Home Room - Original Writing

Every stair that I took I looked over a different page in the book. I wanted to make sure I knew every word so I could read the story that night. Once I got to my room, my mom was waiting patiently beside the bed for me. I looked down at the book in my hands, it was old, barely hanging on by the thread binding from years of use. Then I breathed in deeply and mumbled “Can I read the story tonight?” I was afraid she couldn’t hear me, but she did because with a smile she nodded her head. Filled with excitement I climbed into my spot on the bed and quickly opened the book. My mom sat next to me and held one side of the big book while her other arm was around my shoulder. Then I begun to read “Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house,”. My voice squeaked through each page as I tried my best to read the story just as my mom always did. The smooth paper glided under my tiny finger as I traced each sentence to keep my place. The rhythm of my voice was not fluid but

“Okay,” Grandma said quietly. “Sit next to me, and I’ll read you a bedtime story.” Amira crawled up and sat down beside Grandma. There was plenty of room in the cozy old chair. Grandma read a story about a girl and her playful pet cat. Sara sat on the rug and listened. “It’s time for

We find an alley and some cardboard boxes to sleep on. My stomach grumbles at the top of its lungs. My mother lying beside me, wide awake. She looks so pale and thin; she reminds me of a ghost. I shut my eyes.

The author starts off the story and the passage off with a periodic sentence it gives the reader an immediate image in their head of the setting but it isn't understable until the last half of the sentence.The reader is held in suspense until the last word.”I was sitting in a taxi, wondering if I had overdressed for the evening, when I looked out the window and saw Mom rooting through a Dumpster.” This sentence engages the reader right from the beginning making you wonder why the mother is rooting through the garbage while her daughter is worried about overdressing. This sentence can also be used as examples of contrast and engaging opening sentence.The author contrasts her clean cut lifestyle with that of the mothers who is shown rooting through

She did not just sing song the whole time, she would also give a brief description about the song to the audience to make it more interesting and yes, she can speak really fast. There were two things I liked the best in the event, first, reading the poem “Little Boy Tamir” because I was explained this poem

Five hours later, at home, I still couldn’t get the innocent smile and light voice that belonged to Rachel Green out of my head. She was the one person who could jeopardize all the work I had put into softball the last half-decade.

Ella went to the theater planning to dance, but at the last second, decided to sing. The audience was not excited to hear Ella, Ella was faced with boos from an angry crowd at first. Ella decided to sing “Judy” by Hoagy Carmichael. Ella quickly swayed the crowd once the song finished, and many demanded an encore. Saxophonist

As the evening fell, the dark blue night rose up across the sky. I laid under the stars in my back yard, as I do every night with my dog Mabel. Mabel was approaching her old ages but she was a great listener. Usually I tell her about my day or fairy tales, tonight I told her about my mom. My mother passed away in a car accident when I was only a baby, she was the most loving person I knew and I miss her everyday, and sometimes it helps to talk about her. As I lay talking curled up next to mabel I could feel my eyes getting heavier and heavier as the warm summer breeze brushed past my face.

I awoke the next morning happy, reminiscing about the night before and the fun had by all. Suddenly my daughter, mother and sister were at the door. I knew something was wrong because

The cheer of the crowd and the laughter of the kids in the air were the only things reminding me that it was just a game. Eight and a half innings, seven pitching changes by both teams, twenty-seven runs scored in all, and we were still losing. The sweat came dripping off my nose and forehead like melting ice. My eyes stung, and I could barely keep them open due to the bright rays of the sun beating down on the dirt and grass, the baseball diamond seemingly larger than it had been eight and a half innings ago. My coach’s whisper rang through my ears. “Only if you think you can,” he said so softly that I had to almost lean in to hear what he said. I was on third base, with the winner of the game was being decided by one out. We had made

If I did not have severe social anxiety I probably would have went up to the stage after I was done being captivated and enchanted by her Tori Kelly-like voice for an hour and ask for a picture or autograph. Even though I left the cafeteria without an autograph, I felt like I was listening to Caryn Dixon the entire 25-minute drive on the way to my house because I was blasting Tori Kelly’s Unbreakable Smile, which is her new album.

They all sang along the to song as she drove, Soda was practically dancing in the back seat. When the song was over she played on of the more current songs, of course it was still rock and roll. She just pulled up Green Day, playing their

“I don’t,” she cut him off “I just want to see the game, jerk.” She plopped down on the couch, resigning from her frivolous search, “Besides,” she mocked, “That’s what grandma calls it, and she’s always-”

She then gathered her nerves and looked up when Andrew started the introduction to her song. She sang the cut of the piece she had prepared better than she had all week. Each note soared to fill the entire room and she could hear the reverberations surround her. As the last phrase ended she saw the same look that was on Andrew’s face on Brian’s. She took a couple of moments after the music had ended to let everything absorb into their emotions before starting to moving one of the chairs to the middle of the performance square. She then took a seat and pantomimed laying down on a desk. She started to recite the lines of the annoying sassy little girl that couldn’t help but complain about her bad grade on a silly art project. After she finished performing she smilingly thanked both Andrew and Brian and asked if there was anything else that Brian needed. He asked her a few questions about her training and experience and then excused

TEN YEARS AGO, the room where I’m standing would have been filled with a deafening roar. The air would have pealed with the sound of a dozen V-8 engines, each one trembling atop its own laboratory pedestal as engineers in white shop coats used joysticks to adjust its throttle and load. ¶ Today, though, this former engine testing facility at General Motors’ Warren Technical Center, outside Detroit, is almost dead silent. From one end to the other—across a space roughly the size of two soccer fields—the room is blanketed with the low-frequency hum of cooling fans, interrupted only by the occasional clack of a keyboard and, on this particular morning, the chatter of Larry Nitz’s voice. ¶ “Let’s take a walk,” he says after we’ve lingered in the