Alphonse's False-Original Writing

“Well good morning to you too, Jean Louise. Did you sleep well?” Her voice was frail, her eyes were red and baggy. I could tell she did not sleep much last night.

I woke up to Georgia screaming. I wish I could comfort her. I know what it's like to scream from a nightmare. Lucas comes in. He looks at me, then goes and holds Georgia.

“There were orchards, heavy leafed in their prime, and vineyards with the long green crawlers carpeting the ground between the rows. There were melon patches and grain fields. White houses stood in the greenery, roses growing over them. And the sun was gold and warm.

“I think I just need to sleep on it. Good night.” I didn’t sleep the rest of the night. I laid in bed tossing and turning,

The thundering sound of hooves echoes in my ears as my horse comes barreling down the hill toward me. My whistle had caused him to go crashing through the tall grass and Queen Ann’s Lace in search of me once again. Coming to a sliding stop in front of me, I gently stroke his muzzle. Letting my hands glide over his fuzzy neck and into his jet black mane, I grab ahold and throw myself onto his strong back. We go running through the pasture, scattering wild rabbits and sending sparrows a flight. I watch them fly overhead, their brown wings leading them to rest in the big oak tree that my horse and I come to a halt underneath.

Through the use of diction, the distinguished author, D. Brown, is able to express how the land he once knew is now an arid and desolate place of death and sadness without the buffalos. Brown writes,“Day after day the sun baked the earth drier and drier, the streams stopped running, great whirlwinds of grasshoppers were flung out of the metallic sky to consume the parched grass.” The author uses both repetition and personification in this passage to emphasize how scarcely dry the land is. The phrases “Day after day” and “drier and drier” epitomize how this awful weather has been droning on for an extensive amount of time. He also gives the grass a human quality of being parched, which provides an image that the land is dry. This use of diction

During a summer day in the plains, a member of the Apache tribe, Adahy, was hunting a wild deer with the intention of killing it to satisfy his urge to hunt. Adahy was known to kill for sport, and leave the corpse of the animal he killed to rot. As the deer bounded off into the woods, Adahy’s overwhelming bloodlust caused him to go after it. After he lost sight of the deer, he realized that he did not realize he didn’t know where in the deep woods he was. Hoping he would find his way, he walked in the direction he thought he came from. Soon night time began to fall, and he began to succumb to the feelings of hunger and cold.

Clearing dead vines from a barbwire fence was not something that took a lot of skill or thought. In the middle of a field, under the glaring sun, we worked in silence. The brush captivated me as I imagined the vines pulling me far away. Far away from Megan and her accusatory glare. As children my cousin and I wouldn’t have cared about political issues, we were too busy

Looking across the pastures and gently rolling hills of the farm, broken up into rectangles by barbed wire fences, I see dots of black where cows graze. Farther away in another pasture two spots of chestnut makeup horses, sleeping in the bright sun. Another horse, whose gleaming copper coat spotted with brown and white shines in the light, is slowly walking around his pasture looking for the perfect place to eat. I take a deep breath of rich air and smell the earthy scent of dirt, manure, and animals. Tall, green grass gently dances in the warm breeze. Birds flit across the sky, landing in the branches of large oak trees and a white cat creeps through the fescue, searching for her afternoon snack.

THE WAGON CREEPED AND CREAKED ALONG the silent and empty road, weather-beaten and riddled with neglect, its wheels clinging desperately on to what remained of the wooden framework. A poor hobbling nag led the cart along the westward path and like the burden in tow it had seen a great deal better days, and it showed: a frazzled mane hung limply from its sagging head, and sharp ribs poked out from its side, threatening to erupt from the confines of the paper-thin skin holding them back. Still too far off to see the face of the driver clearly, a young man, alert and wary, stayed put, resting on one knee behind a group of thick, prickly bushes. Squinting and blinking the sweat away, he remained as still as possible, shielded by the foliage, imperceptible

With the beast occupied, Montague trudged onward to his destination. Now in the valley’s eastern shadow where giant sequoia trees lead to the land of Illyrium, he knew he was only minutes away. It was a good thing he held onto the more important of the two bags, he thought. The farmer was tired and his muscles were

I vaguely remember striding with my white mare, riding through the spring-shrouded woods beyond my Father’s estate. The thought didn’t sit well, and I shoved it away- along with the part of me that marvelled at the way the sun illuminated the leaves, and the clusters of crocuses that grew like vibrant purple against the brown and the green landscape. This oasis never really intrigued me, though that changed last night when I overheard my parent’s conversation about the “mysticism and lethal magic that roomed through the forgotten woods behind our manor.” But these steps of mine strode for a greater purpose, in search for a new place of dwelling, beyond the emancipation of my father’s will and his ill-fated fortune. Though the lands were empty and mundane as the manor itself, I ventured through nonchalantly; perhaps the only thing that soothed my restless mind was the lone sycamore tree that nestled atop a

"Y/N!" Fred cried out. "Y/N! Please wake up!" He shook her shoulders gently, anxiously trying to wake Y/N up from her nightmare. Eventually she awoke, but in a shock, her arms flailed aimlessly as if there were a million flies buzzing around her head. Fred instantly grasped her wrists and attempted to calm her down. Y/N Was drenched in tears and sweat but that did

I had just driven home from the Oscars, and gotten out of 3 massive car wrecks with a very sleepy 10 year old in the back. Sighing, I got out of the car and went around opening Jessica’s door. Quietly I brought my sleeping daughter into the house. She had fallen asleep during the Oscars and I didn 't want to wake her. She doesn’t like when I do that, and I don’t like when she does that to me. It’s not like she is heavy or anything. Bringing her into her room, not caring if she changes or not. I don 't even care if I change myself. I 'm just tired. I placed her down on the bed. Trudging tiredly back to my room, instantly asleep as I hit the mattress.

“W-What happened?” asked Alex as she raised a hand up to her aching head. “Oh…” she whined, “I had the most awful dreams.”