Two hours later... The remnants of the storm hung heavy in the atmosphere, adding to the gloom of the unlit apartment. Tom sat on the couch, his damaged arms laid out in front of him, the bloody razor still gripped tightly between his thumb and forefinger. He stared at the open window, watching in fascination as a cool breeze ruffled the net curtains, the channel of air rhythmically caving and billowing the fabric in an exotic dance of mesmerizing beauty. The hypnotizing sway reminded him of Salome and her veils, and closing his eyes, he visualized Brigid Bazlen’s portrayal of the voluptuous seductress in King of Kings. For the first time in almost a month he felt a stirring in his groin, and unbuttoning his jeans, his slipped a hand inside
Prologue At the beginning of my freshman year I was attempting to develop motivation as well as seeking purpose and determining value. Whether in school or during sports or other activities and events in my life, I was constantly searching for motivation towards a goal or achievement.
The inn keeper's parlor was the best in town, they told her. His wife was wearing a heavy dress, adorned with lace and a massive broach that she raised a plump hand to touch, as if to be certain it was still there. They spoke of the massive rug, bought from Paris, and the finely crafted furniture they all sat upon. The preacher listened quietly, smiling as though their vanity wasn't a sin, while Mrs. Hartford eyed the dress with longing. Della thought that the dress was tasteless. The lace was poorly made, and the line of the bodice wasn't flattering. The fabric was an odd shade between blue and green, and the woman inside it was far less appealing. She didn't bother to mention that her own parlor had been filled with crystal, and priceless art her father had collected around the world. She didn't mention that her toys had cost more than Mrs. Johnson's gowns, or that she was mispronouncing the tea they'd been served. Not to be kind, not to be deceptive, but because did not matter anymore. Nothing mattered anymore. She'd given up that life to marry Ben, given up her family, given up her home and her gowns and her education.
Caden Cusack 10/13/16 !st hour Could We Get To The Ball? Could we get to the ball? If we don’t get the ball they well recover it. It was one of our first games in September. Our record was one, one and one. That means we won once, lost once, and tied once. It was at Unity Field (Home). We were started at 4:30.
I never thought I would be labeled an outsider, a misfit even. As I trudged my way through the halls of my small town high school, I would endure the gazing pairs of eyes, that belonged to my peers, followed by whispering and often times some laughter. I
Sarah slugged through the early morning work and realized-too soon- that she needed to make a trip to the house. She made her way, clasping her arms around her for warmth in the cold November morning. Painted Girl’s borrowed sweater did not help dissipate the cold air, and neither did
When she drew back the curtain, she could make out a homemade, pole-framed-bed in the middle of the room. The light coming through the small window gave the room a murky appearance. Upon the bed, under several layers of quilts, were the skeletal remains of the cabin’s former owner. Before she even got near the bed, she knew it was a
It was record breaking temperatures on this July 4th day. Red, white, and blue filling up the stands. Fans and umbrellas protecting spectators from the heat of the sun. It was about game time and I was getting ready to take the field for the last home game. Butterflies in my stomach, but I had to tell myself “it’s just another game”. Even though in my heart I knew it was not just another game.
Legless Every morning the legless man parked his wheelchair in front of the donut shop. He wore an army camouflage jacket, the name Larson over the right pocket, a Purple Heart and a Viet Nam service medal over the left, on the sleeve an infantry unit patch and sergeant stripes.
Ayat AL Taii Erpelding Avid, Pr3 13 April 2016 Born and Raised in Different Country Baghdad, Iraq is where I was born and raised; I lived there for about 6 years during the most pivotal years of the war. My dad left when I was about 7 months. He went to Lebanon to live for a few years before settling in the United States. My mom took care of me and my siblings. War was going on in Iraq; people walked with a dying heart. Iraq was split into Shiite, Sunni, and Christianity. Sunni and Shiite do not have any issues with one another, but there are people who do not like the Shiites and caused civil strife between the two divisions of Islam. My family is Shiite and we do not believe in a separation between anyone because we are one, they are
I was pulling on my running tights this morning and a memory instantly hit me like a sudden jolt from a sound sleep. As I slid my right leg into my running tights, my brain flashed to 20 years prior to my very first pair. It was the mid-90's when
As the tale begins we immediately can sympathize with the repressive plight of the protagonist. Her romantic imagination is obvious as she describes the "hereditary estate" (Gilman, Wallpaper 170) or the "haunted house" (170) as she would like it to be. She tells us of her husband, John, who "scoffs" (170) at her romantic sentiments and is "practical to the extreme" (170). However, in a time
It was a normal chilly sunday on September 13th, 2015. My dad was in the garage with some of his friends watching the football game. It was the Dallas Cowboys vs. the New York Giants. My dad and his friends were making hot dogs and burgers on the grill but I don’t like those so I asked my dad if I could go to the store and get the ingredients to make taco dip. He handed me $20 and I headed off to the store with one of my dad’s friend’s son. The store was at the end of my street so it wasn’t a far walk.
Personal Goals Having started dancing much later than the average dancer, I came to DeSales with one very broad, very vague goal for myself: to grow. I wanted to learn anything and everything as quick as possible. I did not just want to know what things meant, but how to embody them as well. In the past two years here my ultimate goal has not altered much; however, it has indeed become for specified. I now am aware of my weaknesses and strengths, as opposed to when I first began and considered everything to be a weakness. This semester I wanted to set obtainable, yet challenging goals that I look forward to watching myself work towards. I was able to narrow it down to three main areas that I would really like to focus on; pirouettes, petite allegro, and improving on and obtaining the proper alignment of my ribs and lower abdominals.
As I watched her slowly walk back down the stairs I was coming to the realization that all my life I had watched the women I love slowly die. I watched her die just a little every time Brently slipped his arm around her. The feeling of restraint and oppression had crossed her face so many times but I had never been able to acknowledge it. Then as I looked into her eyes all I could see was the little girl I once knew — the girl who had grown up two doors down from my own in a little yellow house. As she descended the stairs she looked so happy, so free, like she once had a long time ago. But then I saw nothing but fear as her eyes dim and slowly close while she fell to the floor. I turned to watch Brently mallard walk straight through the door. Pain is the only sensation I could feel in my entire body. In one quick motion, I moved to screen Brently from the view of his wife. But I was too late. When the doctors came they told me she had died of heart disease—of joy that