Creative Writing: The Streets Of South Bellevue

Sunshine was pouring out from in between the buildings, casting shadows all around Ponyboy and the gang as they walked to Pony’s school. They were taking their time walking down the streets and for the first time they all were really seeing what was all around them. Memories were surfacing in their minds showing them what it all meant to them. With every step they took on the sidewalk they remembered a different memory as if they were walking down memory lane. Ponyboy didn’t think it was possible for him to be walking down this street for the last time as a high school student, but he had gone through the years with great grades that earned him many scholarships.

I comfortably drive my car into the desolate street, Perusing the deserted buildings, Smashes windows and rusted For Sale signs. The car locked up like Fort Knox. I observe the street for trouble. Two young boys look at me from afar as if I'm an alien. Do I stand out that much same greasy hair, expensive clothes, a smart car I suppose I am out of my comfort zone? “Mister, you don’t belong here” his hand gripped his switch. “Pony.... Ponyboy Curtis” I stammer “I live here or at least I did, I'm here to see two-bit’ The Boys turn around “geez his old now” the boy's chirp. The boys stroll away in awe that they saw the great Ponyboy.

"Wake up, partners," the trail boss, James called. I sleepily looked up , shivered, and saw I was the only one not up. "Here," James said, giving me the horses' bridles and saddles. "Take these and get the horses ready. We have a long day today." I groaned in reply and set up the horses for the day's long drag. I was the horse wrangler and this was my everyday job but I still couldn't get use to the idea of waking up before the sun and working. We drove the cattle into open plains against the winter's cold wrath.

The driver, Cecilia Blair, of vehicle 1 was traveling north through the intersection of N. State St. and Flint St. when she had a collision with vehicle 2. The driver, Jacqueline Muir, of vehicle 2 was heading west on Flint St. when she was struck by vehicle 1.

I have spent copious amounts of time in communities stricken with low socioeconomic statuses, less fortunate than the usual neighborhoods I see in Pikesville. The experiences has engrained a strong moral compass into me, leading me to have a solid goal; of beautifying and bettering areas of destitute.

But I only give ya ten minutes. Anymore and I calls the cops. Take the first turnstile, on your right” He pointed to the turnstiles that lead up into the platforms.

“Honey I’m going to be in Lake Tahoe’s Emergency Room in three days for Suzzane.”

From a distance, all you could here was the subtle noise of people screaming. The wind was blowing slightly and there was a light sprinkle in the air, but the weather wasn’t stopping these people. As the hollering slowly quiets down, a group of five or six friends walk out of the arena laughing and talking amongst each other, having the time of their lives at their favorite singers concert.

You could feel the riot before you could see it. There was something else in the crisp early morning New York air, a certain electricity. A certain static that could only have been brought about by the winds of change. Even at three am the city is usually alive, but in these early Saturday morning hours Christopher Street was more alive than usual. However, it wasn't the normal flamboyant energy it had come to been known for. It was an angry energy, one that's only capable of being created by an oppressed group fed up with the constant mistreatment they've too long endured.

There is was in salt lake city UT on the sidewalk and a I was going back home from my friends house and I went an got some food and a botel of water. From 7 elevon and i walk out of a store and i walking down the sidewalk again and sodenly.

Welcome to Sandersville, Georgia. A quaint, little town nestled in Washington County with a population of under 6,000. Seated happily in the Bible Belt, there are more churches than gas stations in the Southern city. We pass the only gas station for miles on the corner of the main street as my family heads to my Aunt’s house. The drive from Atlanta to Sandersville was slower than molasses running up hill—at least according to my mother. Sara Armour is the epitome of the southern belle. A well-spoken lady, she was born in Atlanta, but raised in Milledgeville, GA following her parents’ divorce. With bright red lipstick and a blonde bob, she looks like the carbon copy of her older sisters in that musty kitchen

We arrived at D.C. The imprisoned citizens cheered to find themselves freed from the grasp of chains. I smiled a little. I got off the horse and so did Jonathan and the little kid. I tried to pet it again. Its head pushed against my chest softly and snorted, “ what should I name you stallion?” I thought for awhile and found a name for the horse, Night’s-Edge, Night for short. I pet Night’s ear and sighed then put her on a stall to wait for my return, “ i’ll be back, Night. I promise” Night snorts then looks away and eats the grass. The little child that was on Night with me and Jonathan tugged at my pants a little to get my attention. I looked at the child and he looks at my eyes with fear, “ what’s the matter?” the child looks down and whimpers

There is so much variety in property size: from one to four bedrooms; some houses have vast backyards and lawns. There is one more interesting fact about this neighborhood: it actually consists of several smaller areas Historic Edgefield, Lockeland Springs, Rosebank, Eastwood Neighbors and several others with their absolutely unique features. The city itself has been mostly build from early 1900’s to the 1940’s, however, there’s plenty of new construction going on right now together with the revitalization of older districts.

A blue house, red shutters, and a white picket fence with a border collie. Three kids are running around in the front lawn up on a hilltop. That is what the American dream is right? The American dream is truly in the eye of the beholder. One might think that the American dream is an apartment in downtown Los Angeles, but others might want the smell of fresh cut grass in a small suburb. It’s whatever the person who is working for it wants it to be. As we can see in the play, all of the main characters might be striving for an American dream, but none of them are striving for their same American dream.

I was there in Chicago protecting my children ... and then I heard what I had to here I heard gunshots…. I had a bad feeling My heart was pounding I couldn't say a word I thought a lot about my husband.. A man came to my door I ask what those gunshots were he said “sorry but I gotta tell you that your husband is no longer living he just got shot husband got shot” I was shocked I thought for a second I couldn't believe his word my heart shattered.