Autobiographical Narrative.
Chris Lackore Freshman English 111 2/13/00 Autobiographical Narrative Ever since I moved to Appleton at the age of four, I had a friend named Charlie. Charlie and I were best friends. Charlie lived down the street and around the corner. It was perfect. I can remember so many times doing things with him when I was younger. But in sixth grade Charlie's family decided they were going to move away. It was only going to be a twenty-minute drive, but that just wasn't good enough for us. We said that we would still be friends and see each other. Well the day came and Charlie moved away. I couldn't believe it. It was very hard for me to deal with this at my young age. What was I supposed to do now that my best friend lived twenty minutes away? I couldn't just go over to his house whenever I wanted to anymore. It was really different for me. He had always been right there, but things changed. Within the first week of Charlie moving away, I was at his new house. Things seemed different though. He was still my best friend except it wasn't the same as before. He was meeting new friends and so was I. Eventually time passed and I began to see less and less of Charlie. Weeks and months would pass before I saw him. Eventually it became a once a year thing. It was always his birthday party that would bring us back together. Finally that ended too. It wasn't that we
In conclusion then, my short story was a reflection of how traditional short stories are supposed to be. The plot that had a dilemma, the dilemma which lead to the moral of the story, this is what determines the success of a short story
Paying the Price As I was in the police station being interrogated, I was informed that 'All other accomplices at the robbery got away' which meant that I was left with the decision to either hand in the names of my 'friends', or to serve a bigger fine and longer community service. Currently, I've completed two weeks of my sentence and I have a further six months and two weeks remaining. But how did I arrive at this situation? What dreadful crime did I commit? And why haven't I exposed the identities of my friends to the police? My parents were workaholics and for a reason beyond my understanding, we constantly had to move homes. Eight weeks ago I moved houses, from the peaceable, serene and relaxed countryside in Somerset to the repulsive and brutal streets of Moss Side in Manchester. At first I kept myself out of all trouble and just kept myself to myself, but after going weeks without speaking to anyone other than my parents and teachers, I decided to put myself out there and do whatever it takes to fit in. Whilst at school (which is extremely rare for me) a group of boys caught my eye. They were the typical sort of 'lads'; constantly mucking around, getting into fights, flirting with girls and roaming through the playground area and streets. However what particularly caught my attention was how united they were. These seven lads were always side by side. After
lost hearts
"Lost Hearts" "Explain the way Mr. James creates suspense and tension in Lost Hearts." The story "Lost Hearts" is written by M.R.James. This short story is bolt unforgettable and intriguing. Within the story M.R.James uses violent descriptions and shows ghostly figures to create tension. Throughout the story unexpected things take place. The reader gets intrigued the author brings the obsession Mr.Abney has with pagans and religions. This put a question into the reader's minds of why he could be obsessed. We learn about the disappearance of the other two children who have already been in Aswarby Hall, and their ghostly sightings. Soon we realise the third victim will be young cousin Stephen. The writer shows how large and imposing the house is by, describing the "red-bricked house." This is done to create curiosity and interest. The sinister atmosphere within the story gives us an impression that this house is by its self and is isolated. I know this because we are told that "Surrounded by a flat park," This quote shows that this house is very un-welcoming and is un-easy for a chill to stay in. The atmosphere of Aswarby hall is very strange. The "fires" gives the idea of hell being like a danger. The quote "tall and narrow windows," gives me that impression that not much light enters the house
In "The management of grief", a story by Bharati Mukherjee the function of the narrator Shaila Bhave's journey from Canada to Ireland and through India is a phase of transition from the feeling of denial of the tragic death of her husband and two sons
Rahul 1 Rahul Shah Sharon Warycka Writing & Literature I 24th October, 2002 Essay # 2 In "The management of grief", a story by Bharati Mukherjee the function of the narrator Shaila Bhave's journey from Canada to Ireland and through India is a phase of transition from the feeling of denial of the tragic death of her husband and two sons in a plane crash to the slow acceptance of reality and trying to obtain closure on the terrible event. Four days after the incredible tragedy of the crash of the plane in which her husband and two sons Mrs. Shaila Bhave finds herself at a bay in Ireland near where the crash occurred. There were speculations of what had caused the plane to abruptly blow up but nothing was confirmed. One of the foremost reasons was considered to have been a bomb set off in the plane. Shaila finds herself looking at her neighbor Kusum squatting on this rock which jutted out into the water of the ocean, and she thought that this would probably the closest she would get to her family. Kusum's family which consisted of her husband and one of her daughters was also on board that flight. Shaila is ashamed of herself as she can not grieve as all the others do. She is angry at here calm and says "By the standards of the people you call hysterical, I am behaving very oddly and very badly," (par 32). This odd calm in her is caused by a dosage of Valium a drug
Creative Writing - Unfortunate children.
English Creative Writing Unfortunate children The work was hard, it was very hot, but everyone was exceptionally cheerful. I think most of them were thinking of all the little smiling faces that were running in and out trying to help, but making perfect nuisances of themselves. All of a sudden, we seemed to have found forty little brothers and sisters each. Our whole class was on a project to help the Maria Children's Home. We were helping to clear the area for a field. As can be expected, boys and girls aged eight to ten, wanted to help. They were tireless and giving a helping hand everywhere, but mostly getting in the way. I was amazed at the amount of love these unfortunate little ones could give. One boy who particularly impressed me was nine year-old Don. I asked his story, while we were working together to flatten a large mound. He became sad and I had to put my arm around to console him. He sobbed and later began his story. He remembers his parents only vaguely. He has a younger sister also in the same home and pointed her out to me. His father was a hopeless drunk and never took care of the family. His mother worked and supported them. He remembers his father beating his mother everyday. His mother use to cry late into the night. Once the neighbours were so upset they called the police. His father was arrested but was released the next day because his mother did
November the eleventh. My mother took no concern whatever and just told me that we were going to be leaving Zimbabwe, my home country, on twenty sixth of December.
November the eleventh. My mother took no concern whatever and just told me that we were going to be leaving Zimbabwe, my home country, on twenty sixth of December. At first I thought it was just like before, when she got stressed and had a phase and said things but later went back on them. She had often said we were leaving but we had never gone through with it. After a week, when the plans were slowing taking shape I realized that it was true. Maybe it was my way of blocking everything out, of pretending that it wasn't true. Maybe I just had to deny it a while longer, or maybe it was just taking time to sink in. It was me who saw it first; it was me who felt the pain. It was self-inflicted, blood trickled from my wrists and I just sat there staring, watching, and doing nothing to stop it. This was my last resort. My life was falling apart all around me and I could do nothing to stop it. Everywhere I looked I was just another place, everyone I ran to didn't seem to care, with their programmed smile and fake voices with concern. Nothing was all right; I was running out of time. The thought of going, of having to leave my life behind, the thought of leaving my best friends, family and the country I was born in was to much for me to contemplate. All I wanted was for someone to say it was all a dream, that everything was fine and I was fine. But no one did ever say that and I
The Roma Ethnicity from the point of view of a Gypsy teacher.
The Roma Ethnicity from the point of view of a Gypsy teacher Nagyné Gulyás Erna DL 2nd year Cultural Studies The purpose of this study is to tell honestly, what I think about my race, the way we live and the disadvantages I had to face thorough my life. In this paper, I try to avoid presenting boring data about the gypsy community; I rather try to present it as I really see the problems, the negatives and values of my ethnicity. I also make an effort to give you an idea about the gypsy family life, habits. First, I would like to tell some words about my family. I come from a rather big family I have two sisters, they are younger than I. The reason why I have written that it is a big family is that when thinking of my family I never think just about the close one, but also about the grandparents, aunts, uncles, nephews and nieces. We are in daily connection, with this I want to express that the family relations play very important role in the life of a gypsy. We have strong relations with our distant relatives as well. As I have heard from my non-gypsy friends, it is not true for them. They just rarely visit their relatives. Holding strict connections with the relatives is very important in every gypsy family. I do not think that there would be an exception. Here I would like to tell some interesting facts about the roles in a gypsy family as it is in my family. The
My Day.
My Day My day starts when I am awoken by a knock on my door. I am disturbed from my sleep and not very happy about it. "Go away", I shout at the person at my door. Then I go into a half asleep, half awake state. I am unwilling to get up or move, the start of my day is the worst for me. Tired and having no energy in myself I have decided not to do any more for now. When I leave my home I am very tired, for I never seem to get enough sleep no matter what time I go to bed. I think that it is my unconscious mind telling me not to wake up, or do anything. I am dreading the day to come, not wanting to do anything. I am already planning out the days events. Knowing what is going to happen as I regret leaving my bed. As I arrive at school my mood changes, seeing my friends opens a new mood to my day. I change to being talkative, wondering what my friends have been doing, if anything interesting has happened to them since the last time that I spoke to them yesterday. Of course nothing has happened so I go back to my depressed state knowing that nothing is going to happen today, so put the energy into the day. The first bell rings. Depression and despair for I know what the day ahead is going to consist of. Boring, and some useless task which we are supposed to be learning from. As I glance out the window the scenes of the depressing weather has made me more anxious to leave school.
I stared at him for a second and turned away until his eyes met mine. My face grew hot red like chili peppers.
Mei Ho 1 Decision Nonfiction May 10, 2009 Goodbye Before Hello I arrived in front of Phoenix Pub, five minutes earlier than scheduled. My friend Eddie had called me out for a drink, a small gathering with a few friends. As I waited for him, my snooping eyes wouldn't stop moving. Night creepers overflowed the streets of Hong Kong and electrified the air with their high pitched laughter and spoke words entangled by alcohol. A tamed wind brushed against my face, welcoming me into the winter. Two days after the New Year of 2008 and flickering Christmas lights of all colors, shapes, and sizes and seasonal decorations posted wherever possible: on the streetlights, windows, cars and bars. I was quite a sight that night: a gray trench coat with a thick black belt around my waist to show off my curves and inside I wore a spaghetti strap lacey black dress with that went up three inches above my knees accompanied by killer stilettos that I bought at the Versace sample sale. A cigarette swirl clogged my vision and when I turned to my left, I saw Eddie, a short chubby man resembling a teddy bear in his mid twenties who I'd met in New York half a decade ago, taking a smoke. He was like an older brother to me, always looking out and cleaning up after my mistakes. He
I walk alone
I WALK ALONE On a clear day you can see for miles from the top of Angels Peak. I love to stand alone with the wind in my hair, the smell of the sea as it breaks on the rocks below me and the wild flowers all around me. I live in a small cottage at the bottom of Angels Peak. Just me, no one else. No one even comes to visit since the night the angels spread their wings. 8 years ago Mr. and Mrs. Donald brought a young girl into this world. They called her Genevieve. She was a good girl who always went to school and handed her homework in on time. Genevieve never caused her parents any heartache and was never in trouble with the local police. Everything was fine until her 18th birthday. That was when she met her true love for the first time. " Hi " The man said to Genevieve. " Hello " Genevieve replied shyly. " What's your name? " He asked with a smile. " Genevieve, but you can call me Gen " She said. " Hello Jen, I'm Damien " He replied. Weeks went by, Damien and Genevieve became close, and they fell in love with each other. One night they walked and played to the top of Angels Peak. Genevieve wanted to talk to Damien. They never came back in the flesh again. In the village, Genevieve's parents were sitting quietly watching T.V. awaiting their daughter's return. Knock! Knock! Went the front door. " Hello " Mrs. Donald said, as she opened the door. "