As my alarm sounded, I sat up and rolled over and I look at the date. I ran out of my room to my own bathroom faster than a bullet escaping the barrel of a fun being held by the Punisher. It was I have been waiting for. “VANS WARPED TOUR”! I got my tickets for my girlfriend and I. I got in the shower, got dressed, did my hair, and did my liner. I waited for an hour for my mom to get up. She finally woke up and we got my sisters ready and took off. It took an hour and a half to get to my girlfriend’s house. Once we got to her apartment, I ran out of the car and upstairs I went. I knocked on the door and when she answered she was super excited just like I was. We got back in the car and headed toward Cincinnati, Ohio which was right next
I crossed the channel in the hull of a steamer ‘Le Brochet’. I went via La Havre because it was cheaper, but it meant the journey took two days all up. That was a miserable time. Stowed in the fetid saloon of the ship, I was ill throughout the trip. All I remember of the crossing is claustrophobic darkness, punctuated by occasional groaning. Almost a hundred and fifty other third class passengers accompanied me in the saloon. It cost less than a cabin, and so the saloon attracted the motley poor like a free Church lunch. In the squalid space there was just enough room to lie down. I passed the journey with a bucket next to my head, into which I periodically retched. I was in good company; almost all the saloon dwellers were likewise occupied. We weren’t allowed on deck – only passengers with a cabin could go above. While they restored themselves in the fresh air, we remained in the stifling dark below. Slowly time ebbed away below deck. Bucket in hand, vomit in bucket. Sweaty darkness all around.
It is true in life that everything happens for a reason. It is also true to say that sometimes it is all about being in the right place, at the right time. There was never a more prominent example of this than a traumatic summers evening, only a few years ago.
I was ready. This was how we were going to start off the season. Everyone was ready, thinking this was it. We wanted to be the best team on the ice. The coaches came into the room saying, “Let’s go, boys. Let’s start the season off on fire . . . big win today!”
The most important game of the year was coming up and I was ready. Everything was going perfect for me, because I was the starting QB as a freshmen at Englert High School. We were playing Joston High School the number 1 team in the nation since 1960, it was going to be a tough game because they had the number 1 ranked defense, but we had the best offense. The day before the game was just a normal day I went to school and had football practice after school. A couple weeks ago one of the other teams that we had played earlier in the year wanted another game so we decided to play them. They had been the hardest team we had played all year, we had only beat them by a last efforts field goal it hardly went in as it bounced in off the crossbar.
It was a cool November day, in the middle of Afghanistan. As a medic, I was sitting outside my make shift aid station with one of my buddies sharing stories about home. We hear a loud explosion right outside of the wire. I looked up and could see the cloud of smoke billowing up from about two hundred meters away. Not knowing how bad the situation was, I grabbed a few of my soldiers, our translator and my aid bag and ran straight to the smoke. When we got there, a group of civilians were huddled around a group of people who were yelling, screaming and crying. The translator found out that a group of three men and three children were walking around a field when one of the children stepped on a mine. One of my soldiers grabbed the mine
When I was younger I had always been described as mature. Although I wasn’t anywhere near being “mature”, it was a word always used to describe me, well-mannered and mature. While my brother was goofy and social, I was shy and serious. We were twins yet total opposites. As a child, because that was the word almost always associated with me, it crae unusual, almost toxic idea about myself. I had to be mature to be what people liked about me. So, it never occurred to me to be able to not take myself seriously and say something like “Oops that was dumb” and laugh it off. For some reason that didn’t make sense to me to say silly things like that.
Helene has taken ill Clémence, and although healers are attending to her needs, I cannot help but still be left with this anxiety ... My own Mother and sister have not cared to have taken the time to write me with this information, and while you truly have my thanks for making me aware of this situation, I am still left to wonder why.
Sunshine. Endless amounts of fun. Water. It was about that time again, summer! My favorite season, no school and my birthday was in it. This summer was especially great, my dad was coming home he was in the military and I hadn't seen him in eight months. It was about a regular summer day with my family, when my parents thought of heading down to the beach. I was thrilled this beach was one of my favorite places to go in the summer. It was not only just a beach but, it also had a large park with big blue swings, a tennis court, and large grass area for people to have picnics. And were the beach and the park split of there were tall ginormous rocks so people could watch the boats and ocean. I was so excited and on top of that my mom told me that
It was a dark August, Monday morning in Saline, Michigan and it started with this.
Jakob and I haven’t talked since then. Mormor comes to visit sometimes, but whenever I’m in the same room as him he just glares at me. Something in him changed that day, I just didn’t know what. I’ve tried to distant myself from him, but Lunenburg is a small town, and we’re neighbours, so it’s rather difficult.
When I found out I was moving I was terrified. It was the year of 2009 and I was only eight years old. It was me, my mom, and my three older brothers. We were moving from a tiny town in Bastrop called Beekman all the way to Sterlington. Who knew this would have been the most terrifying and exciting moment of my life as an eight year old girl.
On Monday morning dark brown haired Molly was getting ready to go out.While preparing she thought about where she wanted to go. Molly decided she would go to the Mall,she texted one of her friends to go shopping with her.Her friend agreed,they decided to meet at the Mall at 12:00.While she was getting her wallet to go clothes shopping, she saw five dollars was missing from her wallet.Molly wondered who could of taken five dollars from her wallet if she was in her bedroom the whole time.Molly decided to check her wallet again in case she misplaced the five dollars.She checked her driver’s license if she put the money there.She didn’t find it there,so she decided to check her money pocket in case she misplaced the five dollars in there.
Police sirens blare in the distance. They are close; too close for comfort, but Lexi has no choice; she has to walk home. Without a car, what was she to do? Call a cab? Ask a friend? Any option besides walking home was burdensome and she couldn’t be bothered with them, so she walked. She had just finished her shift at the Tap House, where she worked as a waitress. She was exhausted. All she wanted to do now was crawl into bed and go to sleep.
I rubbed my well rested eyes, crawled out from under my warm, cozy covers and stretched my replenished body. It was a sunny, Friday morning, and the air was thin. I walked into the living room: Our living room is your average sitting area, two couches and two chairs. I found my brother sitting on one of the two couches, looking pale and haggard. As I walked toward my brother, he seemed to be slightly apprehensive. I paused for an abrupt second and I suddenly felt as if I had entered a scene of one of Nicholas Sparks’ many tragic, heartfelt movies. I didn’t paused for long because tears started rolling down my cheeks. And now all I’m thinking is, he can’t be gone?
I see myself: a young girl, maybe 3 years old, with her brother, an older, darker-haired boy with his arm wrapped around her. Behind us, a park. Our hair is a tangled mess, and from our windbreakers I can guess it is a windy fall day. Even though I don’t remember this photo being taken, I could tell you exactly what we did that day. On a late-fall Saturday in Virginia, my dad hauled his tackle box, my brother’s Spider-Man and my Tweety bird fishing rods as well as his own to 301 Park down the road from the first home I’d live in as a child. A typical day at that park would go like this for toddler-aged Peyton: fuel up with a Capri-Sun and Little Bites muffins, cast the rod. Reel in a leaf or two, pout in jealousy of the tiny fish my brother could catch. Take a break from fishing to feed the geese. Get bit by the geese. Take a break from feeding the geese by swinging on the swings. Down another Capri-Sun.