Locking My Room 's Door

As you walk down the streets of Arcadia, Nebraska, you look from side to side and see nothing more than a quiet little town. What you probably aren’t aware of is the history behind this “little town”. Arcadia is built off of determination, character, and distinctiveness. As you make your way down Main Street, you start to grasp a glimpse of the past. Arcadia, Nebraska is a village with quite a story to tell. Not many people know how Arcadia was founded or even how it came to be. Arcadia has dealt with struggles and overcome tragedies, whereas most towns simply would have died away. In addition to the charm of Arcadia’s perseverance, there are also many fun

Foote provides one example of tone inside the Vaughn’s home to show how it is not

The kitchen’s purpose, for instance, is used as a symbol for warmth and security where the family gathers together, eats and talks about common issues. Furthermore this comfort is broken when the little girl “heard her mother closing cupboards and drawers, heard her father’s boots on the linoleum as he moved toward the back porch.” (57) This determines the disruption of shelter and the action of closing the cupboards and drawers suggests the need of protection.

My newly attained scar is a part of my story and a part of who I

Could the dysfunction of the Walls family have fostered the extraordinary resilience and strength of the three older siblings through a collaborative set of rites of passage? One could argue that the unusual and destructive behavior of the parents forced the children into a unique collection of rites of passage that resulted in surprisingly resilient and successful adults. In moving back to Welch, Virginia, the children lost what minimal sense of security they may have enjoyed while living in their grandmother’s home in Arizona. The culture and climate (both socially and environmentally) along with an increased awareness of their poverty resulted in a significant loss of identity. As they learned new social and survival skills in this

One evidence based practice technique that I have seen utilize in my healthcare setting is the use of locked doors on the psychiatric unit. All the doors are kept locked and you have to access them with a key to unlocked them. All visitors have to go through a lobby and check in and then have access to the unit by a healthcare staff member. Having a locked unit ensures the patient are kept safe. According to the article, Psychiatric care behind locked doors, locked doors are used to regulate patients and any other people to have access on and off the unit. This helps protects the community from the patients and protect the patients from the community. This is a major safety issue. If anyone access to the unit they could bring the patient things

“After abandoning everything in our home, everything my parents had worked for, I was met by assault rifles, searchlights and quarters too small for the amount of people it accommodated” my grandfather assured. The property, belongings, jobs and businesses were all left behind in the rash fear

Although, the reader has experience a home invasion four years ago but thankfully no one was present during the time. Those robbers did take away valuable items but life is more important than those items that can be easily replaced. It’s sad to see many stories of home invasion since that’s when people want to rest and be worried free. But, today robbers continue to hunt down house to steal valuable items and hurt the homeowners if needed. All we can do is take precaution of all the stories to keep not only our neighborhood safe but the

“The Door” written by Alex Finn takes readers through a story about a teenager struggling to go outside after being bullied. Cameron has agoraphobia and can’t face the fact of going outside, and is too afraid to admit it. His parent have to take a trip and are gone for many days. While they are gone, he is brought face to face with his fear. He teaches us through his journey that fear of judgement can make you afraid to advocate for yourself.

Having knocked at door of the youth’s room, the girl was waiting for a response for quite a long time and eventually it sounded, when Timothy opened the door slowly, standing with a towel wrapped around his waist, and was mopping his wet head with another towel. His hair was still not dry after a shower, and he looked awesome. The young man’s belly was flat and muscled and Veronica noticed a scar which apparently remained after the rally just below his

The moment I finished the first paragraph of, Rick Bragg’s, “Upside Down and Sideways” narrative I was taken back to my own ‘slingshot’. Gratiot Avenue, an old state trunkway, begins in Detroit and runs in a southwesterly direction through what used to be the grand estates and historical districts of the motor city, outward toward the sprawling suburbs. Gratiot has history, in fact, it was used as a supply road for old Fort Gratiot in Port Huron, which was tucked into the space between the thumb and the hand in what Michiganders affectionately call the mitten. Even though this road wasn’t unlike any number of others across the united states, it held a special magic.

I saw four letters on the paper: N, S, W, and E. For a better view, I situated myself under a lamppost, as the darkness of night failed to illuminate my paper. Looking up and down the strip of asphalt, I was desperate to find any road signs. Once I found a sign, concealed by a tree, I noticed it said, "NJ-40 towards Elmer".

As I drove downtown to visit Carol and Lee, I looked for a back way back in which would mean that I wouldn’t be seen. I wandered around for a while, eventually finding their house situated a few hundred yards from a McDonald on Bragg Boulevard and saw an alleyway behind the restaurant. I went to McDonald, where I waited a while before exiting into the back alley to see if I was followed. When I was convinced that it was all clear, I leaped over the fence into Carol’s backyard and up to the door.

“It’s not fair,” I huffed, “I don’t want to leave! This is my home!” My mother’s brown eyes stared back at me, filled with a knowledge and understanding I had yet to possess and would lack for years to come. She left the barren living room, leaving behind a trace of the fruity perfume she always wore. It was futile to argue; the boxes were packed and ready to be loaded onto the trucks in a few hours. Having nowhere else to sit, I descended to the floor. The light oak wooden floorboards that used to be clothed in rugs were now naked. In the next month, new pairs of feet would walk on these boards.

The street was eerily quiet as I crossed. So was Mike. Staring at me unwaveringly, he said nothing as I approached. The crow's feet framing his eyes, the ridges in his forehead, and the crinkles in his cheeks still stand out in my mind. How many nights had he lain on that bench, covering his face as the wind whipped against it? Now he hugged his body tightly. He was wearing an old pair of tan khakis, a shirt that I couldn't see clearly, and a light multi-colored jacket, its sleeves ending above his pale wrists, that was just slightly too small and clung to his body. As I gave him the money in my wallet, he took it--slowly--and stared at it for a second in disbelief. Although the street in front of the library is usually an amalgam of car horns, headlights, whining engines throughout the night, nothing--not