Summary Of ' An Orphan 's Struggles

Gary Paulsen’s,”Stop the Sun,” is a short story surrounding Terry Erickson - a 13-year-old boy - trying to understand his father’s syndrome (post-traumatic stress disorder). At the start of the story, Terry was puzzled to why his father’s eyes ‘would go away’ and what caused him to change after coming back from Vietnam. Seeing someone he loved changed for the worst hurt him. Terry questioned his mother, but she wouldn’t give him a straight answer, seemingly that she did not know the answer to the question either. So he took matters into his own hands. Everything happened at once - his father’s explanations and the truth about his condition. He had to grasp all the information that was coming all at once at him. Terry afterward became insightful of his father’s experiences and what happened when he couldn’t ‘stop the sun.’ Although Terry was puzzled and conflicted with the fact his father’s experiences and syndrome at the start of the story, through the understanding discussion they had together, Terry became insightful while learning not to be ashamed of his father.

It was two days before Christmas, when Josephine opened the door to her 12 year old son’s room. Chay was the oldest of her four children, and the one she related to most. As Josephine sat down on the edge of the bed, Chay opened his eyes slowly. The dim light that seeped through the partially opened door revealed tears in his mother’s eyes.

And then, the day I had feared of most, finally arrived. We lost our father, the only figure I truly felt safe with. After months of mourning and painful transformations, our mother fell sick. In those terrible days, days during which I was locked in the basement most of the time, for my safety and even more: for the safety of my family, I was incapable of helping. To this, I regret even today.

“I don’t feel so well” Jan’s father had suddenly said one morning at breakfast. Her father, a World War II veteran, stood up and went to go lie down. The rest of the family continued with their day. Michael went to see how his father was. When he tried to wake him his father didn’t respond or make a sound. The 11 year old boy was the one who first knew that his father was gone. The memory of her father’s loss is vivid in Jan’s mind. It was a substantial shock after he had survived the horrors of World War II and then just passed away quietly at home one morning. Jan now understands how

With just a bit of hope two siblings go on an intrepid journey across Kenya to find their disorientated family. In the novel Walking Home, Eric Walters writes about Muchoki and Jata who are two orphans that have been left alone to find their remaining family. These two siblings will face many friends and dangers on their journey. Even though they are brother and sister they are the best of friends. With the both of their compassionate attitudes they will mingle with affable people who wish to help them out.

“Welcome home Father! We have missed you so much,” I cried. “Thank you, Mary I’ve missed you as well,” he said with a quick smile quickly turning back into a frown. “What is the matter; did I do something wrong,” I say getting frightened. “Oh no sweetheart, it is definitely not you it’s just that... never mind. Where is your mother?” “She went outdoors to hang the laundry,” I replied, biting my lip knowing that it’s my job to do the laundry.”Thank you,” he yells, already out the door. As I make my way outside, I see my father worriedly talking to my mother as a look of

I had just gotten home from school and was standing before my front door starring at it in apprehension of what would most likely greet me on the other side. "Hopefully, today's different," I thought tiredly. Opening the front door I stepped silently inside and quietly closed the door then headed towards my room only to pause at the bottom of the stars as I realized there was no sound coming from upstairs like there usually was. I resumed walking up the stairs thinking to myself "wow, for once they've actually considered that they have a son living with them." At least that's what I thought until, right as I was about to enter my room, loud moans sounded from two different directions. "Or not," I thought in annoyance and slammed my door which did nothing to stop the moans.

My mother had left my dad’s house slippers by the coat rack behind the door. I was grateful to her as the floor felt like ice. Hanging up my coat, I slipped into my dad’s bathrobe, which was hanging on its peg. We had a fireplace in the living room and the chimney exited the west side of the roof. I smelled the smoke of the dying fire, and I knew my mom was in bed. The bedrooms were located on the second story. Her room was located at the end of the hallway, and my room was at the head of the stairs above the

Five minutes left of my safe haven. Which means ten minutes until I come back to reality. Ten minutes until I see my father. RING! Sounded the bell, breaking me from my nightmare. I gathered my books and put on my sunglasses. I walked out of the school feeling nauseous. I walked the short distance to my house. My hand shook against the door knob. I turned it, checking to see if it was locked. It was open, so I walked straight in. It was quiet. Too quiet. I walked around looking for my father. I checked the couch, not there. I checked him and my "mothers" room, not there. I let a smile break out on my face. I took a shower, which was very rare. Showers for me are about as common as breakfast in the morning, and breakfast is not common. I got out the shower and dried off. I put on a pair of boxers and shorts and got in my bed. I lied there and thought about the times before my step father. My mom an I were so close. I began to fall asleep as all these thought flooded my mind, and before I know it, I was out cold. I slept for what felt like mere minutes before a cold, hateful voice awoke

The morning wind is as cold as ice, slicing passed my skin while I’m standing against it. It always like today of every year: cloudy, cold and sad. Like the sky is crying with me. I blend down to a tall, sleek, marble stone with the name “Amelia Bennett” written on it. That’s my mother’s name. She died when I was 7 year-old, it’s odd that I have the memories of her very clearly in my brain. Most children probably won’t. But I do, and I when I do, I missed her. I don’t even know what happened on that tragic day. I was blacked out and the next thing I remember is that she’s now laying deep underneath my feet. No one knows what happen, or no one wants to talk about it, not even my aunt. She’s the one that take me in after the accident. Why? Because

I woke up the following morning and glanced outside my foggy window. I closed my eyes the sound of rain began to slam on the roof. I dragged myself out of bed knowing what this morning had in store. Today I had to say goodbye to Sam. I lathargically brushed my teeth and got dressed subconsciously, in a daze. When I walked downstairs, I heard my dad ask, “How are you feeling kid?”

Ian: He is a racist, middle-aged journalist. He is divorced and has a teenage son named Mathew. He implies throughout the play that he does clandestine work from the British government. Ian had an affair with the mentally challenged Cate when she was in her teens. He is 45 years old.

The reporting party (RP) stated her 2 year old son (would not provide his name) attended the facility for approximately 9 months prior to his removal. The RP stated her son turned 2 in August and was removed a few months ago. According to the RP her son was bitten on 5 separate occasions by the same child (Samantha) who is younger than her son. Consequently the RP made attempts to communicate with licensee regarding appropriate supervision of the bitter child. As a result of the multiple bites the RP has permanent scars from the bites. The RP stated her son was seen by his pediatrician and a dermatologist regarding the scars and was informed there was nothing to be done. The RP stated the dermatologist applied a dermal cream to the scared area.

He tries to get up from his bed with shaking hands, eyes blinking continuously in hope for a sudden realization that he is just dreaming—that this is not true at all. The door is just a few steps away and he almost makes it, but then he hears a faint, soft laugh against the low rumble of the thunder and he falls on the floor, crying his heart out. Not far from him, a ball of crumpled letter he threw last night seems to mock him as he remembers every single hurt word written in the most beautiful handwriting he has ever known.

The sister prepares the evening meal, making her contribution to the family; and calls on the boy to come and eat. The saw in the boy?s hands was still running and when he took his attention away from his work, and that split second of carelessness cost him an extremity. His instincts raised his arm upward to keep all the blood from spilling out immediately. When he realized what was happening, the boy finally realized he was to young to be doing a man?s work. The boy ?saw all spoiled,? and now knew his whole childhood had vanished and it was impossible to get it back. The boy frantically called out to his sister to make the doctor keep his hand on. The boy?s body must have instantly gone into shock and not felt the absence of the hand. When the doctor arrived he gave him some ether to make him go to sleep. The little boy began to lose his pulse and soon he was a stranger to the world. The people surrounding the boy never expected the loss of his hand to tragically end the little boy?s life. Frost?s almost appalling casual description of death shocks the reader enough to make them think. ?Since they were not the one dead, turned to their affairs,? describes the environment of the survivors. They are forced to move on with their life and keep working because they cannot afford to stop and mourn.