Creative Writing: The Trip To Cuba

Ashley: Let him drive peacefully or we might get into an accident. Since we are stuck in this situation he’ll pay for whatever damage your taxi faces.

After completing the assassination of my dearest friend, Fortunato (IRONY), I exited the Montressor Catacombs. On the way back to my palazzo, I thought of countless excuses, if one were to question where Fortunato went. Hearing the noisy street, and seeing the light I hurried back. Entering my chamber, I saw, what looked to be a raven on my windowsill, with blood red eyes that stared into my soul. Frightened, I rushed to the window, to find nothing there. Reassuring myself, I sat down and reasoned it was because I didn’t have much sleep. Resting for quite sometime, I started to drift off. Somehow my mind thought of Fortunato. Did he trust me that much, or was he just in it for the Amontillado? How idiotic, of him to fall for that. Nevertheless,

One day, cutting through the swamp, David comes across the remains of old Indian souls and discovers a skull with jewelry still buried on the bodies. As David kicks at the skull, he hears a voice and looks up to see a black man seated on a stump just looking. The man, wearing a black sash around his body, has a soot-stained face, which makes it appear as if he works in some fiery place. David soon recognizes the stranger as the devil, the black man. Twenty years later we had a family reunion with all my relatives and they started talking about the fire.

Carlos and Luis headed off to find him. Luis waited in the parking lot and Carlos was let into

Personally, I feel like the line that separates media from art is a very tricky and obscure one. It’s relatively easy to differentiate between media and multimedia, however when the term art is brought in, classification becomes difficult. Everyone has varied ideas of what art is and what should be considered art but I believe that art causes the viewer to conjure up some form of human idea, emotion or thought.

Enrique, just like many others leaves everything they know and their loved ones to embark on an extremely dangerous journey in search of a better life or even other family members. Many things keep these courageous people motivated through their journey. “ Stay he pleads. Live with me . When I am older, I can help you work and make money… I need her. I miss her… I want to be with my mother… I want that..” (Nazario 19). Although Enrique did not grow up with his mother,you can see the true love he has for her and how badly he wants to be with her. He had this mental picture in his mind of what his life will be like once is finally with his mother. Enrique fell so in love with this prediction that he was willing to risk his own life in order

“ Yeah but you don't speak Spanish. It’s like we cant let in a white girl even if she speaks really good Spanish and we cant let you in because even though you are kind of Mexican you don't speak Spanish, you just wouldn't get it.”

Very little was anticipated from the Marlins this year, however Giancarlo is hot, Dee Gordon is back, and the Fish have now moved into a special case spot.

Hola yo soy Antonio. It is 1871, year of the goat, and I am 12 years old. I live in California and since I came here, my entire world has been turned upside down. My family ancestry can be retraced all the way back to Asia, Africa, and Europe. I don’t know or speak the native tongue of the Africana mother, I only know my chino side of the family. Chino being Chinese and Spanish. Everyone calls me a child of three worlds, like a free bird I migrating from all over the world. I however, believe I am a child of three words instead. I am a child of freedom, liberty and hope. I go to El Colegio para Desamparados de la Raza de Color, aka The school for Unprotected one of the Race of color. Unlike the other kids who are orphans, unwanted, or abandoned,

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.

He made his way towards the elevator. By the time he got there, only three minutes remained until the mall shut down. By the time the elevator door opened,

You would think nature had the smells of freshness, the flowery scent that is produced by flowers that can attract anyone to them like bees. From the deep earthy forest to the clear blue skies of the cold, airy mountain that were to be hiked. As we walked in the evergreen forest we see the small streams that carry small sediments having a faint smell of musk to it. The smell of wet bark increased as the temperature was changing from being too hot to humid. The moist was leaving a stingy smell of implausible smells. “El Nevado De Toluca” Its surroundings were different compared to the forest. The smell of foreign came to me as I see other tourist visiting this masterpiece of mountains. The loads that are being a pain in my back are nothing compared to the smell of the hiking boots as each step taken the smell becomes more forceful.

“I’m sorry sir, the car radio is broken and there’s no signal out here, we’ll have to wait for the next bus to come out.” Said the driver.

Jill looks down at the paper, then turns her eyes to the road she is on. She sees the barn from last night with scorch marks.JILLYou could say that. Drop me off on the side of the road just up

"The taxi went up the hill, passed the lighted square, then on into the dark, still climbing, then leveled out onto a dark street behind St. Etienne du Mont, went smoothly down the asphalt, passed the trees and the sanding bus at the Place de la Contrescarpe, then turned onto the cobbles of the Rue Mouffetard. There we lighted bars and late open shops on each side of the street. We were sitting apart and we jolted close together going down the old street. Brett’s hat was off. Her head was back. I saw her face in the lights from the open shops, then it was dark, then I saw her face clearly as we came out on the Avenue de Gobelins. The street was torn up and men were working on the car-tracks by