I Watched It Die By Teresa Sandoval

The air reeked of alcohol, the intoxicated breaths of young people colliding together over drunken slurs to create one distinct scent. She kept her head low as she made her way through the maze made by the seemingly endless crowd. Full of regrets, she was doing all she could to get out of there, the distraction turning out to be nothing more than a few drinks with people who didn't even know when her birthday was. The song finished abruptly, followed by simultaneous cheering. She kept moving, weaving in and out of people with fierce determination until she walked right into him. She murmured a quick apology and went to continue when the familiarity of the figure in front of her hit. She hesitantly looked up, heart dropping into her stomach at the mere sight of him.

It was almost as if the world had become brighter, more alive. She saw the moon glowing through the window behind the armchair, and felt as if she had been jolted awake from a deep sleep. An electric shock- painful, stinging- spread throughout her body, and made the image of Reesa screaming in front of her very vibrant. But Marya could not hear her screams, nor her pleas of mercy from the large, muscular dark figure that held her back from reaching Marya’s hand, from taking comfort in her one and only friend’s reassuring touch. She saw Reesa’s father step out from behind the muscular man, baring a wicked grin, and whispering vengeance into her ear, but she did not hear

Live your life to its fullest, if I had to mention one thing I learned from Mary Oliver 's beautiful poem, "When Death Comes", that would be it. Specifically not letting time pass you by, or letting things like anxiety or anger control your life. The comparisons to death also help with understanding the magnitude of our mortality, and the importance of not taking each and every day for granted. With many fitting and unique metaphors I found it easy to be engaged with the poem. This leads also to a lot of relevant and surprising imagery, employing a more detailed vantage point for the reader. In "When Death Comes", Mary Oliver uses persona, metaphor, and imagery to speak not only of death, but more specifically living life to its fullest before death.

Al began blinking and waiting for his eyes to re-adjust to his dimly lit surroundings. After a few seconds he could make out a large black figure looming above his head.

After dinner, the Sun began to set, and Mary and James decided to go to a less crowded area of the park where the fireworks would be still visible. As the darkness of night began to cover the sky like a blanket, Mary and James had found a perfect place to sit. The bench was brand new, the red wood had a fresh layer of lacquer, and the black metal legs and arm rests had not one scratch. Trees and beautiful flower bushes surrounded the bench. A streetlight towered over the bench ever so

The apparition home had been sloppy, uncomfortable. The ash from the cigarette that had been trapped between her fingers just moments before still burned against the calloused skin of her fingers and down the back of her throat. Her first cigarette- and hopefully not the last. Provided by Moody, it had been the catalyst that propelled her from the party and back to her apartment. She always needed something- a push, a reason- to break free of the formalities; though insufferable, Alice needed nothing more than to be burned into their minds. If wining and dining the sloppily drunk and overly-perfumed elite was what it took, it was what she would do.

The rain was still coming down in sheets . She thought she saw a shadowed figure move from behind a tree, but she brushed it off as the rain and tears clouding her vision. Even though she didn't think much of it she couldn't help the bone chilling shiver that ran down her spine.

Sneaking out the house at midnight for the fourth time this week. I slowly slink out the front and the brisk night air tickles my cheeks. Closing the door, I endure the most painful silence as the ever so slight noise may wake my sister. It finally shuts and I wait for a moment to see if anyone rushes to find who left or entered the house. After a few minutes, I decide it's safe to go. I walk down the driveway as the midnight breeze embraces me. As I reach the sidewalk, I look to the moon. It's tender white light illuminates the sky, but is polluted by the harsh yellow light spewing from the street lamps. Despite how ugly the street lamp light is, it still does the job of providing adequate quite well. I turn left down the street and head toward

The heavy clear doors slammed open one by one; big bright lights pierced my eyes above with little images of ceiling tile surrounding me that I could barely make out. People in navy blue uniforms huddled around me appearing to be in a hurry somewhere based on they’re bright red faces and the drops of sweat that were slowly dripping and collecting down they’re flushed faces, that eventually fell and exploded on my cold skin. All the commotion around me came to an abrupt halt. Now I was starring at the ceiling once again that now portrayed a blurring metal reflection of my broken and beaten down body that was bound to keep destructing and destroying. I could vaguely hear footsteps that seemed to be in the distance, but became louder and clearer with each step closer towards me. A sudden mask like object appeared directly over my face slowly easing its way down to grasp onto my pale face. Darkness now was the only thing left in sight and would stay this way for hours.

He drove to Old Westbury Gardens in silence. Once there, he parked and staked out the area, his vision overwhelmed by a vast sea of green. As night began to fall and people arrived, he made his way to the main building, a large three-story mansion surrounded by elegantly sculpted greenery. Walking up to the side of the mansion, he walked straight in due to an invitation in the dossier. Making his way inside, He loitered over to the bar, scanning the broad ballroom. Despite the circumstances, he blended in well with the crowd of New York’s elite, not as much as an eyebrow was raised as he stood among the crowd. Minutes passed as his growing anxiety increased, the pistol in his shoulder holster grinding against his ribs, when he saw her, gliding across the mahogany floor, the trail of her white gown drifting behind her like a stream of smoke. Everyone else in the room vanished as his eyes lingered on her, his heart beating with a strength he hadn’t felt in years. He watched her leave through the wide doors leading to the balcony, and he followed, watching her ease down the stone steps into the courtyard. She finally stopped inside the gazebo that stood in front of a small lake. Strings of white lights danced down the columns of the structure, and tulips wove around its base. He observed as she lit a cigarette, his legs moving towards her on their own whim as if he were being pulled into her orbit. He was close enough to smell the stench of the tobacco when she finally acknowledged his presence, screaming and turning around as she threw the cigarette in the

A urine smell mingles with the smell of popcorn when I enter Callaway’s Nursing Home in Sulphur, Oklahoma. I wrinkle my nose. It is three in the afternoon on a Friday in February, and the television in the lobby is showing Bonanza, and a few residents are intently watching the troubles of the Cartwright family. I see Amy Wilke (who is a hospice nurse for Valley Hospice) sitting in a well-worn recliner in the lobby talking to an elderly male resident. Amy is dressed in white scrubs with pink smiley faces. Amy has a kind face with twinkling blue eyes that can express compassion, joy, and sorrow. She has on a glittery pink headband, and her attire clashes with the subdued clothing of the residents and the bleak

Marcy was in what appeared to be a catatonic state. She was drained of all her color, leaving behind a sickly white bag of skin. Dilated, her pupils almost filled up her sockets with darkness. Her lower jawbone seemed like it was tied down to an anvil. A ghastly visage and a focused stare over my left shoulder prompted me to turn around. Petrified, I witnessed . . .

In A Heartbeat by Beth David and Esteban Bravo is an animation short film with a young redhead boy whose heart went chasing after a “ crush” as shown of his. But soon his heart is ripped into two when they are shown in the public eye together- soon leading for his crush to put it back together. In A Heartbeat by Beth David and Esteban Bravo send the message to it’s viewers that the heart wants what it wants. When one young man heart is going after the “ popular “ boy in school.

The single light spot pointed directly at her sitting on the chair, the light emphasised her weakness, vulnerability, and frailty.Where is she? It’s strange, I knew what she does and where she goes, but personality. Was she going to give up or “fight” till the end? I couldn’t predict any of her actions. I was standing there trying to figure it out, camouflaged by the darkness.

Flashing lights appeared to be everywhere on Amara’s attractive face, while the obnoxious music was booming in her ear. The scent of cheap cologne and sweat intoxicated the club. Many people who were wearing explicit clothing were taking over the room which has caused the club to be full and have less space, but she tried to not let that bother her because she was committed to facing her fears. She resembled a beautiful porcelain doll and her voice had a sweet tune to it. Right after Amara was done skimming through the crowd anxiously, a tall fairly good, looking middle-aged man walked up to her.