The young couple who had built the cottage, were anxious that their anticipated young one would experience the quiet of the forest, rather than the harsh life of the city. The river had beckoned them, and they created a nice solitary life to wait for their child. However when their daughter was born, they were utterly disappointed. The child did not utter a single sound as she was thrust into the world. She only blinked her eyes and wondered quiet thoughts. She wondered why she was unable to open her mouth and why she was unable to express her love to the two people who watched her…
The sunlight caught against the strands of hair rolling like a golden waterfall down Daisy’s back. "Sweetie…” he trailed off in a sigh. “I want to believe it’s beautiful…like you, but you’re far more elegant.” John warmly rubbed her spine, calming her still shivering fear with little success. The soft silk of her nightgown rolled over his fingertips in a deathly chill. “What happened in your dream, princess? Was it the scary man again?” Daisy nodded, breaths but gentle wisps of strangled air. “I died.” Although dreadful as it was, his daughter’s night terror brought a wan smile to his lips, though it rapidly faded. “Nothing more than a dream, sweetheart.” He brushed her hair, circumnavigating his fingers around her face to cup her chin with a soothing grace. “I had a dream when I was your age, a terror that really persisted-” She looked at him inquisitively, to which he explained, “Ongoing, continuous, never-ending…” Daisy nodded in understanding and he continued. “My grandmother, your great granny Agatha, used to tell me that the best way to deal with night terrors was to bear the pain.” John searched Daisy’s deep blue eyes for a hint of understanding. “You see sweetheart, they’re only nightmares when you’re…
It was a grey afternoon with a dull sky. The wind was sighing in the tree top and boughs moaned. The dark, ragged and ominous clouds drifted over. Surprisingly, instead of beating down a curtain of rain from heavens, it only brought drizzle. “I wish it would rain cats and dogs.” Sylvia talked to herself while she was sitting in a bus looking up to the eerie sky.…
Desperate tears clouded her vision as she ran from the judging glares of society, the harsh reality of marriage and the unfairness of her life. She banged open her bedroom doors and crumpled to the floor, defeated and wounded in every way.…
From what I remember, the world was rainy and dull that morning. Staring at the grey walls of my bedroom I tried, albeit lackadaisically, to clamber out my bed. After several futile “attempts”, I rolled onto my side and buried my head into my pillow like a frightened ostrich sticking its head in sand. Indolently, my fingers grazed my cheek and ran past the dried tear stains from the night before. Slowly, I sat up, shoulders hunched over, clutching my comforter to my chest, and again cried. As the new tears began to run down my face, I wondered, why? Why had this wonderful woman, at thirty-seven years of age, who deserved a full life and everything it had to offer die? Why had this wonderful woman’s three children, all under the age of eleven, lost their mother? Why was this wonderful woman, in whom I could confide, torn away because of that vile cancer? Why did my Aunt Boo Boo die?…
As day quickly fell into night, Jessie was unable to remove the vivid images of her father screaming at her mother like he had, viciously abusing her as she stood there so helplessly. The cacophonous screams of her mother echoed in her mind. She wondered why her father had become like this, this wasn’t the man she called her dad, this wasn’t the man she loved; this was a monster that had taken over who her father really was.…
As she watched the clock tick by, it seemed as if hours passed. She sat on the chair in the doctor’s office with her husband by her side. Her beautiful, brown eyes turned jet black all of a sudden. The doctor had told her some heartbreaking news.…
On a cold night, a young mother drives home from a stressful day as a social worker. Her love for kids keeps a smile on her face everyday day no matter the weather. The neighborhood was very quiet and a huge wind whistle the crack door of her house. “That boy always forgetting to close the door,” she said. Ms. Emerson open the door suddenly had her worst dream. A young man lying with blood pouring through his chest. She put her hand mouth to stop a loud bursting scream. A river pouring through her red eyes and her heart pounding through her. An awful smell invaded her nostril which cause her to faint but through her mind she is hoping she is having a nightmare.…
Standing at the sink, she was using a wad of paper towels to free her hands of the last few traces of condensation from the running water of the faucet. She looked up at me, obviously startled by the intrusion of another person in the space that she had previously occupied alone. The crease that had formed in between her trimmed chocolate eyebrows seemed to fade, however, as she recognized the identity of the intruder. Her supple, soft pink lips released from their tight pucker as her concentration on her…
The story, written in the form of a letter, shows the process of a thirteen-year-old girl becoming more mature as she expresses her grievances from her tragic childhood. At the beginning of the story, she described both the emotional and physical difficulties her family suffered through because of the absence of her father. She felt lonely, insecure and confused as she hoped that her father would come back. “Sometimes I had bad dreams. I would dream the welfare took us away and no one missed us, not even mommy. Daddy where were you?” (Page 163) At the end of the letter, however, the girl started to understand that her view of the world before was unbalanced and incomplete, “through a thin veil full of small holes”. (Page 165) She felt more released and started to notice “the greatness of the world”. (Page 165) She began to treasure all the memories she had with her family instead of thinking about her misery all the time, “we carried on living.” (Page 165) There was a great transition of her character from the beginning to the end of the letter.…
When I was a sophomore in high school our basketball team made a good run into tournaments landing us in the elite eight final games. This had been the first time since 1970’s that any Rittman basketball team had made it that far in the tournaments, everyone in our town was excited for us and came to cheer us on.…
“When you smoke herb, it reveals yourself to you,” is a famous quote of the pothead and marvelous musician Bob Marley. He felt as though marijuana helped tune in with your inner being. I believe cannabis that cannabis does this too and therefore have become a habitual marijuana consumer. Being in tune with ones inner being is important, yet not the reason that I smoke cannabis. The cannabis plant is beautiful, from the leaf to the buds you smoke. I love the ‘highs’ from smoking marijuana, and last but not least, I love how I can function while ‘high’. The summary is that little nuggets of joy have been crucial in making me who I am now, and I am grateful for everything marijuana has brought.…
Last Christmas, I spent 5 fun-filled days and 4 magical nights in Disneyland. Daily weather in Anaheim was beautiful. The driveway leading to the park entrance was lined with tall palm trees as they stretched to the heavens in the blazing sunshine.…
She had enough on her plate, what with the divorce, (how I hate that word!) and then moving here. Her soft hand had brushed my cheek sending goosebumps down my arm, but that was over an hour ago, if only she knew how to save me from this endless darkness.... Now I was on my own. I crept slowly out of bed, moving lightly across the old floor boards so I wouldn’t wake mum, and moved towards the cold glass of the window. I opened the window like a skilful thief, only I was breaking out of my prison into the night to steal the treasures that it had in store for me.…
Photography is like any other art where the sky is the limit. The most important component to photography is the camera. I have a Nikon D3000 SLR digital camera. It is like one of my children. I go everywhere with it and when I don’t have I always feel like something is missing. It helps me bring my creative side to life and gives me just the shot I am looking for. It is heavy and sometimes a pain to carry but the weight is worth it for the end results. It has endless settings that I can adjust to achieve what it is I am trying to create. When I look through the view finder I look at a whole new world.…