Seven Mile: A Short Story

About half way between Negaunee and Marquette the motor-road gradually turns into potholes and eventually dirt. A dirt road branching off of it runs along lazily for three-quarters of a mile so as to shrink away from all of society. This is Negaunee Township--a fantastic place where trees grow like wheat into ridges and hills and grotesque gardens, where log cabins and beautiful houses rise out of the ground and from the chimneys, wood smoke drifts slowly into the air. With flawless ease, kids are seen running around, invigorated by the fresh air. Occasionally a line of dirt bikes, four wheelers, and side-by-sides race along the muddy dirt trails, giving out the smell of gasoline as they fly by, and immediately they disappear into the greenery and all that is left of them is the sound of their motors fading away in the distance.

To forgive yourself, for failing to save someone's life, takes a lot of emotional strength and courage. It’s definitely not easy, to forgive yourself, knowing you could have done something to save one’s soul. In this case, we’re talking about in “The Seventh Man”, when he experienced his friend K. die right in front of him, it’s terrifying and downright scary. It’s not everyday when a wave swallows your best friend up, the 7th Man must have been panicking. The question this whole discussion revolves around is that, Should the narrator of “The Seventh Man” forgive himself for his failure to save K. ? I will now give you my opinion on this discussion.

The beauty of not belonging and seclusion from Cane Creek Park create a feeling of wonder and amazement, that makes a person long to go back time after time. The willow trees stand gracefully, and elegantly as they dance around the park and convey positive vibes. There is a dock that contains many mysteries and many unanswered questions. The swing that stands distant from the rest is worn and waits for the next child to find it and to find comfort in it. There is also the rippling water and the curiosities that behold the tree that has been there for ages. It’s beauty is conveyed by the piercing warm sun. This park creates a safe place for those whose mind may be depressed or maybe just lonely, and it comforts those with the allurement of

Anyway, when we turned onto Broadway Street, we knew that we would be arriving in a matter of minutes and our anticipation rose with every pothole and row of corn stalks we passed. After stopping for the occasional family of deer on the “L” shaped road, we would eventually arrive at the third camper on the left. It might just be a campsite with a silver twinky for a camper to most people, but for me, this place is the heaven that made me, me. With all its amenities, I couldn't think of a way to make this place any better. The campsite consisted of a camper against the woods on the left, a yard with a steep drop off to the river on the right, and the essential outhouse and fireplace. The entrance to the knee deep river was at the next campsite with two Weeping Willow bushes signaling where to enter. When anyone entered, there was initial shock of chill due to the water but it was easy to adapt to. There was a log perpendicular to the shore that kept the water depth about ankle

In the Midwestern region of the United States, there is a town called Plymouth in the state of Wisconsin. It is a small welcoming town with one road running down the middle, invokes the feeling of home. At night, the street lights glow along the sidewalks; the houses along the road are inviting with landscaped yards, large wicker wreaths on doors and the warmth of families gathering around the table for dinner. In the corner of Plymouth sits a park, Meyers Park is nestled between the rolling farm hills and a slow flowing river to the south. The park is where I spent my childhood, a place where I grew into the person I am today. Meyers Park will always hold important memories I have made.

There are many commandments in America. Some are written and some are just proper etiquette. Our society doesn't have a set of commandments but we do have things that are needed to be productive citizens. As Americans it is our constitutional right whether or not we obey those commandments, but it's important that we take them into consideration.

In a town, with a population of 50, lies a small dwelling coated with multiple turtle statues, an acre of land, a variety of butterfly gardens belonging to my grandparents, however that house carries many memories and cherished moments from my childhood. The forty-five-minute drive filled with sweet triumph to sour defeat from the license plate game with my younger sister, allowed me to pass the time until we arrived to outspread arms from our loving and caring grandparents. Inside, a wonderful aroma of lavender and food boiling on the stove that served us dinner, rams into you like a train as soon as you open the door. Looking now, memories of all the accidents my sisters and I got into, from paint streaks of a vast paint

Athletes are some of the most admired human beings on the planet. This is no different for college athletes, even though they are not yet at a professional level, they are looked at as very respectable, model members of each university that they are apart of. Collegiate level athletes are responsible for many millions of dollars of revenue for many large universities, this very fact brings up the question are college athletes being treated fairly? Should the athletes that spend much of their time in college training day in and out be paid for their efforts?

The first time I went on a night walk it was the middle of December, it was freezing outside and all I wore was a thin thrift-store sweater, jeans, and cheap sneakers. We started from my house and walked without any clear direction through the streets of Denton. As if some form of ironic asceticism, the cold and the tired beat of sore-soled feet drove me from my mind into an awareness of the world around me. For the first time the physical world and all its trappings revealed themselves to me outside of my prejudice of self-conceived disillusionment. The night went on. Hank and I talked for hours, beginning with simple topics, then delving into topics both more immediate and personal. With my condensating breath swinging, singing on those lofty could-haves and what-ifs, we circled streets, not paying attention to signs or direction. The glean of bottles upon newfound curbs gave us a pastime in that passing time. We took it upon ourselves to break them. Each unwanted and used up bottle we found was a chance at recycling some new cathartic understanding, and indignation at some turning system unseen yet feared glittered on the remains of those emptied vessels. Crossing drainage ditches, train tracks, fields, streets, shops, town squares of that drowsy town with our eyes enameled by the blinking street lights caught in permanent caution, we found what we were looking for: something tangible and identifiable, I found

We thought it was a good idea to continue our trip. Marlon was still in his sleeping bag, and had to force him to wake up. We had packed our materials and we’re ready to get out of this wilderness. After a hour of walking, we had come across a farm. The farm looked very different compared to the time we had came from. The tractors were all in dull colors and none of them has a cover. The plowing machinery was also not as advance. In our time, the plowing machine was capable of doing more, and it took less time to plow the whole field. I could already imagine the inconvenience that these farmers had to face. Right next to the field, we saw a small house with a man sitting on the porch reading a newspaper. We all went over to asked for

The morning of November 8 was bright and warm; uncharacteristic for a day in late fall. In the small town, blankets of fiery mulch covered the once dusty, well-trodden road that led to the plaza. A smattering of drab and dismal houses populated the area, and the now leafless claws of trees reached up from between them to the sky above: a thousand spindly fingers of nature’s servants extended to the heavens. A bell shattered the silence, and gradually the people of the town arose. A robin chirped in the bare treetops. An engine revved. The town came alive. Laughter bubbled out of homes and onto the streets as children emerged with sleep in their eyes and mussed hair. The boys were dressed in checked shirts and bow-ties; the girls in summer dresses.

Far down a dusty highway sat a quaint little neighborhood in the rural sides of Indiana. This suburban edition went by the title of Stable Acres. The roads were old and scared with lines of tar and gravel to fill the streets riddled with potholes. The thin asphalt path snaked around trees and other houses. In my grey suede car seat, I could feel our maroon car, with interior the color of sand, come to a smooth complete stop. Outside there was a house painted a deep rich red and a concrete driveway that was also very tan. Past the windows you could see dainty ivory lace curtains that kept out the harsh sunlight. Suddenly, my car door would be opened, and my mother would place my one hand into my second home, my grandmother.

Track is an extremely interesting sport to runners. The amount of thrill during a race beats everything from a rollercoaster to skydiving. Everything seems irrelevant in a race. The only thing on a runner's mind during a race is finishing as best as possible. The most important thing to do going into a race is prepare yourself. You need to warm up, drink a lot of water, and build up confidence. Warming up can be done however you want, but building confidence for a race can be difficult, however, it is truly the most important thing. Going into a race assuming you are going to lose completely ruins your chance at winning. The meet I realized this in was the New York CIty meet at the armory.

The outside of town was empty, just fields and old railroad tracks. I come out here every day to take pictures and write. I love capturing a moment that will never come again; sure the sun always sets and rises in the same place but not in the same way. I always wonder what moments I miss, that I couldn’t catch on camera. Sometimes I think it’s a good thing, because not everything needs to be recorded. Mystery of nature and wildlife can be refreshing when you are the person experiencing it. Walking up and down the tracks and sometimes laying down on them to get the perfect shot. My favorite part of the outside of town is the railroad tracks and the fact that no one else comes up here. Other than Violet, but unfortunately she does not count.

Evan Ramsey, snuck a shotgun into his high school and shot a student and the principal and wounded two others. He claims that a video game, Doom, distorted his version of reality: "I did not understand that if I pull out a gun and shoot you ... you're not getting back up. You shoot a guy in Doom, and he gets back up. You have got to shoot the things in Doom eight or nine times before it dies."(Fletcher Lyndee Christmas News) Even though numerous students demonstrate that playing violent video games leads to increased aggression, do video games really cause violent behavior because no definitive links exists between playing video games and common violence and if video games do cause bad behavior then why are