Michael Marchelletta Mrs. Gosling 20th Century Literature 25 November 2013 I awoke on a brisk Saturday morning in November. I got out of bed and made my way to the kitchen, where hot cider and a chocolate chip scone were waiting. I read the paper while indulging on my early morning treats and then proceeded to do my homework once I was finished. This is my usual schedule on the weekends, but there was something rather unusual about today: My parents were nowhere to be found. I roamed around
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Descriptive Writing Jackson Parker 7c la The Outsiders Pony Boy has a high academic record and is a greaser with his greasy hair and his watery eyes, but things go bad at home as Darry gets in a fight and hurts Pony Boy, forcing him to run away from home with Johnny. Running into a Soc, Bob drowns Pony Boy in the cooled ice water when suddenly Pony Boy feels a loss of force on his back. With Johnny as pale as a ghost, shivering ,‘’I killed him” he said slowly “I killed that boy” says Johnny hesitating
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I slowly walked over to the line of freshmen who were clumsily standing around forming something that resembled a line. We all got handed a soggy used day glow orange life jacket that had USS State of Maine printed on the back in black. I slowly slipped the cold wet object over my head and laid it to rest on my shoulders as a shiver came over my body. I quickly tied the strap around my back and step up to the platform. I walked to the end of the pier and curled my toes over the edge. That day
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THE LABYRINTH It was a dark and stormy night. It was also october 28 halloween. There were 3 little boys walking dore to dore on Atchison street. Until there a bush rustled next to an old creepy house. The boys noticed the rustling and went to check it out and before they could a zombie jumped out of the bushes. Then they started backing up until they realized that it was just a boy dressed like a zombie he was tall and thin and really pale then we figured out it was just our friend john he was
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I couldn’t tell you how I got this way because I really don’t know. It started when I was young, maybe seven years old. The only people who know about my little secret is my parents, my older sister, and an old friend. The rest of the world is oblivious to my secret identity. I hate myself for it. I am a monster. I can’t control it. Every 25th day of the month I turn into the monster I am. I assume this is because I was born on March 25th. The torvosaurus is is 30 feet long and 8 feet tall. Fossils
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New, shiny, and pretty. That’s all I could think of as I sat in class admiring my brand new shoes. They were black flats with an open top that exposed my foot, and a strap that wrapped around my heel and tightened at a shiny silver buckle. They were perfect. I sat there watching how when the sun hit the buckle in just the right spot, and I tilted my foot in just the right way, a reflection of the light would appear on the ceiling. The girl sitting next to me tapped me on my shoulder, knocked me out
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Maria L 10/14/13 Period .4 Mrs. Rivera THE COLD SWIM The name of the story I’m writing about today is called The Cold Swim. This story was written by Allen Davison. This story was about two boys named Maurice and Lamar. They decided to take a trip on a canoe to the other end of Spicer Lake. A clerk of a mountain store and Restaurant warned them about strong wind coming up soon. They didn’t listen, so things didn’t turn out as expected. Both characters
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le The pounding of basketballs surrounded me as I limped towards the hard bleacher wall where I have spent countless hours observing practices. I balanced on my good leg to sit down, and examined the scene in the gym. The sweaty humid air surrounded my teammates as they warmed up and prepared for a typical day of practice. It was the last day of school before winter break, and everyone was cheerful. They were unaware that this would be one of the most challenging days of my life. I reached into
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Oceanfront Have you ever been to the beach before? Most people have and a lot cannot even remember the first time they went for they were too young to recall. Well I was not fortunate enough to see the beach until I was eighteen years old. I had all these images and visions of it my head but never actually seen it. Eventually I was given the opportunity to go to Myrtle Beach, South Carolina the summer I graduated high school.. After seeing the beach for the first time in my life, it showed me that
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The snow scratched at my ankles and feet as I ran through the hard snow. The branches above me in the forest blocked the sun in areas around me, pattering the ground with wild shadows. I slowed to a walk, trying to catch my breath. The village was below me, the many villagers busy with their daily work. I walked down the hill, hoping no one saw my panicked sprint home. I passed the longhouse where Chief Wahunsenacawh stays. The villagers were glancing at the house, all knowing what the many men
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She glanced back briefly at him with a wide grin on her face before taking off in a sprint down the beach. Only inches behind her, he reached out, sweeping her off her feet and pulling her into his arms. Holding her close, he spun around in circles, her silky, crimson red gown twirling in the wind. A smile graced her lips as she held tightly on to her COHORT and looked into his brilliant blue eyes. She leaned her head back and closed her eyes, letting herself be consumed by the warmth of the radiant
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Shocking The light electric glow illuminates my tent coloring my eyelids neon yellow as I lie on my soft, warm coversheet, hoping to go to sleep in the middle of the storm outside. The loud bang of the thunder striking the earth echoes in my ears like a drum in a cave. The moment I open my eyes I inhale through my nostrils, smelling fresh rain and moist grass, smells I am none too familiar with, living in the hot, humid Texas. The small, metal teeth of the zipper fall out of place as I move the cold
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Fifth Grade It was a bright sunny day with a nice cool summer breeze. There are a couple kids running and playing on the playground equipment, while most of the kids are watch the kick ball game. Its the teachers against the class who beat all the other classes. The kids are in the outfield and the teachers are up to kick. When it comes to the kids against the teachers. The teachers don't take it easy. One of the teachers who are good at playing kick ball is up. He standing with his back hunched
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The large stuffed bear by the door seemed to flinch in the moonlight, it’s beady black eyes flickering around as color flooded into them. His little arms tensing as he shot up, the play sword hardening into a mini short-sword as his body enlarged by almost a foot. “Domine, thy’, night-prowlers are approaching.” The bear spoke softly, leaping onto the bed by the lion, clutching the blade tightly in his stuffed paws. “Awaken the others,” The lion opened his eyes, sending a short glance to the sleeping
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As I walked along the long asphalt pathway surrounded by enormous trees I could feel my heart pound with excitement and anticipation. I looked to the break in the trees, the tennis courts, illuminated by the sun like the light at the end of the tunnel. Today was the long anticipated day. As I emerged from the darkness into the light, the corners of my eyes crinkled in delight and a smile broke out onto my face. I strayed from the path through the large chain link fence surrounding tennis courts.
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The train station is crowded. People all around me are rushing- desperate to go back home to their families and their homes. It’s 5pm on a Friday, so there are a lot of businesspeople, dressed in suits and dotted ties, with gelled back hair and anxious facial expressions caused by late hours and long meetings. There are some mothers, guiding their small children along, advising them to stay far away from the train tracks and promising them cake and fruit juice when they come home. There are random
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I am fifteen, and he is seventeen, and the world isn't what we dreamed it would be. Tonight the air is almost crisp and clean. It would be if it wasn't for the smoke tainting our oxygen. The smoke fogging the view of the faint constellations and near sunrise. The smoke filling his lungs with early death. Around us birds chirp, announcing the rising sun as it stains the backyard like a child splattering gold paint. His eyes glimmer in the new found light the same way the empty beer bottles now seem
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DRAGON POV The clouds covered the sky as quickly as a snake, slithering across the now fading blue sky. I watched them move over my lonely castle and cast a dark shadow over the land. It seemed right, it matched my dark mood. Ever since my friends had been hunted down by the humans, I had hid away and sat in this castle for hundreds of years, waiting for a human to come end me too. Tears formed under my turquoise eyes and the droplets glided down my face and dripped onto the cold stone floor. A lake
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Before going to school, I always check my backpack for all my belongings just in case I forget something, but today I was a little bit less strict and just let it slide, after all, it is the day of the Turkey Trot. The Turkey Trot is a once a year event at Robert Frost Middle School where in every grade, students volunteer to run about 1.3 miles while others cheer them on. I planned not to run this year, and next year because I already had my run in 6th grade. As I was walking out the door and into
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It has been twelve days since I last wrote I this journal, and a lot has happened. I am just glad to have left all of the mosquitos behind at Alcove Springs. The Platte river leads all the way from Alcove Springs to Fort Kearney. The Platte provides enough clean water for the entire train. Caroline and Cheyenne are covered in blisters. I am thinking about letting them ride on the back of the wagon. On the third day after leaving Alcove Springs, I was rested and refreshed. It surprised me when
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It’s been a week since the crash. Though I feel a year had passed. I wake up under my hide-place while smelling something weird. It was smoke. The jungle was on fire! Jack tried to force me out of the jungle with burning down everything. He must be crazy. Once I get up, several soldiers with paint on their face found me and starting to chase. I ran towards the beach, hoping to get rid of them and find a safe place to rest. Crawling towards the ocean until I hit something white. It was a leg with
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The air was sweet with the smell of rain from the seemingly ceaseless storm that slept overhead. The night’s stars were hidden by dark cotton clouds, the midnight black of the night sky contrasted beautifully with the clouds’ color. The world burned into a flashing white as the sky touched the earth with electric fingers. The tides of Amistad rolled tempestuously in scattered fashion as the wind of the storm howled and screeched as it passed our car. From the bridge I could see the drop to the midnight
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It was a beautiful grassy land setting arround the old barn hous house. In my mind’s eye I can still see the picture of long sweet yellow grass waving in the wind, a bird with a long wavy tail called a “Flap” is flying low in a slow-motion over the veld. The Jan Fiskaal (fiscal shrike) was a common sight on our farm. A tiny bird with a reputation for driving out pests, its characteristic “chee-chee-chee” cry and black-and-white coloring make it easy to identify - it will hunt its prey mostly grasshoppers
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There is a boy I met, who many know. His observing eyes tighten as he looks out into the world and there he wonders if he's truly understood. A lot of people have heard his story; he has shared his life with many and many have a certain perception on who they think he is, but do they really know? Do they see what's actually there or do they see what they want to see? I narrow my focus as I stare at him, I push aside the things I have heard, the glowing stars and shiny Hollywood image and see
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possible, but if not, recall it; and then capture its features with appropriate words (pg.160). That, to me, shows the extent to which descriptive writing requires us to reflect and evaluate. Effective writing should capture the true essence of what you are describing, and that is something that you might not achieve in one attempt. In the video clip, Descriptive Writing, which features Rita Dove, she explains how we are most drawn in when all of our senses are engaged; when we can smell it, hear the
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David Perez Writing Seminar Period 6 April 23, 2013 One of the wooden poles keeping the garage stable had graffiti on it. It was scribbled in black marker, similar to the tagging on the walls. The room was cluttered with black garbage bags and tall wooden boards leaning against the wall. One of the bags was force-fed plastic water bottles; you could see one of them sticking out through the hole it somehow punctured. Under it was a see-through container with clothes displaying a black layer of
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The tootsie pop in my hand slowly is pushed around; I notice how weird the maroonish wrapper feels. The wrapper is messily wrapped around the candy that sits on the small white stick. As I slowly tug away the wrinkly wrapper, it crinkles, causing the whole class to briefly look over at me because the only other noise is the rhythmic tapping of their keyboards. A little faster, I try to peel the wrapper off the white stick, but the friction of the wrapper and the stick made the crinkling even louder
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Captured in the Daniel Boone National Forest, located in northeastern Kentucky near the city of Morehead at Windy Bay Fishing Point, this featured Image is one of the most beautiful places I have ever seen. With many amazingly stunning coves, corners, bends, and twists, this lake will never fail to impress even the most ardent experienced traveler. Despite the fact that I was raised in this area, I feel Cave Run Lake is one of the best keep secrets in the travel world. Possessing breathtaking photo
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� PAGE * MERGEFORMAT �1� Running Header: DESCRIPTIVE VS. � PAGE * MERGEFORMAT �3� DESCRIPTIVE VS. DESCRIPTIVE VS. NARRATIVE: WHICH ONE IS BETTER? DIANA YOUNG ENG121: ENGLISH COMPOSITION I PROFESSOR GARTEN MAY 25, 2014 � DESCRIPTIVE VS. NARRATIVE : WHICH ONE IS BETTER? Descriptive and narrative writing are both two different styles of personal writing that are used to enhance a writer's portfolio. When looking at descriptive writing, a person is using words that describe a person, place
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Rashi Taneja Andrea Feldman SA #3 2/9/15 Rhetorical analysis/ Inquiry and Descriptive genres Satire, persuasive, argumentative, the list goes on for the different types of styles that make up the written language as a whole. Three examples of different genres of literature are Rhetorical analysis, Inquiry analysis and Descriptive. The first genre of literature to examine is Rhetorical analysis. This type of writing is usually in the form of criticism to explore the relationships between a text
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