eyes went wide as he beheld me in all my glory: waved hair, makeup, heels, clad in the
lavender dress Stephanie had given me. Without blinking his eyes, Ben took two steps backward.
"Ugh. Here, you know what," I said with a sigh, "give me a hug Ben. I'm sorry I'm always so snappy
to you. Just then a smile formed on Ben's freckly face and greedily he raced toward me like a
starved puppy." "No stop, I change my mind," I held up both hands, "Don't come any closer." Ben
stopped mid–sprint, "I decided I don't want your chest hands feeling up my boobs." "Gwen," said
my mother in a disapproving tone. I eyed my mother, what was she Gwen–ing me about? Because I
said the word boobs? "Here come here Ben," I said at last, and Ben walked forward like a confused
skittish fawn entering an open field, fearing poachers. No, a fawn was too cute to describe Ben, a
skittish bear cub was more accurate. As Ben drew near, I pushed out my butt, sunk my chest in, and
wrapped my arms around the little squirt's back. I couldn't let him get too much enjoyment out of
feeling me up, and I imagined from an outside

Save Yourself!: A Narrative Fiction
"I'll smoke that last cigarette," he said to his wife. "Stupid of me– it was the one thing I forgot to
bring back from the farm." He reached for it, switched on the silent wireless. He threw the empty
packet on the fire and watched it burn while listening to the ice cold wind. He was listening closely
to hear any pecking or scratching from the bird's beaks or claws. His wife and kids lay silent on the
mattress by the nice warm fire. Nat got up and started to walk around their cold house. Nat just had
a feeling in his gut that everything was not going to be okay. He was worried sick. He sat there and
thought, I am trying so hard for my family and I to survive, and I mean everyone that I know of
around here is dead. He squinted his eyes and put his hands over his face, realizing he had many
scratches and cuts on them. He slowly walked up the stairs making sure everything was okay.
Everything seemed to be secure to him, but those dang hawks have brains of their own. Nat walked
back down the stairs and walked into where his wife and kids were. His wife now had gotten up and
was making herself some tea. Nat could see the worry in Ella's face. He walked over and grabbed
her face, looked her in the eye and said "I love you, everything will be ok. I am trying all I can. We
cannot let Johnny and Jill see our fear, they will fear even more than they do now." Ella said, "I
know. I am trying my best to be strong and not let Johnny and Jill see the fear in my eyes. At least
we have

A Short Story : A Story?
Bam!! Crash!!
I just lay there in shock, I didn't know what just happened. Everything flashed before my eyes. All I
remember is standing at the top of the stairs, and then I started to get wobbly. I lost my balance, and
before I knew it, I was laying at the bottom of the stairs.
"Are you okay," my dad asked in a panic. He came running over to me with his eyes as wide as if he
had just seen a ghost, his hands were all filled with sweat. He sat right next to me as if I was dead.
"Michelle," dad yelled at the top of his lungs, as he ran to the bathroom door. "Lilly fell down the
stairs, and I think she is really hurt!" "She's probably fine," mom stated. My dad usually overreacts
to this kind of things, but this time he wasn't. My dad went dashing to the bathroom door, and
SMASH!! He kicked it right open. "I promise you I'm not overreacting this time. Seriously come
look!" I don't know her reaction because I was so shocked, but I do know that she came running
over to me, "Lilly! Lilly! Are you okay," my parents said as I was just snapping back into present
time. I must have been in a really bad shock because they moved me to the couch, and I didn't even
realize it. "What happened," I said adjusting to the very bright light. "You were in a shock because
you fell down the stairs," mom told me as she sat right next to my arm" I looked to my left, and I
find my left elbow curved. "What the heck," I thought to myself as I looked down to my wrist. My
wrist was pointed straight up into the sky. Now that I was thinking about my arm it started to throb
and it started to feel numb. "Owwww," I cried, with tears filling my eyes, like a big pool of water. I
looked around but things started to get blurry because of the tears in my eyes. My parents started to
talk quietly. After talking for a little while, they turned around.
"You are going to have to go to the hospital," my parents said. At this point I didn't care what they
had to do, all I wanted was my arm to stop throbbing and feel better. I laid there with my eyes
closed shut, and shaking my head up and down. My dad had already left because he hated this kind
of stuff. Once my mom had

Creative Writing: Martyn's Paw
Martyn's POV (bet you didn't see that coming)
After the meeting, I met up outside the house. I would have walked but I was about 10 minutes late
to meet Toby and Zekkyou. Dashing into the forest, I saw the two waiting there and also chatting to
eachother. Slowing down slightly, I waved to them.
"Sorry I'm late, the meeting over ran," I tell them.
We made our way towards a small pond with a log one side of it. We sat down on the log so Toby
was on the right end, I was in the middle and Zekkyou was on the left end. We all chatted for a bit
before a gentle gust of crisp air blew past us. We all went quiet, knowing what this signalled. It was
the first winters wind. Toby and Zekkyou and me looked at eachother knowing that I would 'change'
soon. ... Show more content on Helpwriting.net ...
please..."
Another voice soon joined, "Join us Seto, you will never feel pain again..."
The first voice was calm and soothing, the second was demanding it also sounded distorted. I don't
know why but I ran towards the calmer voice of the two.
~Dream over~
I gasp as I wake up. A massive pain shot through my body, preventing me from moving. I felt
someone's grip tighten on my hand. Managing to open my eyes slightly, I saw Rythian sitting next to
me with a slight smile on his face. I could still see the sadness and worry in his eyes. As I tried to sit
up, pain filled my entire body. I froze in place; pain spread all over my body. My eyes closed. My
teeth gritted. I felt a hand quickly move to my back to support me. I managed to sit up with help
from Rythian. After most of the pain had subsided, we started talking for a while, yet I mostly
stayed quiet.
Once it was dark outside, Rythian told me to follow him. I got up easily and without any pain. He
told me to be as quiet as possible so we didn't wake anyone. We made our way towards a forest. The
leaves glowed slightly; I could tell this was an enchanted

Descriptive Essay About Swimming
I woke up early in the morning, to find the sun shining brightly in my eyes as I awake from my
slumber. I quickly heard the familiar sound of pancakes sizzling on the rough surface of the frying
pan. As soon as I got out of bed, I raced to the kitchen to eat pancakes, as I enter I hear the warm
voice of my mothers greeting. I quickly ate, because I was excited to go swimming. As soon as I
finished, I brought my plates over to the sink, I dashed back to my room to change. I quickly
changed into my swimsuit, running throughout the house grabbing my towel, phone, goggles.
I realized I had all of my stuff, so I darted outside. The faster I ran, the more energized I felt with the
fresh morning dew on my feet. I quickly came to a halt, aware that the pool was right in front of me.
I tossed my towel over by the table. Setting my goggles over my eyes, I cautiously climbed the
ladder to not fall or trip. Excited, as I reached the top, I took a step back, preparing myself for the
jump.
I quickly jumped into the pool, making a humongous splash watering the grass beside the pool. I
swam around the bottom, looking for, the pool toys I had left in the previous night. I quickly found
the bright orange torpedo grabbing it, then swimming back up to the surface to catch my breath. I
set the pool toy on the flat surface of the ledge. Taking a large breath I dive back under, continuing
my search for the toys. After a few minutes of searching soon all the pool toys are sitting on

The Changes of Womanhood in Marge Piercy‘s “The Secretary...
Marge Piercy's "The Secretary Chant" begins the poem by describing different parts of her body as
office supplies. In line one she states that "My hips are a desk." In line two and three she says "From
my ears hang/ chains of paper clips."(2) In line four she also continues with "Rubber bands form my
hair."(3) I feel like Piercy's goal by starting off the poem in this way, was to help emphasize the
speakers frustrations toward her job right away. I also feel that by comparing the speakers body
parts to office supplies, gives the feeling that the speaker is using a form of sarcasm; which explains
how much her job is unwillingly becoming apart of her life. In line five She states "My breasts are
wells of mimeograph ink". In the same time ... Show more content on Helpwriting.net ...
She complains that "My head is a switchboard/ where crossed lines crackle" (9). This sentence is
very interesting to me, because it is saying that her head is not only badly organized but a
switchboard as well. Comparing her head to a switchboard implies that someone besides herself is
in control of her mind. In the line "where crossed lines crackle" (9), proves to the reader, that her
mind consists of many different malfunctions and confusions. In the next six lines the speaker
changes it up some, it seems like her frusturation is increasing. The speaker tells the readers to
"Press my fingers and in my eyes appear credit and debit."(11) I am not sure I understand what this
part means, it seems to be comparing her to a cash register, but I don't think I understand that if she
is a secretary. The next line is composed of sounds again "Zing. Tinkle."(15) This again could be
sounds that she repeatedly hears over and over in her head. The next line the speaker says "My
navel is a reject button."(15) This can mean that in her job she constantly has to reject people, and or
be rejected. This might be backed up by "From my mouth issue canceled reams."(16) My
interpretation of this sentence is that, she is repeatedly saying issue canceled. I don't seem to have a
good grasp on what these few sentences mean. The last few lines in the poem are sentience that have
been chopped up into different lines, to help

Essay on His Flower 7 Years Ago
7 Years Ago:
"Honey, pack your things." That simple four–word phrase had my heart palpitating as frantic
thoughts raced across my mind. I couldn't be moving! All of my friends were here, in Serenwood!.
My pack was here in Serenwood. My mother smiled reassuringly at me, sensing my fear with her
super–mom senses. As mother of five kids, not including my dad, who was a child at heart, she
needed those abilities to raise her large family without going insane.
"Don't worry, silly girl! We're not moving out of the pack house; we're just moving to the top floor."
Shock and curiosity replaced the fear in system as I thought of the forbidden top floor, where the
Alpha and ... Show more content on Helpwriting.net ...
He was never cruel and did not abuse his power; anything he did was for the greater good, and
ultimately the pack benefited from all of his decisions.
"Come on Rose! Don't dawdle now, get your things packed!" Mom's shrill voice called out from a
distance as she glided away, probably heading off to do her own packing. I sighed slightly, and
headed to my room, not even close to ready for the daunting task of packing up my bedroom.
––––
A couple of hours later, my room was finally packed. The light teal walls had been stripped of the
posters of various boy bands, the aforementioned posters rolled up neatly and placed into a bag. My
huge library consisting of several children's books and lighter novels, along with my newest task,
reading Ender's Game, were all packed into one backpack that also contained my iPod and other
electronics. In one cardboard box, I squeezed in my playthings, and my drawing materials. Another
box contained my bedding, and finally a suitcase was filled with my clothes.
I slung the back pack over my shoulder, balanced the two cardboard boxes on my hip with one
hand, and dragged my fuchsia suitcase with the other. I headed outside of my room, taking slow,
careful steps so the boxes wouldn't tip over. Some members of my pack approached me, offering
their help, but I politely declined. I was eleven years old; I could handle moving some suitcases and
boxes up three flights of stairs. The suitcase was only moderately heavily, and the boxes

Descriptive Essay : ' Crap Hunting Car '
I woke up hearing the infuriating and pulsating ring of my alarm, I checked the calendar, another
Sunday, just like any other, hunting day. I assembled my weapons into my reliable black duffle bag;
a silenced handgun, a military–grade pocket knife and my SR–25 sniper rifle. Wearing a pair of
ripped jeans as faded as erased blue pencil markings, and a grey hoodie that hugged every crevice of
my muscular torso, I headed out to my black Ford pickup truck. Throwing the duffle bag into the
passenger seat with the force of a raging lion, I hopped into the driver's seat like a swift cougar.
While starting the engine, it made the sound the all too familiar sounds; kch, kch, kch kch kch kch
kvooom, I thought to myself "I should really get this ... Show more content on Helpwriting.net ...
Slowly and helplessly, she fell into an eternal slumber. After performing the deed, I lugged her
lifeless body towards the kitchen frantically. While preparing my butchering tools, I heard delicate
footsteps down the stairs. My heart sank like the tragedy of the Titanic and my blood ran as cold as
the iceberg it hit. Desperately, I tried to conceal my victim but it was too late. I saw the joyful
innocent face of my brother trying to surprise me turn to a gut–wrenching face of disgust and horror
when one sees a cannibal. His shriek roared through the house trembling the ground. In an act of
panic, I slit his throat. My one and only brother, dies at the age of twenty one to his own sibling. An
unfathomable feeling of sorrow and remorse ran through my rigid body. I began to blubber
spontaneously kneeling over my brother's corpse. I began to question all of my life decisions and
whether or not I deserved to live. As I kneeled there crying rivers, My mother walked in. "James!
I'm here to visit you! Where's your brother? I saw his car parked in the driveway, but I can't hear
him singing happy birthday to himself!" she sang in her cheery voice. Suddenly, I remembered it
was my brother's birthday and another wave of misery flooded my body. "I can't let my feelings get
to me now, I can't let mother know!" I thought. Slowly, I approached my mother at the front door
steering her away from my scene of chaos. "Thank you for surprising me! Sam is just upstairs, let's
go

The Death Of A Old Child
As a young child, everything was positive. Everything was okay; nothing in the world could have
possibly gone wrong. Even in a graveyard, everything seemed to be another day. The green grass,
the tall stones, the light blue sky, hanging over our heads. "It's a park mom! Look at all these stones
to rest behind after a game of tag!" I received some soft smiles, some little laughs. There is nothing
heart–breaking about this place.
Or at least I thought.
It only took one word to have my world come crashing down into pieces. Death. On September
19th, the day I was told, nothing seemed to have been different. I felt the same, looked the same ––
everything around me was the exact same. There was no burning in my eyes, no feeling as if my
throat ... Show more content on Helpwriting.net ...
The tears swelled in my eyes. Don't cry, don't cry. Everything is alright. Then came the burning in
my throat, and my chest tightened. Almost as if I swallowed a stone and there are only limited
breathes before I'd find myself in a casket. A pounding had formed in my head, an ongoing bang as
if I was a nail that was getting hammered into the wall. I was given a flower to put next to him in the
casket. The same bright flowers at the graveyard. It is different; this is my grandfather. He cannot be
gone, he isn't gone. I am not ready to let go just yet. I was still holding on to his hand so tightly.
People gathered in the funeral home, and the constant pats on my back and saying how sorry they
were was all that was said to me that night. I wanted to respond with "Why are you sorry?" like I
would have as a child. Instead, I just nodded and lent a faint smile to each person. There were also a
series of hugs for sympathy, but each hug made the burning grow and the tears want to spill more.
No crying. Not yet.
Eventually, as it came time to say our last goodbyes, I felt someone slip their arms around me. I was
prepared for my answer, but instead, new words came.
"He loved you so much," the voice whispered. "Remember that." And I did. I was the last to say my
good–bye. I gripped onto his hand, ignoring the coldness. I put the flower next to him, and allowed
the stem to touch his palm. I then took a chain with my first and last initials on

Personal Narrative : ' Palate Dreams '
TownMonJennie 'Palate Dreams' From the time I remember, I wanted to be an artist, Jinine Slots,
the artist. I wanted to paint the world with all the colors that could have existed in the palate where I
made shades. So I always worked in that direction. But there is a thing called talent. Well, it's a fact
that hard work kick ass of talent everyday and in so many spheres talent is overrated but still in my
field, in the field of art and colors, it meant a lot. I did not lacked the perspective but might be the
hand of a painter. But I did not give up on that thought. I studied art, I enhanced my critical ability
regarding art, I started to judge it. By 22, I achieved a degree in critical assessment of art pieces. By
25 I made a reputation and owned a art gallery. Tonight was the launch of the gallery and rather than
any famous painter I had my mother to do the honor of cutting the ribbon. It was her craft full icing
on the cake that made me want to become a artist. I was very nervous; so many famous names in
our city and beyond were coming to visit the launch of my gallery where handpicked pieces of art
were placed. Mr. Yakamu was a Japanese critic whose opinion upon my criticism mattered a lot; I
always wanted to meet him and today was the fortunate yet highly nervous day. I tried not to bite
my nails. ' Something Fishy' Mom had cut the ribbon. Chitter–Chatter all around, like a casino, I felt
much focused. I never felt that different. Its an awesome feel when all eyes are

9/11 Short Stories
I walked straight out of that bar and headed for the airport; Oxford had accepted me on full
scholarship, and it was time to go. As I approached the airport the almost intolerable roar of the
planes jetting off the runway filled my already burning ears. "One ticket to Oxford, England," I
grunted to the clerk. I boarded my plane with only three things: Doc's knife, a tattered sack of
money I earned from the mines, and a hunger to become the welterweight champion of the world. I
had been working in the mines for three years now and had made quite a bit of money for myself. I
made my way to my seat and waited for takeoff. My chest began to burn as my heart thumped
wildly. I had never been on a plane before. The engines began to vibrate as ... Show more content on
Helpwriting.net ...
Tears burst forth from her swollen eyes like water from a dam. They spilled down her cheeks like
rain in a storm. Her tear soaked face trembled as she spoke to me. "Pneumonia," she cried, between
sobs. " It was pneumonia that killed him." I couldn't hold it in anymore. I started to cry. "Kak," I
whispered under my breath. "Nobody told me." "I'm so sorry dear, he'd been sick for a year. We
didn't know where to reach you." I felt hollow like one of Doc's cacti. It seemed like everyone I
loved was violently ripped away from me in an unmerciful act of injustice upon them. None of them
deserved to die. The hall was surrounded with pictures of Morrie. The room spun, giving me a
nauseous feeling. I turned around and flung open the door; I couldn't bear to be in that room for
another second. I went to my dorm and shut the door. I sat in dark emptiness, thinking of everyone
who left me in my life: Hoppie, Doc, Nanny, Geel, my mother, and now, Morrie. It was too much to
handle. I didn't move from my spot on the bed for forty–eight hours. I drove myself deeper and
deeper into the sadness I felt for the death of my best friend. As I laid there pitying myself I heard a
knock on my door. I didn't get up. The noise grew louder: KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK. Still I didn't
move from my throne of self pity. The door gently opened. A man stepped into my room. The first
thing I noticed was his size. He cast a shadow that nearly

How The Sand Felt So Warm Against My Skin Essay
The sand felt so warm against my skin, as Robert and I basked in the sunlight. This was our ritual
every Sunday afternoon. We both loved the beach, and this was a moment for us to relax, as well as
have some alone time. Our lives are very stressful. I'm a corporate attorney, and Robert's a singer–
songwriter, signed with RCA records. When Robert's not touring or in the studio, and I'm not
dealing with contracts or legal documents, we like to find time for one another. He and I have been
married for four years now. We met while we were in college. We both attended the great University
of Southern California. He was studying music and I was studying law. It's weird that we met, now
that I think about it,... but we just clicked. Robert's smile still melts my heart to this day. We both
want to have kids some day, but just have to fit it into our busy schedules, which is harder than it
sounds. When the sun began to set, Robert looked over at me and said, "Are you ready?" Every
Sunday when the sun began to set, Robert and I would swim to the drop–off in the Pacific. Once we
reached the drop–off, we raced back to the shore. The last one to make it to the beach cooked dinner
that night. Robert usually won, which is a good thing, since he can't cook anything. But tonight I
didn't feel like cooking, and if all else fails, he could just order a pizza. As we neared the drop–off, I
saw a change in Robert's swim stroke. It looked as though he was trying to move, but his body
wasn't

Personal Narrative: A Short Story
I never knew that my fixed straight path of life will take a huge turn that day. The feelings that
overwhelmed my body engraved itself in the inner depths of my mind as days walked pass by. And
how much remorse and shame that continues to pile up within my soul; how painful it was to keep it
hidden from the world was the past that can never be erased. If I had the power to turn back time
and rewrite that whole day, will my life be the same as now? But as I continue to search for my lost
one, the feeling of true love can never be conveyed within me ever again.
As the sun shone radiantly, the memories of 8 years ago still presented itself in front of my eyes.
Why was there rain instead of stars in the sky? Why was this sky covered in ... Show more content
on Helpwriting.net ...
"I don 't! What made you think that?" I put on a strong mask to portray the strong rejected "No".
Their eyes dilated as they sharply stared at the self–confidence body. They grinned directly at me
but their gazes soon stopped staring at me. I follow their sight of light; a girl – no... it was Jyotsna,
standing with a disbelief face.
What have I done? My self–confident composure slowly peeled itself off my bare skin. I retreated
and ran into the library. From that day on, I never dared to stared at her. ~*~
Many years passed by, we were both in grade 10. The world dramatically changed from that time. as
the sun flashed its warmth like usual, my feelings for Jyotsna suddenly lowered itself down ever
since that day. Our classes with each other dropped – there we walked on separate on paths that was
parallel to each other. As the light reflects itself into my pupil, a sense of traumatic changes soon
crept slowly. As I continued that mundane timetable of mine, the day where my views of the world
slowly transformed itself into something else. The day where her existence soon became
meaningless was the day I lost my reason to love anyone else.
As the thunderclouds switch positions with normal clouds, the world 's memories pierced through
my body. It was normal school day for everyone but not for me. I was joking normally with my
friends but the stumble of hell befall on my soul. But as the

Go here?: A Fictional Narrative
"Um, who's this?" I asked, even though it wouldn't take a genius to say who was on the other line.
"Harry." "And how exactly did you get my number?" I inquired and I could hear the smile that was
growing on his face. "I get things, Gray. It is what I do." God, it's like I can also see him shrugging.
Get what things? Phone numbers, or girls? I glared at myself, at my subconscious. "How do you get
things, Styles?" I glanced up at the door, knowing my father was probably going to emerge any
second. And I glanced again, feeling like I was having a "naughty" conversation, even though this is
the farthest thing from, I think. "I just do. Anyway, what are you up to this fine evening?" "Sleep."
Oh no, THE SQUEAK. "At six o'clock? Doubt it." He's even confident over the phone. I groaned.
"Okay, maybe not sleep." I sighed. "Then what are you doing?" He asked. "Nothing." I replied. Now
that Liz left, I am left in my boredom. "Good. I am doing nothing too. We should hang out." Blunt
much? Well, it's better than how I would ask a question like that. "Why?" I squeaked. "Because
we're friends, right?" I don't know. According to Liz we are "flirty friends". "I don't know, are we?" I
asked and finally my squeak subsided, for now. "We are." He confirmed. "Alright." "Alright?" He
repeated, sounding confused. "Alright, lets hang out." I breathed out nervously, trying to contain my
squeak. "I'll pick you up in fifteen minutes, yeah?" I nodded but remembered we're speaking

Charlote West Essay
The closer I managed to make it to the edge of the cliff the colder it became, the light winds turned
into heavy winds, and the ice–cold climate sent chills up my spine. When I looked down into the
water it was no longer blue the reflection became unilluminated almost like a pool of blood.
Looking into the sky was no longer it's usually color the clouds seemed to have disappeared, not a
single trace of stars were in sight to lighten up my mood. The only object emerging was the intense
yellow full moon behind the darkness. As I sat at the edge my feet were dangling along with my
dark long hair. I began reflecting my life and soon my thoughts became vivid. I didn't want to
remember anything. As i reloaded my gun tears fell down my face I ... Show more content on
Helpwriting.net ...
Anxiety formed within me while walking to the cafeteria. Everyday something was doomed to
happen. Today actually marks the first day of me making it through the cafeteria without food being
thrown at me. The last incident that occurred, mashed potatoes were thrown at me and hit my face
everyone in the cafeteria laughed at me. "Haha, you big fat potato!!" The teens would call me.
Humiliation would take over and tears began to form in my eyes. Looking around felt as if I were
hallucinating the loud laughs turned into hyena laughs the eyes of my enemies were dark as the
night and the aroma of food turned into the smell of dead flesh. The room became crepuscular and
the faster I ran to the door the further it became.
The safest place nearby was was the cliff, but on the way, there was a secret place I would call
paradise of the great souls. The only place that felt judgemental free, it's where my journal and
cigarettes were kept. Nobody knew of my presence here and that was the greatest part. When
arriving everything was still in place. I sat down on the big grey rock, it was smooth enough to not
hurt my bottom. I pulled out my packed Newport shorts and began patting them in the palm of my
hand and pulled one out. Lighting my cigarette I began to inhale and exhale the smoke and listened
to the bird's chirp and the calming sounds of the water. Reaching into my backpack to grab my
favorite pen my hands and eyes discovered my semi–automatic pistol carried

Analysis Of ' Thunder Boomed '
Thunder boomed in the distance as I raced down the stone path. Rocks scrapped the undersides of
my feet as I sprinted across the surface, splitting the flesh of my heels.
He was coming. I knew he would. He always does. I push to increase my speed, praying silently that
the house would soon appear on the horizon. An overwhelming need to reach the structure invaded
my body as I propelled myself forward.
A slight silhouette of a building could finally be seen between the trees, allowing hope to blossom in
my chest.
Just as I felt that I could make it, my foot caught on a root. A slight scream escaped my throat as I
tumbled to the ground. Before I could even take a breath, he was upon me. Everything was shrouded
in the darkness beside his ... Show more content on Helpwriting.net ...
My last thought was, "Why did he betray me?"
I jolt awake, covered in sweat. My heart raced as I sit up in my bed, looking around me. I take a
deep, calming breath when I realize I am in my room. It was just a dream, Aria, I thought to myself.
I turn towards my clock and saw it was a little after 3 in the morning. I groaned, remembering I had
school today.
I got up, knowing I wouldn 't be able to get back to sleep. I turn on the shower and stepped inside,
letting the stinging warmth wash over me and erase the reminisce of the nightmare. I 've had this
dream many times before and it always resulted in me never finding out who was under the cloak
nor actually receiving the final blow. The familiarity that I felt from the person also puzzled me.
Was it someone that I knew?
I sigh, slightly shaking my head to clear my thoughts as I exit the shower and begin drying off. For
the next hour, I complete my morning routine and finish getting ready for school.
After I finish applying my makeup, I pause to look up into the mirror. Soft black waves of hair
frame my pale skin, as light gray eyes stared back at me. Dark bags littered the underside of my
eyes, giving me a slight sick look.
Ugly.
I pull myself from my reflection and began to descend down the stairs. Once at the bottom, I decide
to make me some toast for breakfast.
I shove two pieces of bread into the toaster and waited patiently for it to finish as I collected the
peanut butter from the

Short Story : My Story
"Madison Carter! I know you were the class clown! Don't try to fool me!" my husband Johnny Flash
yelped. I rolled my eyes, I didn't have time to argue, I had to get ready. "Whatever Johnny. Don't
forget to be ready at seven o'clock. We have to be at school for my thirty year reunion at seven–
thirty, remember?" I reminded him. "I thought that was next week!" he sighed. "No! It is tonight, so
get dressed!" I rebuked. I went off to my bedroom to get my dress. It was a gorgeous brown, with
peacock feathers coming out the sides and the bottom of the dress. The peacock feathers really
brought out the blue in my eyes, and the brown made the low–lights in my hair stand out. The
organic peacock feather earrings I bought at "Bird Barn" were a stunning touch, if I do say so
myself. By the time I finished getting ready, I had time to kill. I looked around my room, searching
for memories. I went and grabbed a yearbook out of the closet. It read: "Senior Year: Class of 2020"
I flipped to the back of the book, where all of the pictures from events throughout the year had been
put. The first picture I saw was of our entire class, when we went on our Senior trip to Disney
World. The picture beside it was took at the hotel we stayed at during our senior trip. It was a
picture of Brea, Meredith and Kylee, playing a game they made up, called "Chubby Pickle". I
remember them sitting in the lobby, trying to see who could fit the most slices of pickle in their
mouth. I

Descriptive Essay : ' The Sun '
Superhuman
The sun is just about to set. The air is warm, it feels light against my tan skin. Vibrant pinks,
oranges, and yellows streak across the sky. The water of the Connecticut River rushes under the
bridge I am standing on. "Cathy. Hurry up," my friend Ashley calls to me.
"One second," I respond. I take a deep breath and walk the two steps over to the edge. I put my foot
on the ledge pushing up my body weight onto my left leg, while grabbing Ashley's hand at the same
time. I place my right foot on the thin perch, wobble slightly, regain my balance, and stand. I look
down at the dark blue water. The reflection of the sun shines right under my feet. A boat drives by,
the gentle hum of the motor calming my nerves. All of a sudden the ... Show more content on
Helpwriting.net ...
The announcer turns on the microphone, the white noise blaring for a millisecond. "Girls 400 free
relay," the announcer says. The pool goes dead silent, not one word, cheer, scream, stomp is let out.
The tension rises. Everything is riding on this. Were all excited. I can feel it. I feel connected to my
teammates watching the race, and this is when I know I am ready to go. My breathing slows as our
first racer gets up on the blocks. Paige Volpe. She is fast, really fast, an amazing swimmer.
She started 2 years ago right before I left swimming year round. I got the chance to swim with her
for a couple months before I quit, but now we 're back. Racing with each other, against eachother,
for each other. She steps up on the block. "Take your mark." Beep, the horn blows, and they 're off.
Paige dives in and immediately lifts her head up. "Oh no her goggles fell off I say," going with my
immediate reaction. She swims a lap flip turns and lifts her head up again. That 's when I see her
goggles in fact are not off. "What is happening," I say, only concerned with the fact that we are
going to have to make up the yardage Paige lost. She continues to swim for about 12 more meters
and then stops. Just stops. How could she do that? I wonder. Everything is riding on this race. "What
is happening!" I scream. She grabs onto the side, her bright red face contrasting the paleness of her
fair skin. She begins to climb out of the pool, but falls back in, unable to

What Is Abnormality In A Short Story
Abnormality. The word in itself seems to resemble sin. Chaos. Hatred. I am a secret. A fish that
never feels what it is like to swim in the water, or a sunflower that never gets to take in a ray. Since I
can remember, I've been a mistake. Vinn, my older brother, had been calling me "Lefty Lydia" from
the day my parents explained to him why society despised me so much, to now. Get it? Because I'm
just not right? Yeah, I didn't find it very funny either. To make a long story short, this damned world
wants nothing more than a bunch of copycats. A ton of personalities put on mute, trying to be
"normal" or "perfect". My father tells me what he remembers from the day everything changed. "No
one really recalls that day", he says, "That's the way they wanted it". He tells me that he remembers
a giant bang. Behind the ringing in his ears were sounds of terror. Screaming, running, crying. And
that was it. Next thing he remembers was being here, in Suttford, surrounded by people wearing the
same exact clothes, having every hair cut and styled the same, and seeing them all owning the same
befuddled look on their faces as he had. "The Enforcers," he called them, the name seemingly bitter
as it left his mouth, "told us exactly how to be. They explained that anyone who is not 'normal' or
does not fit into their perfect society, will be terminated." The Enforcers had advanced technology
that allowed them to make this so–called perfect society possible. Their team of "Creators" were
responsible for making sure every reproduction was the way they wanted. This meant a naturally
fit–looking body, brunette hair, and deep brown eyes. For years this strategy worked flawlessly.
Until I came along. My parents had been down the reproduction road once before with Vinn, and
now they decided they'd try it a second time around. They went through the required processes, and
did everything they were supposed to. However, it was not enough. What they had planned to be
perfect came out to be... well, not. The world around me has lead me to believe none other than the
fact that my blonde haired, blue eyed self, is imperfect. But what does that word really mean? In all
the time I've spent locked up in this room, away from windows and the

The Play ' Whose Life Is It Anyway By Brian Clark
Rationale:
The play "Whose Life is it Anyway", written by Brian Clark was premiered in 1978 is
predominately based around a controversial topic, which is still highly discussed nowadays:
euthanasia. The centre of the main debate examines the question whether or not euthanasia should
be legalised and also establishes the patient's autonomy and doctors' guidelines.
Patient autonomy is the right of the patient to determine their own health treatment. Therefore, the
doctors are required to be good communicators and, if necessary, they need to accept the patient's
decision. The story centres around Ken Harrison, a victim of a car accident, which resulted in a
complete paralysis and additionally a change of his life. Although he desires to ... Show more
content on Helpwriting.net ...
That took a load off my mind... I barely remember him.... I believe he was around 30, permanently
paralysed with no way of future changes. I remember I was supposed to represent his insurance
company. The nurse told me he wants to sort out his compensation – poor guy!! Anyway, I have to
prepare the paperwork for Friday....
Friday, 18th April 1978
Dear Diary,
The last couple of days were engulfed by my new case. Nothing intriguing, just paperwork. I was so
engaged, I couldn't even converse with my wife...!
After having prepared the documents, I went to the hospital. But then got told his real intention of
calling. All the work I've done was futile! Finishing the compensation! His desire is leaving the
hospital against medical advice. He would rather die than live in his physically helpless state. I was
taken by surprise!!!
His only problem are the doctors. As he pleaded, I went to Dr Emerson, absolutely shocked. He
classifies Ken as incapable of making rational decisions due to depression.
But: I sympathise with him, the most passionate man I have ever seen. He adored his life, his job,
but his future is hopeless: lying in a hospital bed. I couldn't cope with his physical state!!! He was
one of the best sculptors in England, but he cannot sculpt anymore. The worst thing, for him: he was
a free man before the accident. Only medical equipment is keeping him alive...
However, I hate being responsible for his death. I spent one day with him and

Descriptive Essay On Walk To The Night
His eyes, those ocean pools penetrate my own, hypnotising me, that's all I see, just his eyes. I try to
avert my gaze, to search for Alice, but I can't move, my body is cased in stone. His voice, smooth
and enticing, commands me to move, and I obey. Where is he leading me? I can smell the ocean,
feel the cool breeze on my skin. As I glide my hands across my body, the cool silk of the blue dress
kisses my palms and fingertips. The coarse ground cuts into my naked feet. Where did my shoes go?
Did I leave them back at the apartment? I don't remember leaving my apartment, or meeting,
Angelo.
"Walk to the edge," Angelo commands. "Go on, walk to the edge."
I'm released from his gaze as he steps out of my view, giving me the opportunity to survey my
surroundings. At the water's edge, boats bob over waves that grow stronger, crashing against the
wall and soaking the ground. A few buildings kiss the skyline, too far for anyone to capture a
glimpse of us. The fierce sky looms overhead with dark grey clouds. Alice's was right, Angelo plans
to kill me, to dump my body in the ocean like all the other women.
With no control of my limbs, my feet walk to the edge, allowing me to peer into the murky, green
water dressed with whitecaps. A wave crashes against the wall, soaking me.
It's freezing. I inhale a
hard gasp of air as I throw my arms around myself in a failed attempt to warm my body. Why can't I
step back away from the edge? What's wrong with me? I'm aware of Angelo's presence

Personal Narrative : A Story-A Short Story
It wasn't all bad growing up in Issaquena, Mississippi. We were all together as one family, living
under a single roof that barely provided protection from the outside predators. Growing up with a
mother, a father, a sister, and a brother was everything I ever wanted as child, but who would have
thought that I'd lose everything so quickly. Each and every day, I slaved away for some bitter
master. Each and every day, I'd wake up to the sounds of roosters and men marching. Most of all, I
wanted to escape that land and environment and I wanted to be liberated from the war. Torture filled
up my childhood in ways that were unimaginable.
I was sweating. I was shouting and crying while looking at Mother. There was nothing around me
besides fire; fire scorching hotter than the sun during the summers. Men with masks as dark as the
midnight sky circled me and Mother with gleaming knives in their bloody hands. It all felt chaotic. I
was pushed to my knees by men behind me, and a second later, Mother began taking steps towards
me. I panicked and screamed, " Mother, help me, Please help!". She only nodded. Why wasn't she
protecting me? Why hadn't she been trying to liberate me? Slowly, Mother walked closer to me, and
from behind her dress, she intensely pulled out a gun. I could feel my eyes growing bigger and my
mouth gasping with confusion.. Mother came closer. "What are you doing Mother? Why do you
have a gun? You're scaring me". Mother explained, "Hush my child. It will all be

Personal Narrative: A Career As A Therapist
"I want to live." She said. She lifted her feet off the small coffee table and set them gently on the
floor as she continued to look through me, too interested on the inner workings of her own mind.
"Well, what's stopping you?" The question left my lips followed by a fast sip of my home made iced
vanilla latte. She cracked her knuckles and rested her elbows on her knees and her face in her hands.
It was a simple question that provoked a rather complicated answer.
"Have you ever wanted for something so deeply, you would die looking for it, but you don't even
know where to begin your search?" Her head rose from her hands and she talked quickly. "It feels
almost as if you're missing something, like you forgot your phone, or you left the tickets ... Show
more content on Helpwriting.net ...
Great talk today Mr. O'Neill. If you would like I could give you my personal number, we can set up
another appointment, or if you ever need to talk, give me a call." He took the card from my hand
and with a grateful smile and a nod he was gone. I was aghast. What was this? After 12 years of
work as a therapist never had I genuinely cared about the problems of the patient before. Let alone
given out my personal contact information, the business cards are usually for show. This man had
stricken something in me, a fascination I had not experienced since my divorce. This wasn't me. I
don't fall for guys. "Love is a lie, it's an excuse, it isn't real." I reminded myself on the drive home. I
slipped out of my work clothes and into the satin pajamas that I had bought myself and after
countless restless hours, I slept. The weeks passed and my infatuation died down, piled on top of it
were about two dozen bloody Mary's. However, on my day off I had gone to get my oil changed on
my 1996 Toyota Camry when an unknown number interrupted my game of Angry Birds. I answered
reluctantly and the voice on the other end shot through me like an adrenaline rush. "Wesley?!" I
unintentionally shouted grasping the attention of other

Summary Of ' The ' Silent '
Motionless, like a wounded prey cornered by its predator, I finally understood the definition of fear.
To be victimised as the villain of the story. To be discriminated as the plague behind all creation's
problems. To be stereotyped as the face of the oppressors. The fear was so overwhelming and
overpowering, as if my stomach was rotting away, with whatever dignity that remained of me being
eaten by blood–thirsty parasites. I could only pray for the Earth beneath me to crack wide open and
swallow me into an eternal abyss– away from this trembling terror. It was the perfect setting for a
perfect day. The historic city of Granada was in a state of euphoria, as the beaming radiance of the
sun struck the town, evoking an atmosphere of joy and ... Show more content on Helpwriting.net ...
Happiness and excitement permeated the crowd, cheering for what I could only guess being the
imaginative floats, the thundering tempo played by the bands, and the exhilarating surroundings
itself. The breath–taking spectacle of the confetti engulfing the sky like the miraculous sight of a
murmuration, struck the city into a collective awe, bringing a smile to everyone's faces. Amidst the
enjoyment, our group leader was approached by a homeless woman, who requested for spare change
in order to buy water to quench her thirst. The group leader gave twenty euros to the homeless man
like it was just a simple day–to–day routine. "TWENTY?" was the confound reaction of the group
and I, astonished at the fact that what we deemed as a fortune, was simply a mere piece of
replaceable paper for our group leader. A man so humble yet so profound, wearing nothing but a
simple white ankle–length garment and worn–out sandals. With a long black beard that he stroked at
times, the group leader did not pay attention to the juxtaposition of his appearance. Giving the
slightest of thoughts to his outward appearance and how society portrayed him and his lack of
'style', but instead paid close attention to his inward appearance and his

Personal Narrative: If I Am Racist
I stared at the piece of paper on the table in front of me. I had sat at the same desk, in the same chair
for over an hour now, staring at the same piece of paper. My mind had gone blank with a serious
case of writer's block. I looked at the clock on the plain, beige colored wall and sighed. An hour had
passed and I continued to look at that dusty, old clock on the wall. Seconds turned into minutes,
which eventually turned into an hour. My long, wavy brown hair brushed over the paper that
decided if I would become a lawyer or not. I had endured almost seven years of school all to stare at
this paper for an hour and have nothing. My vision was blurry, but I ignored it and tried to push
through my pounding headache so that I could start my LSAT ... Show more content on
Helpwriting.net ...
I started to shake because I was so nervous from all that was happening. Just yesterday, I was
worried about passing my LSAT, and now I was being told that I have something possibly wrong
with my brain. I waited until the doctors got the results from the annoying machine. I waited and
waited forever. Dr. Sloan finally walked into my room right as I was about to drift off. "Your scans
came back, and you have a brain aneurysm," he said, pausing to let me take it all in. "It has grown to
a very large size. The nurses told me you had been having terrible headaches and symptoms for
months now. Why have you not come to the doctors before now?" he said with a sincere, worried
look on his face. I thought for a moment and started to defend myself, but nothing came to mind. I
had a feeling for a few months that something was wrong, but had refused to go to the hospital
because I needed to work on my exam and study harder. I pushed through the pain, and eventually
forgot about the terrible headaches I would endure for hours at a time. I must have zoned off
because Sloan was staring at me waiting for my answer. "Can you please just let me have some time
to myself. I need time to process all of this," I remarked with a scowl on my face. Dr. Sloan started
to exit the room, but he looked like he wanted to say something. He stared at me with a curious
look, but briskly walked away, sighing because he had given up trying to talk to

Aster Lynn Anderson Narrative
Violently my long black hair swished back and forth as I carried my slender frame from branch to
branch, closer to the dusky sky. Temporarily I rested my bare feet on the cool rough bark of the
white oak tree. Large curving branches intertwined and carved entrancing patterns in the air. Shells
of discarded acorns were scattered across the branches. The hardy rough texture of the bark felt
comforting on my calloused feet, and just the smallest of movement in the cool wind did the tree
make. Up so high it was amazing the things you could see, I felt big and important. I was the king of
the wood and looked down at my subjects below. Yet small, insignificant I felt as well being up so
high above the forest. I could see so much, so many ... Show more content on Helpwriting.net ...
Reaching out slowly I went to skim the top of the water with my long fingers, before I could make
contact with the pool however, my long wavy ebony hair fell in front of my face. Plunging into the
water. I held my breath in fearful anticipation, waiting for something to happen. I leaned over the
pool watching as my black hair emerged deeper into the water. Strangely, no ripples danced across
the water, and even stranger, the image of the door was even clear than before. Suddenly, I felt the
grip my knees had in the soft pearly beach surrounding the intriguing pool begin to slip. Frantically,
I waved my arms and tried to lean backwards to resist my imminent fall into the pool. It was to no
avail however, for I was thrust into the cold water, robbing me of breath. I clawed for the surface,
but a mysterious weight kept pulling me down into the unnatural deep pool. I let out a silent scream
and opened my eyes ignoring the stinging pains of the cold salty water. The inky darkness I
expected gaze upon in my final moments was not there however, instead an image of the door from
before was all I could see. The picture multiplied and soon I was surrounded by doors upon doors,
as if I was in a room full of mirrors, and I knew not what was real. My chest began to burn as the
pressure on it increased and finally I could no longer deprive myself the instinct to breath any

Descriptive Essay On Beauty
I had to decorate my head with flowers and was looking exquisite. My father had prohibited me
from using scented perfumes. I also did not have slightest of interest in that. I have been brought up
in nature. Where does beauty live? Is it in jewelry or clothes, in the body, in soul or in the eye of the
beholder? I was wondering.
Four chariots named Rug, Yarju, Sam and Atharva were constructed. The great father Brahma sat on
Rug. Twayi and Anwikshika were sitting in Yarju. Varta and Niti were in Atharva. Yarju was
decorated with beautiful flowers. A drape of flowers covered the front of the chariot. The fourth
chariot Atharva was appearing like a bouquet of red flowers.
I sat in the chariot Sam, which was decorated with vines and fragrant flowers. In front of me, a
garland of white jasmine was hanging. I was bathing with the fragrance of the flowers. My whole
body, my mind, and my soul were all filled with fragrance.
No one could see me from outside the chariot. But, I could see through the vines and thorns. I did
not know the logic behind bringing me to heaven like a prisoner. I was sitting with suppressed
curiosity, but was enjoying the scenery of the Indraloka.
Even though heaven's beauty amazed me, my mind was thinking about my motherland, the earth.
My playground, the elegant forest on the foothills of the Himalayas was no way less beautiful. I
could never accept that my unique mother land is less prosperous than the kingdom of Indraloka.
After attending godhood, it was natural to become a lover of luxury. Hence, the kingdom of gods
was so much a show–off. If my motherland was a selfless hermit, the heaven was a hedonist beauty.
If the Indraloka was so attractive, then how attractive Indra would be?
After the discussion, I was supposed to come out of the chariot as if for a display. That time I could
see without any hindrance and Indradeva could also see me.
I remembered my first encounter with Indra. He was visiting my father in the ashram. His chariot
was in the garden and I sat in it pretending to navigate it. As soon as I saw him returning to the
chariot, I got scared. I slipped and fell while descending from the chariot and twisted my feet. I did
not cry. Indradeva was already there. Before he

Personal Narrative : A Short Story 'The Hidden Secret'
The Hidden Secret
Janice
Some people may think i'm crazy, but i'm serious, i've experienced it.
It all started after school, Im in 12th grade my last year until college. I had a English Assignment
given to complete, I finished the assignment and headed to my Honda 2015, I got in my car and
headed straight home. I felt weird the whole way because of the highway I had to cross, so I decided
to call my boyfriend, Jahir. He answered but the line was slightly being interrupted. My car broke
down unexpectedly on an empty, creepy highway, what made it worse is that it was dark. Very
dark.I told Jahir about it as he was on his way to pick me up.
Jahir
As I heard my phone ring unexpectedly as I was having a snack and watching tv, I answered, It was
my sweet girlfriend. She kept telling me that she was scared hence she was alone in her car and
driving down the scary highway I knew she had to go through to go home. I tried telling her to focus
on going home. Then, I heard complete silence, I could hear her startled breathing. She said "My car
broke down, now i'm stranded can you come pick me up?". I was on the way as I turned off the
bright tv, I told her to stay where she was and to not go far away from the car.
Janice I hung up the phone and waited in my car patiently, looking around. It was so quiet I could
maybe hear a car from a mile away. No cars moving back and forth. No people walking or even
attempting to help me, Only me, like I was the last person on Earth. Then I saw

Descriptive Essay
Once we were out in the open air, I was met with an overwhelming sense of exhilaration. The
blaring alarms continued to screech in the distance, as the castle seemed to stir awake, most likely
with the news that there was a prisoner that escaped. The fear inside me had subsided to a pulsing
sense of alertness. Out of the sprawling grounds of the manor, we ran at full speed ahead. He took
my hand in his, dragging me along beside him as we hastened through the narrow alleyways of the
nearby villages. Panting with exertion as I flew down the slippery roads, my mind drifted away as
thoughts came to me, bits and pieces of memories. I had wanted to slow down, just for a split
second, to revel in this moment: the firm press of his palm against ... Show more content on
Helpwriting.net ...
He leaned toward me slowly. His breath fanned softly against my ear. "I have one last thing for
you." I stared at him as he removed the thin black ring on his index finger and forced it into my
palm. He slid on the ring onto my index finger, pressing his lips against my fingers and holding
them there as he watched me. "Remember me," he said softly. It was the sterling silver ring
engraved with a dark opal at the centre that I'd noticed him wearing when we'd first met. He
continued, "This has my family insignia on it. If you need anything, this will immediately signal to
your enemies that you're not to be tampered with." I glanced at the ring, the smooth opal stone
looked foreign against my pale skin. I nodded at him, my eyes softening as I gazed up at him, the
setting, blood red sun sending beams of light across his dark hair. "James," I started, but then I
swallowed back the words that didn't seem to quite fit in my throat. James shifted his gaze away
from my face, his voice hardening. "This is goodbye then; get ready to leave. There will be a ship
arriving in fifteen minutes which will carry passengers out of the city." I flinched. "Good–bye," I
said stiffly in the most detached, cold voice I could muster. Then I couldn't restrain myself; I stepped
into his arms. He started, uncertain. I felt him swallow and then start to stroke my hair. I gazed at the
reflection of us embracing in the nearby store window, both unwilling to pull away. "You need to
go," he

Saga Park Research Paper
The ravishing and majestic gates of Saga Park stood right before my eyes, like it was showing its
beauty to the residents of our neighborhood. Instantly, my two reeking feet took off and... I stared at
the pitch darkness in my eyes. Then immediately, my tiny, dark brown eyes awaken, unclosing itself
slower than snails roaming through glue. Stop daydreaming, Viola, I uttered to myself. Today is
red–letter day. The first season of the wrestling match began, and I would be there in about an hour.
Faster than the speed of light, I jumped up from my bed, and scampered down the wooden stairs,
making creaking sounds as each of my feet pounded on each step. I heard blaring screams of my
brother bellowing for me to shut up. Entering the restroom, ... Show more content on
Helpwriting.net ...
Man, I experienced the attractiveness of the road to Saga Park, though the lush forests, and alluring
and fresh creeks. I loved every inch of those views, and would never forget it again, not once, in my
life. And I remembered the cause that triggered this effect. You must be determined when you want
to achieve something, because without your full effort, hope, and willpower, nearly nothing can be
achieved. You have to believe in yourself because everyone has good qualities and bad qualities, and
we are all human. That is what I remembered and achieved to win the huge wrestling contest against
Brutus. About an hour later, my mom paid the tickets to enter Saga Park . Once I tickets landed in
my excited hands, I darted and bolted with all my might to the main gates. And there I am, the
majestic and ravished gates of Saga Park , truly in front of my eyes. My feet took off into the crowd,
ready to encounter the most gratified moment of my life. My brain, all that day, was screaming with
blissfulness: "You did it, Viola! You did it!" And with that note, I felt cleansed from all the bad luck
that happened to be during the wrestling season. Then I took off onto the most ferocious ride that
I've always been wanting to ride since a toddler, eyes enlightened with delight and

My Favorite Shared Moments
The way Alex came out to me is one of my favorite shared moments. I remember it so vividly, I was
at her house and she came up to me beaming, the light was bouncing off of her face she looked like
she had just discovered some hidden treasure. In a small voice she asked "can you help me put these
on?" She proceeded to present two tubes I gingerly took them out of her hands and opened them one
was a mascara and the other was a rosy pink lipstick. I grinned so hard, I thought my cheeks were
gonna fall off. I looked back at her "sure" I simply responded me being a flaming Bisexual had only
a small idea of what to do after having acted in the local theatres take on Rocky Horror Picture
Show. That was how Alex came out to me as Transgender. She told me that I was the second person
she came out to and that her mom was first but she regretted it. Now I'm here and I'm standing at her
front door listening to her mom yell at her telling her she 's going against her views. I quickly
knocked on the door her mom answered the door. "What" she barked at me through gritted teeth.
"I'm here to pick up Alex" I idly replied. "He's upstairs" she said emphasizing the he. You can
imagine how her mom feels about Alex transitioning. I shoved past her and walked upstairs. The
one good thing about the name Alex is that it's gender neutral it can go for boy or girl or anything
inbetween it helps with her dysphoria I can tell. "Hey" I knocked on her door. She quickly looked
over to me and smiled

My Childhood Memory
When I think of the most important memory that I have from my childhood, my mind goes directly
to my childhood house to one specific day, the day I got my puppy! I was in my kitchen on a calm
day. My sister pulled up into the very cracked black top that was in our driveway. I heard the car
door slam close, then the sound of the squeaky kitchen door being opened. Eventually, I heard my
name being yelled out by not only one person, but also my niece and nephew. As I ran down the
creaky and very loud stairs I could feel that something special was going to happen. As I turned the
corner my eyes went directly to one small fluff that was on the table. My sister had previously
mentioned that she wanted a puppy and I even went to a run–down pet shop in a very sketchy town
with her. But the dog that we were on a hunt for was not at all like the one that was on my kitchen
table at that moment. I began approaching the counter, but trying to calm myself down. Previously I
had owned a giant spotted pitbull named Yeyo and so I wasn't that familiar with tiny dogs. I was
beginning to picture the amazing days I could have with this dog before even laying a finger on her
soft fluffy hair. My sister must've surely seen the amazement in my eyes because before even saying
anything to her, she began talking. Her words were a blur to me because I was so focused on the
huge deep brown eyes that were sitting on the slippery white worn down counter in front of me. The
dog was not meant to be mine

How I Learned With My Life
After years of friendship I felt bold enough to start making suggestions, subtle hints that I thought
he needed professional help. I loved him and wanted nothing more than for him to be happy.
I had moved into town when Spencer was ten, right after he lost his older brother and the use of his
left hand in a car accident. When we first met he seemed so empty and vacant. His cold blue eyes
looked at the world in the way that a drowsy child looked at a television screen while watching late
night talk shows. It was as if he wasn't processing life as it happened around him, without him. We
bonded over our love for cartoons and our mutual belief that plain potato chips were superior to any
other lunch snack. In no time we were spending recess ... Show more content on Helpwriting.net ...
What did they say?"
He sighed laboriously and shook his head, opening his mouth to speak and then pausing to close his
lips again. After a few repetitions of this odd ritual his eyes met mine, cautiously licking his lips,
and he began to speak.
"We can't do this anymore. It's not healthy for me. I'm sorry."
I looked at him, my previously joy–filled face melted away into an expression of hurt confusion,
brows tugging together tightly and tears building up in my eyes as I tried to process exactly what he
meant.
"Do what?"
"This. The talking, the friendship, the love. It's not real."
"But I love you," I bawled, slowly dragging the back of my hand along my cheek to clear my face of
tears, leaving a damp streak in its path .
"I love you too, that's the problem. None of this is real."
"Of course it's real! You are my whole world."
"I know."
His head hung low and shook again before he walked away, dragging his beat up sneakers along the

cracked sidewalk. Desperately, I began to chase after him but found myself unable to gain any
actual speed. As if I were in a dream, I was no longer in control of my interaction with the physical
world. The harder I tried, the slower I moved. Frantic and confused, I looked down to my feet
which, to my surprise, were becoming increasingly transparent with each passing second. I quickly
threw my head back up to look at Spencer, eyes wide and bulging in petrified hysteria.
"Please... What's happening? Spencer, come back!"

Lacrosse And The Lacrosse Community
It is the first Sunday of September: and for many, it's just a typical Sunday evening, people go about
their normal Sunday activities like going to church, watching football, and enjoying time with their
family. The first Sunday of September means a new beginning for the coaches and players of
Marvin Ridge High School lacrosse. This Sunday is the beginning of their road to a hopefully
successful season and the return to Cary, North Carolina to redeem themselves for the past two
failed attempts to achieve greatness and hold up the State Championship trophy. Lacrosse isn't just a
hobby or a school sport to the players and coaches, it's a passion that drives them to get up every
morning and want to be able to make it back to Cary. Coach John Delucia is well known in the
lacrosse community for his prestigious achievements from previous teams he has coached and his
amazing lacrosse career at Ohio State University.
I watched the ball roll into the back of the net; it was 12–12 in overtime against Cardinal Gibbons.
This was my last game with my brothers, best friends, and a family I will cherish for the rest of my
life. I not only let my teammates down, I let my family down. We lost against Cardinal Gibbons in
the 2015 3A State Championship game 13–12 in overtime. When they scored their final goal I
immediately dropped to my knees and began to sob, I was not upset that I lost, I was upset that I let
my family down and that was the last time I would ever step on the field with

Descriptive Essay
I lock the door behind me and hastily run to the little window. I glance around though not sure why.
They atempt to unlock the latch. To my surprise it open. I hoist myself up and throw my legs
through so that im sitting. Looking down it looks like a far fall. But this may be my only chance to
leave. My only chance to ever see my family again. A shiver runs through me and i find myself
pushing myself out the window. I fall hard on my back and head. So i lay there trying to focus on
making the world stop turning. I then realize something...run. I jump up and take off as fast as I can.
Due to the fall im kinda dizzy. But i run on. I know he 'll find out soon and will be coming to look
for me. I stumble on a few sharp rocks. Im already ... Show more content on Helpwriting.net ...
"Why 'd you try to run away from me huh" he asks kneeling down in front of me. Tears fall down
the bridge of my nose. When i dont answer he grasps my chin between his fingers forcing my eyes
to meet his "you 're already in trouble princess don 't make it worse on yourself, just answer me
when i ask you a question" I nod and his grip tightens making me whimper. "Answer me now
krista" his tone darkens. "I–I don 't know" i repeat over and over as sobs continue to rake over my
body. He does a sinister sounding chuckle as he stands. He reaches a hands out in front of me and i
try to accept his help but im much too weak. He groans and curses under his breath. He bends down
and picks me up bridal style instead. "Gamma....coal c 'mon" he half yells. "Y 'know princess you 're
in a lot of trouble" whispers in my ear. After about a five minute walk i see the lights of the house in
front of us. If i wasn 't so afraid i would find being held in his arms comfortable. He kicked open the
front door and closed it with his foot. The bright lights were harsh on my eyes but that was the least
of my worries. This house was built like a labyrinth. I could never keep track of where we were.
Eventually after several turns down halls and doorways we reached his bathroom. The door was
kicked in. No doubt from him trying to get to me only to find i

I Have Always Had A Love For Dark Eyeliners
I have always had a love for dark eyeliners. For me the accentuate my eyes, and make them look
bigger, while enhancing the green color of my eyes. I had been for quite some time using an
eyeliner jug, which I loved, but at the same time, hated how long it took to apply the liner. These
days I 'm more about fast, simple, and effective. When I came across Revlon Bedroom Eyes Powder
Liner, Fishnet Jet 660, at my local Rite Aide, I was immediately intrigued. A liner that goes on in a
powdered form, yet is applied in the same manner that a wet liner would be applied. Revlon
Bedroom Eyes Powder Liner, Fishnet Jet 660, comes in what appears to be a liquid eyeliner type
container. At the bottom there is a small pot, where a screw on cap reveals the actual application
wand. I seriously had no idea what to expect, and the in store advertisement was vague, and showed
bland color results on the color menu which was located right below the rack of liners. I went with
Fishnet Jet, because on the advertising it appeared to be the darkest color; yet it also looked as if it
had some sort of navy tint going on. The word NEW stood out, and I couldn 't resist it. I went ahead
and made the purchase. I hoped it worked well, because honestly $9.95 for such a small container is
a bit much in my opinion. My Use: When I first opened up the package, I unscrewed the top and
found that the application wand had a large sponge applicator at the end. A lot larger than what I
was expecting. I usually

Blood Descriptive Writing
As I stand on the edge, I reminisce about the city view that once calmed my tormented thoughts.
The strong, cold wind, urging me to jump, to fall and forget and in unison, the onslaught of tears
with the occasional traces of blood race down my face. A defeated cry jumps from my mouth and
into the open air. "Neglected and victimized all my life, and I can no longer travel by myself, so let's
just end everything", my bloodied feet weakly shuffle forward, pulling me closer to the edge of the
rough concrete ledge. Hanging my leg limply in front of me, I lean forward, but before gravity pulls
me to my death, I'm suddenly yanked back into a warm, unfamiliar chest. Entering the girl's
bathroom, a familiar but ominous awareness washes over me like ... Show more content on
Helpwriting.net ...
Is there ever a time when he's not drunk? Nevertheless, I throw my bag somewhere near the front
door and make my way upstairs to half–heartedly announce my return. The door swings open and
the rank smell of alcohol taints my nose resembling a dead, maggot–infested carcass. As I look into
the room, sprawled out amongst the rubbish is Mandy, mumbling in her sleep. Mad, snake like eyes
burn through me like lasers. "Where the bloody hell have you been, you little useless child?", Allen
maniacally bellows as I'm consequently struck by his beer bottle, therefore causing a deep crimson
mark to appear; this just adds to the countless wounds that he has inflicted on me all these years.
Holding my cheek, I escape as fast as my damaged legs can carry me; Allen is following in

Narrative Essay On A Little Birdie
A Little Birdie My doubles partner, Nicole, and I were in the middle of our championship game. At
this break our coach came over to us and said, "This is the last game you two will play together,
make it memorable." We did a quick laugh, but then reality hit us. That phrase was all we needed.
We could faintly hear the other players gym shoes squeaking on the gym floor – the sound of
scampering mice. Mostly though, we heard silence. Our parents, coaches, and teammates were dead
silent, but we knew they were screaming nervously on the inside. The plastic scent of birdies
engulfed the air around us. The birdie shot passed me. "Out!" I yelled. As I picked up the birdie, the
corky material of it just sat in my shaky hand. This tiny object could ... Show more content on
Helpwriting.net ...
Nicole and I were waiting anxiously for our championship match. We came into the game as the
second seed, playing against the number one seed. We were the underdogs. I thought that if we lost,
it was just another loss to add to the books, but if we won, all my hard work will have paid off and I
would have one heck of a story to tell. We lost the first game. "Thank God it's best two out of three,"
I said to Nicole. "That first game was so close, we definitely have this one," said Nicole. Standing
there on the court, mid–game, I was experiencing a mixture of fear, hope, and a little nausea. I
awaited the serve. I thought that this could be it. The opposing team could get the point and we
would be done for. We would lose. Little did we know that that was not the case. I hit the bird. They
returned. My partner comes around the side and smashes it right back. It's our turn to show them
what we are made of I thought. Nicole and I turned around for a few seconds after receiving the
point to chat about our next strategy. We decided to change up the pace. One serve slow, the next
fast. We continued the different paces but in an irregular, random order to keep the opponents
confused and off–guard. This was the best choice we ever made I thought to myself. Within minutes
we had stolen the game. The match was tied 1–1. This next and final game determined everything
and we were definitely prepared to

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