Text “Some people say I was lucky to survive, other will say I deserved it for the choice I made. I’m here to say I was lucky, it’s never ok to say your life isn’t worth living even at your worst you can always look forward tomorrow will come and if you put your mind to it you’ll see that anything is possible.” – Stephen McGregor Professional Paralympian
By:Kennedi From The Fast and The Furriest “Yes I am dad.” Kevin screaming at the top of his lungs,” Mr.Cromwell needs to go!” While Howie and Kevin argued ,Cromwell was over there eating Kevin’s breakfast, waffles. It was too late, Howie and Kevin turned around ,the waffles were gone.Kevin and Howie went straight over to doggy daycare. Cromwell had stayed 1 hour knowing he wanted to leave.
I hate creative writing! I used to have an affection to write all the time, but now it just doesn’t give me pleasure anymore. Also, the books that I get from the class are horrendous too. It’s extremely tough to read a book when it doesn’t even excite anyone at all! reading and writing is exceptional when the writer, that is yourself, comes up with the idea, and your thoughts matter. But now review me, I’m forced to read an irrelevant book about a pathetic guy, and I’m writing about foolish Dylan Montgomery who thinks I’m broken! I’ve lose respect for something that I love to create
Then some of people noticed a new guest, dress as a clothes of the Red Death. Everyone was freaking out because of him. When Prince Prospero saw this guy, he became angry and asked courtiers to seize him and unmask him. But no one have the courage to do it, including Prospero himself. The Red Death walked through the rooms, heading toward the black room. Prospero chased him with taking his dagger. Prospero reached the edge of the dark room, the Red Death suddenly turned to face him, and Prospero fell on the ground and dead. "Then, summoning the wild courage of despair, a throng of the revelers at once threw themselves into the black apartment, and, seizing the mummer, whose tall figure stood erect and motionless within the shadow of the ebony
Everyone has judged someone before they get to know them, sometimes you can even do it on accident. My personal experience in judging someone before getting to know them was when I meet my step-brother Carson for the first time. When I first met Carson I was about 6 years old and he was around 10 years old. I was at his house in Florida that I had never been to before, so I was scared already, so when I went upstairs to grab something from my bag I saw him for the first time, he was coming around the corner really fast and was wasn’t paying attention and ran right into me. The first thoughts that came to mind was that he was big and scary and he just hurt me. But after I got to know him I realized he wasn’t really scary at all, it was just
“Hailey!” Sierra exclaimed. Hailey held her “Yet, King the Grizzly Sin, I am rather disappointed.” King shrugged. “Well that's an unexpected thing to say to me, I didn't ever swear to be your partner in whatever your life long plans were.”
The first time I saw her she was perched on my chair at New Westview High in the English 11 classroom and was twirling a luxurious pair of earbuds around her elegant and slender fingers wrapping them around like whips. Lethal. Pestilent. Yet still there was something about her that
Hurt. It’s all I see in her eyes and it takes everything in me not to feel bad for her. As I waited for her drink I tapped my foot staring into space. Mentally trying to put everything together. I was torn between asking her questions about what her and Jay did, or keeping my mouth shut. I didn’t understand how could someone be so relentless and cruel. Wiping the last of her most likely fake tears she made eye contact with me.
The man she watches controls the reality. Controls the very threads of existence, weaves his way through to create something bigger than him. It's sickening, really. Revolting is a better word for it. For some reason she keeps watching him, though. He has small habits that are hard for the eye to see, like subconsciously rubbing the Eye of Agamoto when he is nervous (Or if. The man was hardly nervous), or running his hands through his thick ebony hair. She did notice, however, that his hair is not all the silky raven color. Bits on the side are grayish white, staining his imperfection. It is the little things that catch her eye.
Briar and his men stayed at the inn adjoining the tavern that night with the intent to continue their trip the following morning.
Survival of the Sickest “Hey! Please, anyone! Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God.” Benji Jeffers sat in silence. He plopped himself down on a rock, slumping into a lazy posture, and stared. Something about his demeanor was eerily calm, looking back on it. After all, we were, in fact,
He was worn out, his hand hurt badly, and now he had to fight for his life with one of those enormous warriors.
An Autopsy Parable A group of medical students awaited their guest lecturer at the local morgue. The man was from a foreign country and was the best cardiologist the world had ever seen. The doctor walked into the room at the morgue and a rush of fresh air swept through the room.
Damien stepped forwards and pushed open the grandiose metal doors before their path. Said doors loudly screeched as they were unfolded to expose a thriving hub on the first floor. In what looked like a pre-war mall - there had been stores, carts, merchants, mercenaries, prostitutes, and many other forms moving among the linking corridors and lobbies. Commotion rung from wall to wall with sales pitches and the buzz of conversation. Wayward lived up to its name within the single building. The lobby and foundation of the town went on endlessly from the entrance. When both of them stepped in far enough, the sound of the doors closing behind them also brought forth the more romantic glow of the interior. No longer was the sun pouring down on their backs. Instead, what looked like Christmas lights had been strung up between the carts and store fronts dotted around the hall.
[Not] Guilty I stand in front of the mirror, glowering at my oily black hair. I hold a comb in one hand and a clump of the stringy mass in another. I’ve been trying to get this knot out for ten minutes. I sigh. Just more proof that my life is a