A Long Time Ago

I desperately wanted to help her I wanted the woman who gave me life to be happy I wanted her to feel safe. One night I was sitting on my bed with a hot cup of nesquick. My mom was arguing with her boyfriend I decided to pick out a book that my uncle had left for me to read. It was One Fish , Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish by Dr. Seuss. It was my first time ever picking up this book and I wasn’t fluent in english at all so I had a lot of trouble getting through the book. This frustrated me a lot because I knew there had to be a meaning behind these combinations of letters. So I decided to take the book to school. I asked Mrs. Padron if she could help me read the book. She looked at me with an astonished look on her face. She hadn’t really received a request like that before from any of her other students ,but in spite of her confusion she still sat me down and we went through the entire book from cover to cover it took the entire lunch period but In the end I could finally get through at least 10 pgs which was more than I could ever read

My parents hired painters to paint the walls grey to match the pink and grey theme I had going on in the room. My dad bought me a grey bookcase to match the theme of my room because he knew how much I loved reading. I did not ask for a new bookcase, but he said it was a “moving in” gift. The bookcase was quite larger than my old one, with 5 horizontal shelves to store all my books. My room was on the smaller side, but it made me very cozy. As I lit a Lake Sunset candle in my room, I started to unpack some of my boxes. First came all my movie collections that I put under the tv stand, then all my makeup, then my books. As I started to put the books away, ‘The Berenstain Bears' Moving Day’ fell off the stand and to the ground. As I picked up the book, page 12 was open. The page read, “I hated the process of moving. But after the first day of school, everything was fine. I am happy we moved because I have meet new people and have had made new memories.” My mind started to clear up. My mom used to read this book to me every night before I went to bed. I would never have known that this would relate so much to my life now. I started school yesterday and I have already met so many cool people. Everyone was so welcoming and this girl named Rachel even let me sit at her lunch table. I think I was overreacting over the whole situation because it hasn’t been so bad. I am excited for the

Half my friends laughing, the other half following quickly behind to see what’s going on. In between hanging up the phone with my mom and making it to the bathroom with no one behind me anymore, I realized, wow I’m a spoiled brat who got handed everything and reality came and bit my butt hard. I didn’t really need that sweater. Or the necklace I had bought earlier or even those to die for shoes I was drooling over. With this new sense of maturity, I went and returned all those things I didn’t need. When I got home I walk right into my mom’s room handed her the $250 I had just got back, from all the things I “needed” so badly, and told her,” You know mom, what you said was kind of mean but thanks.” She refused to accept my mom so when she wasn’t looking I put it in her purse later that

Rupert McCall and Wilfred Owens are two very different poets, from two very different times, with two very different poems. The two poems give very different messages about the poet’s opinion of war and conflict. Ninety Years Ago is a poem written by Rupert McCall in 2005 about the legend of the ANZACs. The poem was written to commemorate the 90th anniversary of the Gallipoli campaign. Dulce Est Decorum Et was written by Owen Wilfred in 1917 about Owens experiences in WW1. Owen wrote this poem as an antiwar message describing the horrors that he went through.

I thought she would laugh, but she didn’t. We were eating dinner together. My sister and dad were out to a movie. It was quiet, peaceful inside the house. My mother said, “You could be good at that.” When I asked her why she felt that way, she smiled. She said, “I know you’re always telling stories in your head.” She surprised me. I asked her if she thought my sister could be a writer and she said, “Not in the same way.” I wanted her to talk more about who she thought I could be, but my dad and sister came home. My dad was mad that we hadn’t made enough dinner for him, that we hadn’t thought to turn on the porch light, that the pesto had been left on the counter, that he always had to clean up after us.

I tried to roll over on the news paper and get a little more sleep. Since I'm the most hated member of this pack I am not allowed a bed nor am I allowed to go to school. My mother marches into my room and screams so loudly. "Luna get those god damn ugly piercings out of your ear. sigh and you wonder why nobody likes you". I spat at words in frustration "nobody likes me cause of my vibrant fur colors mom. You don't either I don't understand why you haven't killed me yet". My mothers face turned to anger then I saw sorrow appear in her face and in her eyes. She spoke with stern tone because she was trying to cover up the pain she felt. "Luna you disgrace this family by how you act towards others, and you don't even try to fit in. You use your stupid fur color as the main reason people hate you. Its not that its you are completely uncaring about anyone but yourself". I quickly snapped back "Nobody has treated me with love and respect since I was six so how can you expect me to be nice. huh mom I don't think you deserve to be called my mother! A mothers job is to love and care for her children but you never cared about me. Don't deny mom if you had it your way I wouldn't be in this pack. I WOULD BE LEFT TO DIE OUT IN THE WOODS!". My mother backed out of the room barley keeping the tears from streaming down her face. She closed the door and as soon as she did you could hear her sit in her chair crying. I started to feel awful for what I said but she should know exactly how her and this stupid pack of hers makes me

Continuing to read this story I found more situations relatable. The argument between the mother and the children made me think of my mother and I fighting. We disagreed a great deal, but we always resolve our conflict. At the end of the day, she is my mother and I am her daughter, and family sticks together. The mother hiked with no pants, and unknowingly loses one of her loafers in the snow. The children assisted her with the search for it, but ended up creating her a shoe from their hats and scarfs. The existing love the children shared for their mother conqured the dismay they previously felt for her. That’s how it was for my mother and me. The love was not always visible but it was still present.

Eventually my dad came to bring the three of us to the hospital. I brought a book to keep me entertained in the car, and the waiting room, if need be. In the book was a papyrus bookmark that my piano teacher had gotten me from her trip to Egypt. I never saw that bookmark again. I have a theory that it fell out of the book on the trip from the car to the hospital. I can almost picture it there in a puddle of melted snow. We were in the waiting room for awhile before my dad let us enter the room to see mom. I was glad I brought my book, or I would have been had I not been so worried about her. In the room, my mom was laying in the bed with an IV in her arm but she seemed fine. Now she takes about four different types of pills to help prevent any more seizures, but every so often she’ll still have one. What upsets me the most about that day is that I didn't cry. I didn't want my brother and sister to start crying and panicking, so I didn’t either. I feel a little guilty for not crying, like I didn't love my mom enough to do it. Of course that’s not true, but I sometimes think the guilt is still there. Unlike my papyrus

After a couple of hours, My mom decided that it was time for us to leave. My dad got in the car, and he looked as if his Christmas present was stolen by the Grinch. After a silent ride home, my mom still had not stopped crying her face was drenched in tears. In the house, I trudged upstairs and took the book out and set it on my bed. I gazed at it for a couple of minutes, but it felt as if it was hours, years, even centuries! I put the book under my bed, and decided to read it when I went to visit her grave. I woke up early, and quickly left the house. When I got to the cemetery, I sat by the grave and paused as if something was going to happen. I opened the book and the first page said to begin the book I would have to say an oath, so

I went back inside through the back door of the house where the kitchen is. My mother was already there sitting near the kitchen table organizing bills and payments. I handed her the mail in disappointment. I walked away afterwards with such saddened movement towards the living room so I did not have to see her reaction when she opened the envelope of my mistakes. After sitting in the couch for awhile I realized I wasn’t hearing my name being strictly called, so I had

You don’t know how much I love my mom. She’s always been there for me at times when I don’t feel good. She helps me go through rough times, I just don’t know how to thank her. She is a one of a kind mother who is very unique inside and very special to me. Okay now i’m going to tell you a something that was going on in 2nd grade. So I was like around seven or eight years old and these two girls were bullying me just because I was the first one in line, anyways they both send me at the end of the line and my mom immediately went to both of Sherry’s and Melissa’s parents to let them know what was going on. My mom went up to them told them to leave me alone because I never did anything wrong and that I don’t deserve to be treated

It was about 1:55 PM and I was a bit nervous to go to Fatimah’s place for lunch. I was standing around the area where she lives, which consisted of townhouse grouped together. Finally around 2:00, I knocked on her door. A couple of seconds later, the door opened, but no one had greeted me immediately. I peeked inside and saw a very cozy living room with a wide-screen TV playing Chicka-Chicka Boom Boom short clips and toys stacked in the corner. Fatimah immediately came around and welcomed me inside. I asked her where I should take off my shoes and she told me to put them off to the side inside the house. I looked over to my right and her two children were sitting next to each other on the right side of the couch and were staring at me with big, round eyes. Fatimah had told me to sit down on the couch and told me the food was almost ready. I took off my jacket and I offered to help, but she said her husband was almost done cooking. When Fatimah went towards her husband I slowly turned towards her children; the little girl was back playing on her iPad and the little boy was still

"It was horrible and there is no way I'm going back tomorrow!" I exclaimed to my mother. I felt that I had done every possible thing wrong and was greatly embarrassed by it. I explained to her all of my mixed emotions and recounted everything that had gone on. As I talked, I realized

Every night, as I sat on the table with my younger brothers assisting them with their homework, I hear a familiar sound at the door. As she walks her heels click, and I can hear her searching her bag for her keys, the next thing I know the keys are in the lock and as it turns me and my younger brothers’ jump. We run to the door and indeed we scream in unison “Mommy’s home”, one by one she gives us a hug and a kiss. My mother asks us how our day was, and if we finished our homework, she then looks to me and said “did you cook and assist your younger ones with their homework”; I replied “yes mom”. As I warm the food, I take my mother’s purse, jacket, and shoes put them away and prepare the table for her to eat dinner. As I glance at the

It was May 17th, 2011, it was a normal school day when my brother and I were told that my mom called to say that she was picking us up early. I was anxious, wondering why we were going home early and breaking our usual routine. When my mom came to get us, the first thing that I noticed was that she didn’t greet us with her usual smile. I was 9 years old, very observant, but not able to sense what was to come. We got into the car, when I asked my mom where we were going hoping