Long Distance Moving Is Not Only Hard On The Body, And The Mind

I had stayed up past my bedtime, as usual, and been awake to hear the sound. Or rather, the lack of sound. There wasn't a large explosion of smoke and flames, there was no loud, booming sound. The world didn't end with the rise of a lethal virus that killed off all of humanity or turned them into zombies.

The wind chime hung from the roof of the abandoned house , it swayed calmly and slowly against the wind , everything seemed peaceful . We - my father and I - sat on the porch of the rundown house that only we knew about . It was dark and I wasn’t the biggest fan of the night , the night is unpredictable but yet so beautiful .

It had finally arrived. Moving day. I was finally leaving my home in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania after five short years and a sort of gloom lingered in the air. Although many teenagers would be excited to reunite with their family, friends, and childhood home, I, however, was frightened of the future. I woke up that morning and just laid there and listened to the sound of the rain pittering against the roof and windows, pattering against the surrounding forest in which I shared many memories. After what felt like centuries of just listening and reflecting, I got up and looked out the window. I looked at my neighbor's house across the field of grass which separated our houses and at the kids who had become like my siblings. I looked at the ice

“THERE WAS NO PEACE for me that night, no escape. My nightmares were more intense than usual. It seemed like I was jerked awake every few minutes, terrorized by things only I could see but couldn't explain. Things like the windshield wipers going so fast they were almost invisible. A weight pinning me down so I couldn’t move no matter how hard I fought. Screams - I thought they were my own. But there were other screams too. And faces, they felt familiar, though I wasn’t totally sure. From nowhere, an unknown face, an old face. Noises so loud they made my heart stop” (Harrington 44).

As I walked, the air of this haunted, dreadful and sorrowful land had sucked the life out of everything and roared as humanity began to disappear. As I carried on walking, I noticed that the small fraction of light was getting smaller and smaller, until it had been engulfed into a think black ash like smoke. Aggressively, the wind walked past the building with its cruddy feeling, blowing away all signs of life. Deeper and deeper into the land was a burning car door. The fire roared and crackled. The roaring and crackling of the burning car door merged with the aggressive air and created the loudest sounds ever heard on land. Growing darker, the skies made me feel nauseous. The fear of not waking up if a human fell asleep towered

The roaring sound of the clock was not helping either. I felt as if mentally there, wherever I was but, physically I was not. I could here voices, sobbing but I could not open my eyes. “she might not wake up for day or hours” was the last thing I heard before darkness took me away.

“The Hard Way on Purpose” by David Giffels is a well written book. However, just like any other piece of literature there were things either left out or could have been used more to increase the impact of his writing. The story focuses on explaining what Akron means to Giffels and others in the community while comparing people that stay and people that leave the city. To express his ideas he uses different styles of writing that influences readers well, he also gave explicit information to support his writing, but the amount of bias and his sense of animosity towards people that leave Akron acts to counter effect the positive aspects of his writing. After reading “The Hard Way on Purpose” readers may conclude

Having never stepped foot outside of Ohio before, I had no idea what was coming. Of course, I'd seen pictures and videos of the rest of the world, but I couldn't feel the atmosphere. I couldn't strike up a conversation with a wide variety of people, and most importantly, I couldn't take advantage of all the opportunities that I knew were out there, waiting for me. I was stranded in the grey, monotonous, Midwest suburbia known as Fremont, Ohio.

It was nightfall before we reached the deceptively quiet town of Beacon Hills. The highway was shrouded thick with trees on each side and I was briefly reminded of home, an unsettling feeling forming in the pit of my stomach. ‘It’s safe here,’ Chris had assured us, ‘things will be easier.’ I wanted desperately to put faith in those words, repeating it to myself as a sort of mantra on the drive down, but the doubt had only grown with every mile we traveled.

“Small town big heart,” they say locked away behind their cold immaculate castle gates that rest on the remains of the previous farmland and plains. The collective heart beats but only at a convenient time suiting parties involved. “A place where everyone matters,” they utter as their motto in indistinguishable monotone voices. The people are too wrapped up in their everyday lives to ever be concerned about their neighbor, they look through life with gilded glasses. It’s as if a fog had descended slowly creeping into their view distorting what they once held most dear.

Growing up in small-town Pflugerville, I never imagined what life would be like outside of a "country" area - until I moved to Killeen, Texas. Killeen is a town full of hot-headed, military, city-slickers that clog up the highway like ants. Often, I think of times when I was younger - looking up at the clear, blue, open skies; the smell of fresh-cut grass always awakened my senses. Now, I look up and I see wires, buildings, cars, and smog. They always say "There is no place like home," and in this case, there are no two places that differ more than my hometown and the town I live in now. The speed of life, the buildings, and most of all, the crime rates are all very new to me. The world is like bowl of fruit, sometimes the taste of each point on a map can differ as greatly as apples and oranges.

As I paid my visits to Elkton, a new town revealed itself. Elkton was dying. The sign on the hardware store had fallen on one side, the movie store had bankrupted and closed, and the tiny library was a pathetic joke. I never went back to the thrift store, I had thrown away my stuffed animals long ago, and the place stank of cheap cigarettes. Worst of all, the little house I had once lived in was dead and vacant. Weeds almost swallowed the "For Sale" sign at the road, and a green film grew over the siding. To me, Elkton reeked of decay and hopelessness. I hated the

It’s 6 in the morning every time we leave for Billings. Even though it’s just a two-hour drive, I hate the part of waking up so early. Now comes the checking of the luggage; dog food, pillows, snacks, in-the-car activities. One trip, however changed everything. I moved back to sheridan when my grandpa got sick, and the two- hour drive seemed like an eternity leaving everything I loved in Billings. That’s when the journey mattered more than the destination, when the journey changes the importance of the destination.

Others may think that people are abusing fast transportation to leave all their families and problems behind. “We lose track of old friends that we will never see again”. By leaving where you grew up, you will never have the chance to bump into an old friend you used to have. You

I looked up at the black sky. I hadn't intended to be out this late. The sun had set, and the empty road ahead had no streetlights. I knew I was in for a dark journey home. I had decided that by traveling through the forest would be the quickest way home. Minutes passed, yet it seemed like hours and days. The farther I traveled into the forest, the darker it seemed to get. I was very had to even take a breath due to the stifling air. The only sound familiar to me was the quickening beat of my own heart, which felt as though it was about to come through my chest. I began to whistled to take my mind off the eerie noises I was hearing. In this kind of darkness I was in, it was hard for me to believe that I could be