Home Room At The Rooftop Terrace

My head went back, and my feet popped up. I felt the frigid water seep into my hair, and soak my scalp. I heard my mom’s soft voice trying to keep me calm, and reminding me to keep my bellybutton up to the air as if some puppet master was holding it up by a string. Every time my mom tried to let me float by myself, my feet would begin to sink. It was as if I was a weight on a fishing line pulling it down into the dark abyss. I couldn’t seem to stay relaxed, I was as stiff as a two by four. That fire was still burning my inner forest deep within me. I remember startling myself out of the float, because I did not feel my mom’s hands supporting me anymore. I scrambled for footing on the bottom of the pool floor feeling the rough pool floor slip past my toes a couple times before I got the traction to stand up. I was kind of confused for a moment as I tried to get the water out of my eyes and nose. My family was now all out in the pool area, and I realized the moment I have been dreading for the past few years of my short life was here and I knew it. My family was going to have me jump off the diving board, in hopes that it would dissipate my excruciating fear of water. My heart was beginning to pound through my

“You're so cocky Julius,” Marcus said, rolling his eyes with an annoyed look on his face.

I dove through the cold currents, feeling my hands create an opening through the water. I closed my aching eyes and let the water submerge me, pulling me in. The sun cast shadows on the floor of the pool, shifting every now and then. I could feel the warmth of the sun as I swam further. I sighed, deeply content.

“You sound like you were expecting to have me killed,” Chandler the Fair muttered in a sarcastic tone.

“Ouch!— you’re a mean one, why do I inspired you so much contempt? Have I disrespect you?” He asked as he kept his cold stare.

I batted my eyelashes lined with sleep. For a moment, I was disoriented to where I was. I felt around the soft bed, waving around my arms frantically. The area next to we was cold; Ross was gone. I pushed my senses to get up, tempting myself with visions

were so excited, so we wanted to see the beach before we go to our hotel. We got a little wet,

One summer night in a neighbourhood, Bryan got on his motorcycle and was looking for a ramp. Then he hit a fence and found a slide. He jumped over the fence and landed in a cold, cold pool. Then the pool’s owner had just seen what happened. She called the local police station to get him out and warm. Then his dad came to pick him up.

He lifted his hands. “Guilty as accused, Your Honor. But I gotta say, I’m just a guy trying to do my best.” His blue eyes sharpened to a piercing cold.

I glanced into the water for a moment and I saw myself. This was not just the mirror image of myself, but also a reflection of who I was. This was the Lincoln Memorial Reflecting Pool after all. The cool crisp-looking water contrasted the harsh heat of the day. I felt overwhelmed with panic for some mystifying

This time, he was the one perplexed. He narrowed his eyes, “Aren’t you mad at me? Maybe want to hit me? Because, at this point, I’ll let you take a free shot at it. I probably deserve it.”

Custom-House, in order to not only introduce his prior autobiographical writing, but describe how he came about creating his novel. In the Custom-House, the narrator works as a surveyor in the Salem Custom-House. He is surrounded by an aged group of workers, who pass time by sleeping and repeating various stories of their lives as sailors. The narrator, who believes his life and job are becoming rather frivolous, stumbles across a document that seemed to be untouched by humans for a large period of time. It was an “idle and rainy day” when Hawthorne discovered what he explains to be the Scarlet Letter. He is wandering through the second story of the Custom-House and finds himself in a large, barren room in which the run down walls are unfinished and the ceiling’s uncovered rafters

He hisses at the scratch marks lining down his face. “What did he say about me now? Am I abusing you today?” He smirks, I don’t. The truth behind that smile is a horrifying reality he will never admit to without an apology.

“Oh, my apologies then,” I said. “You do seem much more mannerly and much less goofy.”

We got to the hotel, slapped on our swimsuits, and flipped into the pool. What an unexpected day we