A Place For Call Home Essay

Imagine, if you will, a brisk night wind coming fast across a lake carrying a pungent smell, something you can’t quite identify, but is nonetheless familiar enough to send a shiver up your spine. As it hits the trees, they creak out a somber call in the still night air. Or was that groan something more…human? You notice, for the first time, the absence of tires humming on pavement and you wonder if it’s that late, or maybe just a slow night. The soft tapping of your shoes on the sidewalk is the only accompaniment your slow breathing has as you move towards the warmth of your home, holding thoughts of a warm bed in the palm of your hand to keep the chill away. You don’t notice at first, perhaps because the reality of what you’re hearing is

When people are being watched they tend to behave in a different manner, and they usually act to the best

I took my suit jacket off and hastily shoved it into my backpack. I smiled as the air hit my body and started to dry the sweat that had gathered from wearing the suit jacket for three hours. Looking outside I saw what I expected. The grey lifeless clouds of the English winter hung over us and the almost freezing temperatures,

In the harsh climate of the Ozarks where the story is set in Daniel Woodrell’s Winter’s Bone, heavy outerwear is needed in order to survive and be comfortable. The protagonist Ree opposes the elements with her unusual way of dressing, particularly with dresses and her grandmother’s coat.

A child’s cry rings out. As my eyes light up, a soft skinned, blond haired angel is carefully placed in my cradled arms. As he coos softly, latching onto my finger, I begin to fall in love. His bright blue eyes open, staring at me with nothing but pure love and wonder. I clutch him to my chest, vowing to never let anything hurt him.

When you pass by people they don’t see your personality, they don’t see who you are, the sole thing they

Everyone has been there before. You 're walking in public, whether it be in a school setting, a workplace, or elsewhere, and you feel an overwhelming feeling of being watched and judged. Whether it is your dabblings in romance, performance in sports events, clothing, or otherwise, we feel the need to compare ourselves to and identify with the societal “norms” around us. It is better to thrive as a sheep than to starve as a wolf, as the saying goes. This is what is known as conformity and it has been with us from time immemorial.

The home front during World War I covers the domestic, economic, social and political histories of countries involved in that conflict. It covers the mobilization of armed forces and war supplies, but does not include the military history. For the nonmilitary interactions among the major players see Diplomatic history of World War I.

He has always lurked inside of me, a malevolent entity that crawled beneath my skin. The boy stared back, his lips pulled back to expose his canine teeth, leering at the sight of me. His fathomless black, pebble-like eyes were sunken in his skull. His mouth snarled at me, a crow’s nest of matted charcoal hair plastered to his forehead. Sickly, translucent freckled skin stretched tightly over his canvas of bones. Those malicious, beady eyes drilled into the back of my head. The boy was the exact replica of me, except he wasn’t. There was something undeniably wrong with him, something I couldn’t quite put my finger on. Perhaps it was the way the corner of his left eye twitched whenever he heard a noise, or way Cold beads of sweat prickled over

The word ‘home’ is something that is often misunderstood. Home makes up your identity and not many people know that. Therefore you ask me, ‘what is home?’ Home is not just in your house. Home is a place that surrounds you. It’s you environment and cause for emotions. Your home is where you are with the people that surround you (peers, family, and strangers), as well as cars, houses, stores, and/or toys.

Our family culture, and media, has advertised that we must wear sweaters when the temperature is cold to avoid illness. When the winter season arrives wearing sweaters is accepted within our hometowns. My peers will be astonished to see me wearing pants as a sweater. Our dormitory had a low temperature that evening, “I am cold,” I mentioned and I reached for my pair of jeans and wore them.

What is home? If one looks in a dictionary the answer would come out to be, “The place where one lives permanently, especially as a member of a family or household.” However, for anyone who has had an actual home, they would know that such a term goes much beyond its concrete description. It is an impassioned aspect filled with values and foundation of nurturing. A home is not just an abode built to live in; in fact, that is just a definition of a house. Home is a place where one not only feels comfortable, but a place they look forward to opportunely live in every day. A home is built not by bricks or wood, but with the bond of family. A home is a place that reminds a person of countless memories and values when he walks through a

It was a cold day, so cold that your arms start to sting as if a needle is impaling the surface of your skin. The wind applies a force which feels as if your face is oozing with thick crimson red blood. The gray puffy clouds covered the sky and dropped small snowflakes onto the road’s surface. A man stood there, freezing, clearing the coat of thick white snow from the concrete road. His nose runs with a river of snot that floods out when the cold wind strikes. His sense of smell is heavily clogged by the slimy snot, but he can still smell the scent of the steamy hot chocolate which sits on the top of his snow covered car. His feet start to numb because of the cold flood which soaks through his boots to his white, silky socks. His feet feel as if he stepped into the freezing cold ocean. As if he fell through ice and he was stuck standing there. The vast pile of the ice white snow feels almost like a quicksand around his black rubber boot. Foggy figures of people shovel the big piles of snow off the sidewalks. They scrape and pick at the glossy white ice which sticks to the sidewalk like a little boy clinging to his mother's side. His feet still sting as if he was stepping on pins and needles. His hands are damp with sweat from grasping the curved metal shaft attached to a socket which holds the blade. The blade cuts holes into the thick powdered snow which is removed from the endless pile. The jet black shovel is filled with slushy snow and crystal shards of ice. The end of

In a matter of fact, home is a noun that is defined in the -Collins

When one thinks about their “home”, they get a comfortable feeling, happiness, tranquility, etc. Now, the feeling that I get when I’m at home is stress, an unknown place, sadness in which causes me to want to escape and live in a fantasy world in my mind. My house isn’t a home to be in or live in at all due to the sour relationship my stepfather has towards me, the confinement and misery, and finally the treatment I receive at home. First, my stepfather and I have a sour relationship due to his fault because he treats me like trash and always talk bad things about me behind my back to my mother or siblings. However, when my mother is home he does not say a word or treat me like dirt but recently my mother has noticed that all he does is talk about me and how I’m no good and he tries to persuade my siblings to hate me. But let’s get one thing straight, even if my siblings resent me which they don’t but if they did, they would know the whole truth about their father and who he really is, for he is the devil. I’m not as a simile, I’m saying it because it is the truth. My stepfather might look like an angel and a person who would seem like they could not hurt a fly but, if he has the chance he will do it behind your back. He made me feel like I lived in hell, in a confinement and misery for he didn’t allow me to text, have friends or even hang out with them. Lastly, he said I couldn’t have a boyfriend and the time he figured I was talking to a guy he went all crazy and