My Life At The Factory

The morning was foggy and I could see the front of my school through my window. It was a nice sight to see. I walked into the kitchen to make myself a bowl of cereal and there she was with her head down on the table. I could tell that she arrived a couple of hours ago because the tears hadn’t dried from her cheeks yet. I got myself ready gave her a kiss on her forehead and headed off to school. I had walked into class eager to see what my teacher Mrs. Padron had in store for today. Every single day there was something new to learn and there’s something about that infinite nature of learning that really appealed to me as a child. I cherished those 7 hours I spent in class the most I could and I dreaded the mere thought of having to go home where I would have to face the

The night air was heavy with silence. Clouds drifted across a calm sky, and a full moon shone in the distance. In a small hut on the outskirts of the valley, an old man lay in bed, awake in the peaceful slumber of the village. His breaths came in rattling gasps, his forehead burned, and his joints felt stiff with pain. He shifted on the blankets, his withered hands clenched in fists as he tried to suppress the wave of bitter memories coming to him. His life had been nothing more than work, loss, tragedy. He remembered all of his hope, his ambition, in his youth, and he smiled bitterly. No one would remember him as the man that he had once hoped he would become. Now, as his breathing became heavier and he felt himself fading on the brink of

I am beyond honored for your invitation to address this Joint Session of Congress in the astonishing country that can promise freedom and liberty to all. I would like to think of this moment as a success in the work of my people as we make our contributions toward this prosperous country.

My grandfather was drafted to be a medic in Vietnam 82nd airborne. One day he sated that he was with one of his best friends going out to check for wounded. He said “ I nudged my best friend and asked if he was read only to turn around to see that, half of his head was gone. Have you ever cut a grapefruit in half? That is exactly what his head looked like.” In this traumatizing moment my grandfather explained that in War there is no time to have grief; that you do not have any time to comprehend what just happened. He proceeded to tell me that War wasn’t about saving your friends because you have to save yourself.

He’d lost his leg to a spinning mule last year, so having no job he could sleep in as late as he wanted. I glanced at my parent’s bed and realized in alarm that they weren’t there. My parents had to get up at 4 in the morning so they could make it to the coal mines. They must’ve already left. Which meant that I was late.

Many soldiers who return from the war suffer for many years. During the war, soldiers go through many different experiences. I came from a small military family; from two grandfathers, to my step-father. My grandfather Vaughn Clark was in World War Two, and I was never

Night, with mum and dad huddled on either side of the kitchen table, scribbling on pads of paper, and dad punching in sums on the calculator with his clumsy, blunt fingers. Night, with long discussions in low voices that stopped if we into the room. Night, dad with a fresh beer at his elbow and an empty on the floor beside him, holding onto a flake of chocolate like a cigar, twirling the thing between his thumb and forefinger, crunching onto it and shards flying everywhere. Night, when Mum and Dad had sank what was left of the insurance money and all their savings into a little old town house and a car franchise, signing all the leases, contracts, papers. Night, when Dad was his own boss, answering to no one. And overnight, when the journey abruptly turned its direction. Down in town, a high speed railway station had emerged. But dad couldn’t go anywhere, he was trapped by the crossroads. Juggled a few part time jobs, handy work around town limping in pain. No more notions of independence. All he could do was try his best to make it work. And he did. We even did some paper runs with

As I went downstairs the tone of the room felt hot, humid, and empty. Hot, because of the burning Atlanta temperatures of ninety-eight degrees or higher. Humid, caused by the broken air conditioning and affecting the density of the atmosphere. Finally empty. The furniture was missing and minimal sounds can bounce off to make echoes. I was departing from a place that I called home. I lived at the address 353 Leisure Court for almost a year; the identity of the street brings back smiles to my face because of its pleasantry. Living here has made me feel secure like a dog to his owner. Moving away from this security brought feelings of uncertainty. My lack of confidence was about the new beginnings my family would experience after the move. But

Ben walked over to the girl and touched her shoulder. “Hi, im Ben. What’s your name?” The girl turned around and looked Ben in the eyes.

Shoot! I thought. I didn’t want to wake up Darry, he looked so peaceful. More peaceful than I have seen him in years. He only worked one job now so he could spend more time with Sodapop and I. The judge said that he would take care of some of our expenses so Darry could be home to help me get better. It really worked. My grades in school improved as well as my attitude. I worked really hard on my English grade, I wanted to make my teacher proud. I wrote a story for extra credit about this past year and it began like this: When I stepped out into the bright sunlight from the darkness of the movie house, I had only two things on my mind: Paul Newman and a ride home…“It was really scary.” I started. “One of those boys was pushing Johnny’s head into the freezing cold

It's ok, a completely different atmosphere than summit (working In a Cubicle farm now). Each setting has its own positives as well as negatives. The work I'm doing this summer is much less client facing than summit (I'm working on the derivatives external reporting team, so we tell the federal reserve/sec what our Derivitives positions are). It's a good name on my resume, just trying to figure out what path I like better as a career.

A morbid melancholy stole over me. Anxiety gnawed at my heart. I was a living corpse. There was a feeling of chill in the air every day as I felt. I faked illness so as not to go to school. Despair hangs heavy in the stifling air. It was a dreary day for me , cold and without sunshine. I dread people and always avoid people. The door was locked from the inside. A cold grey light crept under the curtains. The windows were secured with locks and bars. The room felt cold and sterile.The flowers faded for want of water. A single lamp was suspended from the ceiling. The clock ticked louder and louder in a quiet room. I regarded the room as a refuge from the outside

How beautiful he was, he was strong with a muscular structure I had never laid eyes on before. His blonde hair seemed to glisten in the firelight and his eyes the color miners would have cherished. He hung from the rafters by his ankles and his long body laid stretched out as his head laid on the floor. I stood and admired his beautify and grace for what seemed like hours until my husband handed me the knife and said, “we’ve got a long night ahead of us, it’s time to start.”

The car ride home seemed like it was ten hours long, even though I lived right around the corner. As soon as we got home, I ran straight up to my room. I couldn’t believe what I was just told. I laid flat out on my bed, arms and legs spread out, staring at the ceiling. I had no

I walked into the small demountable relishing in the cool breeze from the air conditioner. The room was a simple one; a large fold up desk dominated one side of the room. Harsh sunlight protruded in from the windows. I approached my desk, analysing it. Building plans and my own scrawled ramblings covered the desk. This is what I spent four years at university for. A shitty tedious job. You're surrounded by halfwits most of the time. They're good blokes, but far too simple for my liking. I took a seat as I heard a knock on the door. Inwardly groaning, I called for him to come in. A muscular stocky man entered, sweat covering his tanned skin. They even smell like shit, I mused. He grinned widely, as if I had just said the funniest thing in the world.