Bleak Expression: A Short Story

I was in the middle school, so was this girl. This petite, quiet, studious Asian girl. All I knew about her was that she was in my class as I was in hers, and that she lived down the street from me. “She is such a suck up!” I kept thinking to myself. I wanted to be my favorite teacher’s favorite student. However, this was difficult at the time because I was young, competitive, and selfish. Before I knew it, this girl was doing all of the errands for my favorite teacher. I was not happy about this. Two years fly by, I had never held a conversation with this young girl who had been the “teacher’s pet” back in sixth grade. However, when eighth grade rolled around, I was assigned to sit next to this petite, quiet, studious Asian girl in my history class. After about a week or so into school, I began to find myself conversing with her everyday, uncontrollably laughing with her about everything, and walking home from school with her being that she was my next door neighbor. I had judged this girl from her physical appearance because of what I had thought I knew about Asian people in society from the way society had generally treated them. I found out that this petite, quiet, studious Asian girl who was that snobby, stuck up, teacher’s pet was no where near the person that she truly is. She is not quiet, nor snobby, nor stuck up, but she is my best

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Still, I was mildly shocked that there was only one other senior girl waiting for the teacher to take our ID cards so we could join the class. The teacher was surprised too, but for immensely different reasons. Mr. “S” appeared stunned that senior girls would choose a class labeled “Competitive Team Sports” while there were still openings in the traditionally all-girls class. Instead of taking our cards, he warned the two of us that the class would be mainly boys and that we shouldn’t expect any special treatment. That made sense, but the speech continued, cautioning us that the boys would hit hard and that we shouldn’t cry when things got tough. That a teacher thought his class would make me cry rendered me speechless and I remained in a state of disbelief as Mr. “S” finally took our cards and told us we might be called down to discuss the matter further.

Adversity hit me at an early age. At three years old, my mother became ill, she decided to peregrinate to those deep antique Turkish baths on the outskirt of the mansion to revive herself in sultry steamy natural water, so she can feel good and salubrious again. To my hurt, those places are not built for minor kids. At the request of my father, my mother took me with her. This huge architectural structure gave me the creeps. In addition to that I found myself left in the alcove of this mural square with deep natural rectangular shape space. In the center of this place, merges sultry a steamy source of natural dihydrogen monoxide that holds a myth for years as a miracle remedy for the body and heart. It was plenary of women relishing the relaxing

I had arrived at my destination- a lot sooner than I wanted to. I hurried in the classroom to get the best seat, which was always in the back row by a window. The professor walked in with an energy that I had never encountered before. She carried herself with an air of confidence. She spoke with certainty. She introduced herself and dove right into the first lesson before the first five minutes of class were even over. She informed us that today we would be introducing ourselves to the entire class. I could feel myself becoming nauseous. My hands started shaking and my mind started sorting through a million cliché facts about myself. I could not seem to think of my favorite color at the moment. I am an average, boring, normal eighteen-year-old girl who has a crippling fear of public speaking. That is as far as I got before I heard the professor call my

Romance novels are typically based in a set pattern and Karen van der Zee’s A Secret Sorrow is no exception. Meanwhile, in Gail Godwin’s “A Sorrowful Woman”, the romance aspect is not nearly as focused on. While A Secret Sorrow is a nice, easy romance novel, the short story “A Sorrowful Woman” is a much better example of literature, and portrays a much more unique message. The two stories differ greatly when compared by their theme, by the role of motherhood and children, and by how they are written.

Jerry has company, Gerard who has been around Jerry from elementary school days; they meet at the beginning of the third grade, from them knowing each other Chemistry works in them friendship they like to do the same things and sometimes they seem to think the same at same time, they never fight between them, Gerard likes to start the fire on Jerry and likes to hide when there is a troubled time, this night is with Jerry they both are on the way to see Gaear and Carl to hires both, to kidnap Jerry´s wife; Jerry and Gerard walk in, they have a seat at Carl´s table, and he is ready to preach about time meeting but, Gerard gave him a deep look and Carl just clears throat, and he asks “ did you bring the car? Gerard again look at him in the same way, and one more time Carl change his way, I mean if you were available, Jerry answer yes you bet a brand new Ciera. Carl said, Have a seat I am Carl Showalter and this is my associated Gaear Grimsrud. Jerry introduces Gerard “how are you doing” So, we all set on this thing? Why would not be? Carl responses, Gerard again send a look to Carl and tell “we will keep and on you guys”, Gerard just to stay clear, you have to kidnap Jerry´s wife, no questions ask, Carl it does not make any sense. Jerry tries to say something “It is not me pay….

As I walked in the room on the first day in my first year, I saw two different groups, girls on one side and boys on the other. I moved forward towards the group of girls to introduced myself. As I walked closer, I heard they were all talking in the same language and everybody knew how to communicate in Arabic. As I started to introduce myself, they seemed to be very friendly at first, so I pulled out a chair and sat down with all of them. One girl started asking me about what my major is, and where I am from, how do I like in here on campus, etc.

The year started out as expected; girls would come up to me during lunch and ask if I would like to sit with them. I learned names through others’ conversations, but never used them. I never really had taken social opportunity, even when offered to me in such an upfront manner. In no time I saw the mistake. I should have taken their offers; for this school, the staff, the students - were ruthless. Garbage and harsh whispers met my face every day. Prior to attending

The day I was made was nice and sunny, probably. I wouldn’t know because the time I was in the world there was chaos. I originated in the oven of a nice house. There was a black circular object that I think was supposed to be a pizza. There wasn’t a good view of the house from the oven, so I decided to move to the rest of the kitchen. The feeling of this world was remarkable but overwhelming. I needed more. I must consume it all. I engulfed the whole kitchen, embracing the power I have over this world. This power isn’t enough though. I spread to the rest of the house, where I see a girl. She was asleep, I must not be intimidating enough. I will see her scream before the end of her lousy life. I was about to wake her, but she woke up on her

Are you ready to analyze three stories? Yes? Awesome! No? Too bad, because here we go! The three stories in question are The Leap by Louise Erdrich, The Contents of a Dead Man’s Pockets by Jack Finney, and Ambush by Tim O’Brien. The authors of these stories use aspects of their stories to shape the plot, show the theme, and to change the views and opinions of the characters in the stories.

“Listen. Honey. Eugene doesn’t want to study with you.” She looked down at her shoes. I continued, knowing that she processed my words: “He is a smart boy. He doesn’t need help. You understand me? I am truly sorry if he told you you could come over. He cannot study with you It 's nothing personal. You understand? We won’t be in this place much longer, no need for him to get close to people--it’ll just make it harder for him later.” The girl slowly nodded her head and turned away. “Run back home now.” She stood there, unmoving.

When I matriculated to Oregon State University, I realized how alone I really was, and that my popularity had meant nothing because I had no true connections with people in high school. I did not know how to work for anything because everything seemed to be handed to me. Finally my sophomore year of college, I met Harper, who immediately fit perfectly into my life. I’d never been that close to someone before, we did everything together. As I sat on the bus thinking about her my stomach began to contract violently and I masticated on one of my apple slices to try to calm it. Senior year Harper and I had decided to go to a big party for Halloween in Portland. Half way through the night Harper came up to me crying and insisted for me to drive her home, refusing to tell me why. I agreed because the party wasn’t that great anyway, but we got in a huge fight over why she wasn’t being honest with me or telling me what had happened. I had turned my head to look at her just for a moment, her red hair cascading around her shoulders, her eyes filled with

Why do people want to live in a perfect world? Everyone wants to live in their own fantasy world because that is where all their dreams are able to come true. No one wants a world of grief and sorrow. Life should be lived to its fullest. It should not be wasted. It should be embraced. When we are faced with agony, we must either make a choice between accepting it or hiding from it. In the play “A Streetcar Named Desire” by Tennessee Williams, the author mainly focuses on Blanche Dubois, a woman who moved to her sister’s house due to the loss of Belle Reve, her family home. She is a deceptive and selfish person, who cannot accept the occurrence of agony in her life. She mentally deteriorates due to the lost and rejection of love, and due to

Jenny was talking to me on the phone about how attractive all the girls were at the Bonafonte community collage we were both attending to. Which is where I was driving to.