Fog In High School Essay

The familiar aroma of coffee fills the air as I enter the not so common area. I feel very bewildered in the labyrinth of hallways searching for my classroom just like I had stepped into corn maze as a child. At last, I locate the secluded room tucked away inside the massive building. Even though the number on the door matches the number on my schedule I am still second guessing if I am in the right place. The door opened up as students poured out. Finally, I took my seat at the back, trying my hardest to sit down unnoticed. My hands were shaking as I wrote the class name at the top of my paper. After what seemed like ages the professor proceeded to

"Nobody complains about all the fog. I know why, now: as bad as it is, you can slip back in it and feel safe. That's what McMurphy can't understand, us wanting to be safe" (123 Kesey).

I frantically searched my desk, underneath my chair, and inside my backpack, and it wasn’t before long that my classmates began snickering. Confused, I demanded to know why they were laughing. At first, they didn’t bother to answer me, and instead continued in their self-sustained amusement. After being harassed for the entire school year, this was the last straw for me; the panic induced by my missing belongings and the increasing frustration of being ignored pushed me into a very desperate state of fight or flight mode. However, in this case, I chose to both fight and

Today is the day, the day I would get the paper I worked so hard on back. It is a chilly fall morning as I walked to my AP Literature classroom. The classroom was full of vibrant colors that match my teacher’s fiery red hair, various pug pictures, and a shelf jam-packed with Mr. Potato heads. Mrs. Grimes, my teacher, is loud, impolite, and to say this nicely, she is an overweight older woman. I hate going to her class every day, nothing I ever do is good enough for her, she hates me all because I am quiet. So, I am very apprehensive about what grade I had received on this paper.

The novel House of Sand and Fog, written by Andrew Dubus III, is a story about how society, events from the past and present situations can affect people’s persona, anima/animus, shadow and self which eventually influences their decisions about life. Dubus explores the conflict between two completely different people with opposite persona. Colonel Masoud Behrani, once a wealthy man in Iran, is now a struggling immigrant willing to bet everything he has to restore his family’s dignity. Kathy Nicolo is a troubled young woman whose house is all she has left, and who refuses to let her hard-won stability slip away from her. These two characters are drawn by their competing desires to the same small house and domed by their tragic inability to

The five-minute warning bell goes off. I rush to my first class of my junior year, eager to see my classmates, who I was going to spend the rest of the 9 months with. I find myself stumbling into a classroom plastered with decorations of Denzel Washington with a Dr. Seuss book in his hand, a t and college flags galore. My AP English 11 class suddenly seemed so appealing to me. As a beautiful, curly haired short lady stood in front of me and said “Welcome to AP English 11,” I knew that I had found a treasure so much greater than just a pretty classroom. Little did I know, that short lady was going to inspire me throughout my challenge filled second-to-last year of high school.

The low ceiling cowered above and the black plastic chairs formed a restless crowd around me. From my seat, I could smell the acute scent of cleaning fluid, whiteboard markers, and the nauseating perfume of the girl sitting next to me. Like so many other students, she exuded concentration. Her brows were drawn as her hand moved rapidly over the testing booklet, only pausing to reposition herself or cast an almost imperceptible sidelong glance. The effortlessness of her actions furthered my anxiety as I began tapping my foot uneasily against the speckled linoleum floor. Through the dusty shades that hung precariously in front the only window in the room, I could see the outline of a solitary building shadowed by the dense gray fog that clung to the courtyard outside. At that moment, I would have given anything to be able to run and scream at the top of my lungs. I had an inexplicable urge to break free from the confinement of that room and what it

“MUM! Wait!” I yell. My throat is sore, partly from the yelling, but mostly from the running. The thick, night fog blocked my vision of the path ahead completely, only allowing the occasional glow of the street lamps come in sight. I don't remember why I’m running or where I’m headed, just that something is about to happen. I trust my instincts to guide me through the maze of eerily empty streets.

I felt the eyes of the other students burning holes through my skin. There was no escaping from reading in front of class, not this time. My voice stuttered, my palms sweated, and my face turned red as I looked at the blurred words on the page. I tried and failed to make sense of the book in front me. I wished, I was invisible.

I read House of Sand and Fog by Andre Dubus III. This story is one of classic tragedy which also contains a nearly unbearable amount of suspense. It tells a story of the conflict between people of different races who have an inability to understand each other. They each want possession of a small house in the California hills but for very different reasons.

All of the walls are plastered with student work of hand-cut construction paper snowflakes and stockings. In the mornings, excited students swarm the hallway as they look for their classroom and their teacher. Echoes of “good mornings” bounce around the hallway from student to teacher. But farther down the hallway, the older students are not as excited for the day while the bare walls match their expressionless faces. About halfway down this hallway is a wide staircase down leading to the fourth grade classrooms. It is rather quiet in this hallway because there is a distinct lack of

Then I went to language and sat down next to Makenzi, Taylor, and Itzel. Makenzi gave me a piece of gum and the rest of class consisted of reading a stupid story. Then Mrs. Morrone told us our homework which was a work book page. 10 minutes after that she dismissed us and I stopped at my locker. I opened it with ease and took out my science textbook and workbook. I sat down next to Taylor and we talked about our science fair project, which is due in January. All of a sudden, Mrs. Dainton screamed out, “Ah, a spider!” The whole class laughed and screamed. Mrs. Dainton took off her black shoe and tried to hit the spider, but she missed. She aimed again and finally hit it. She told us to quiet down and do our homework, we didn’t. Makenzi continued to laugh and make jokes. “Makenzi, come here,” yelled Mrs. Dainton. Makenzi didn’t so she got a referral. When Makenzi left, the class quieted down and continued working. Mrs. Dainton quietly dismissed us and I stayed because that’s where I have advisory. I worked on homework, and when I was done I read my book. The book I’m reading is called “After Eli”. The bell rung, I put up my chair, and I

The day right from the start seemed like a good day so I went about smiling and walked blissfully to my normal seat next to my friends. We prepared for the coming classes that day. The deafening bell sounded and we were on our way to start the actual day. My classmates and I walked joyfully through the hallways, joking and laughing before reaching our first period destination. I made my way to the front of the classroom and sat down. The air was crisp so I took out my jacket and put it on. Our teacher walked in a few minutes late and started to take attendance. The whole classroom focused on him. After he finished taking attendance, he slowly reached down into a drawer and pulled out a stack of papers. I stared in disbelief. The stack of papers he pulled out was actually a pop-test. I took the pop-test trying to recall everything that we had learned over the course of two weeks. I focused on the test for most of the class period and finally turned it in. The morning weather seemed to just be a ruse. This was not a blissful or good day; it took a turn for the worst. I sat there in the chilling room trying to think of something else to keep

Confused, shocked and fear filled my mind as I lye on my side, gasping for air, trying desperately to stagger onto my knees. A sharp pain suddenly ran up my spine into my forehead and quickly I collapsed back onto the cold damp floor inside this mangled metal coffin in which I was trapped in. Bit by bit I moved my hand closer to my forehead, trying to impede this massive throbbing that was affecting my head. I skimmed my forehead and paused my hand on a huge gash. The pain shot into my head again, but I was able to clutch on to the seat and hold my balance. There was blood pouring down the side

The final bell rang, and students erupted in a joyful chorus of cheers as summer break began. I sang a melancholy dirge of self-pity. My bitterness increased as I waited for my mother to pick me up. She came at last and I jumped up, anxious to leave forever. Again, Mrs. Thomas thwarted my plans; she came outside to talk to my mother, undoubtedly about my ignominious fate. As they murmured, I viewed the co-conspirators with hostile eyes. I'm a victim, the final sigh of my fifth grade year whispered wearily.