The Feathers Of The Wind

I also did my report on feathers as well. I think that it is so cool that feathers as something that is special to you. I didn't realize that the Native Americans thought that the feathers themselves had spirits in them. I found it very interesting when I searched the same topic that these feathers had to be earned. Also in order to get these feathers the person who did the brave deed had to go in front of the courts to tell them what happened and so that they could receive their feather. The pictures that you had in your report really helped tie it all together.

What makes people seek for experiences that make them feel scared? Fear is the expectation or the anticipation of possible harm, so why do people like it? There is a hormone called dopamine, that is released during scary and thrilling activities, according to David Zald, some individuals may get more of a kick of this hormone than others. Lots of people enjoy scary experiences, because of the feeling that they have after these situations. As reported by ABC News, in “Spooky Business American Economy”, people spend about 7 million dollars in Halloween, looking for costumes, decoration objects, and also in haunted houses. People enjoy scary movies, roller coasters, and haunted houses. Similarly, people enjoy thrilling literature, as Edgar Allan Poe and Louise Erdrich poems, “The Raven” and “The windigo” respectively. Both of these authors write and explore death and the ambiguity of what will happen after death, by using concrete examples of imagery and symbols, structured paragraphs, and a certain type of diction.

To begin, as in Quiroga’s frightening story The Feather Pillow an exploration of the love and care between husband and wife is displayed. When talking about her husband, Alicia is concerned. Where she should would feel love and appreciation she feels “[...] chilled by her husband’s rough character” (Quiroga 1). Lacking to show love towards Alicia, Jordan is directly impacting her mood, which in term keeps her in a bad physical state. Letting her feel this way and continuing to act “cold” shows how much care he truly has. In order to go further, Alicia describes her loveless situation and her lack of comfort in her own home the narrator continues to mention “It is not strange that she grew thin. She had a light attack of influenza that dragged

The night was pitch-black. From time to time, a shot exploded in the darkness. They had orders to shoot anyone who could not sustain the pace. Their fingers on the triggers, they did not deprive themselves of the pleasure. If one of us stopped for a second, a quick shot eliminated the filthy dog” (85).

As probably the best courtroom dramas of the twentieth century, Inherit the Wind is based on the famous, Scopes Monkey Trial. The play was printed virtually thirty years afterward and takes original authority in varying the true-life elements of the court case. The central conflict of the play is based on the Scopes Monkey Trial itself. Several themes are presented throughout the play, for example when Brady argues for religious values while Drummond argues for natural values and freedom of thought. The definition of a theme is an implicit or recurrent idea. We also see a theme of man versus society, furthermore, Bertram Cates versus the small town of Hillsboro. A third theme is appearance

For the meanwhile, I get lost in thought on how I ever made it this far. I remember the first time I had ever held a firearm. I was eleven years old when I was dragged to a hunters education class by my father. He made us sit in the front row which I opposed all the way. Since my father is the way he is, I was volunteered by him to go up during one of the activities. Mentally, I was screaming at my father while he sat in his chair with a smug face. I took a deep breath and just went with it. My duty of the activity was to stand in front of hundreds of eyes and show the different ways to hold a firearm safety while basically chanting the number one of firearm safety—Treat every gun like it is loaded. I remember holding a grudge against my dad for making do that, but now that I think about it, I know I will never forget how to hold a gun safely. I remember the first time I shot a firearm and how I missed every shot. My dad repeated over and over again, just keep trying, you’ll get it soon. I remember it after half a box of twenty-two ammo before I finally hit the target. My dad was right. I just had to keep

I went to the garage and as I opened the door the sound of something cracking filled the air. Yellow bits of an egg shell laid broken in the far corner in one big clump. The door had debris stuck on it, the sticky residue of the interior of the egg was on the door. I picked up the shell, and it oozed with a thick fluid. One breath later, I gasped for air. The smell was rancid. I had to stop breathing, or I’d gag from the smell coming from the putrid shell. With my broom, I scooped it into a black trash bag. I didn’t like this thing stinking up the place, so I figured the

I didn’t kill him. Did I? I forgot. No I hit him. It didn’t kill him. Or did I hit him? Arm? Leg? No, it was stomach. Chest? I couldn’t have killed him if I shot his chest. There are bones there. I’m crazy. The creaks grow louder. I finish my email as I open the door to my office. I take the gun and point it to myself.

As I stood in the gunner’s hatch completely focused with a firm grip on the 240B machine gun that was mounted on top of the Stryker I was assigned to. I listened to all the radio traffic that was being sent across the net hopeful and eager that maybe there was a chance we could recover the Soldier that had been taken captive. My heart was racing and the anticipation was high that night as it was pitch black and all you could see was the gun fight’s that were ensuing all throughout the Area of Operation (A.O.). As I scanned the surrounding area we were assigned that night to block off, all that kept running through my mind was we have to get this guy back.

These walls mock me. I can't escape this confinement. I've studied everything in my cell, the walls, the floor, bed, door, window, every pattern, every inch top to bottom. I see scars carved into the wall from people counting their days away. I count every second, minute, hour that i'm stuck in here, everyone seems to be longer than the next. It's hard not to think back to that moment but sometimes I can't help it. His voice fills my thoughts, every time I hear him it brings me back to that moment. The cool air of the night whistled through my town, as i turn off my car i hear the engine cutting off. I stop take and take a deep breath, i reach over to the glove box and grab the glock 45 the cold steel touches my hand. I put it in my jacket and walk into the store. I hold the gun up to him and say “give me the money” his face drops he tells me you don't want to do this to stop, it's too late now though there's no turning back. He throws the money on the floor, as i go to pick it up he grabs something from under the counter. I freak out and pull the trigger, i didn't mean to, i didn't want anyone to get hurt. It feels fake replaying over and over. Every sound, every smell, every emotion. I remember the whole night. I can't do

He slowly begins to pack his sniper into an acoustic guitar case. As he walks down the stairs, he turns and looks at his beloved brother that he shot in cold blood. He stared at that lifeless body for hours. He thought about all the memories they both shared throughout their childhood.

The shock that ran through my body was inexplicable– a feeling that I had never once encountered. It was as if a direct line of electric-shock was run through my veins. Looking at the time, I couldn’t believe what I saw– it was 4:40 in the morning! In response, I leaped up leaving the sheets and the pillows half-way off of the bed. I imagined being James Bond, and I could clearly see the target ahead of me. My mind zeroed-in and everything else became obscured. Enemies were starting to attack and a barrage of bullets was firing at me, yet my eyes stayed on the target. Nothing else was important to me at the

According to the cops, you were nothing but a no good hood they all knew was destined to die young and violent. None of those cops would think to charge a Soc with your death. They're too busy kissing up to their rich mommy and daddy's.

INTRO: I never thought I would feel so awful after pulling that trigger and watching that innocent animal give it’s life to me. I was only ten years old and my life was certainly impacted forever. Nowadays, many people think that pulling the trigger of a gun is not hard at all. In reality, it might be pretty easy. It is the aftermath on the other hand that will leave an internal scar, changing a person forever. On my first deer hunt, a young buck stepped out of the dense willow clusters with it’s head down, giving me a shot. Soon I would be faced with the tough decision of taking the life of an innocent animal. Meanwhile, on my first turkey hunt, there too I would soon be changed forever.

In “ The Name of the Wind” Patrick Rothfuss once said, “ It’s like everyone tells a story themselves inside their own head. Always. All the time. That story makes you what you are. We build ourselves out of that story.” Our identity is what we know ourselves by how others view us in the world. Their many identities that we have some examples are race, gender, fashion, class, sexuality, etc. All these identities shape the way we think, act, and view the world. We may not know it, but our identities impact one another either in a negative or positive way. Either we make our identities by our interests or what we feel like we should be viewed as. Some let others make their identity for them, they’re influenced by what they see on T.V. mainly by what celebrities are wearing. I know for me when I was younger I would watch all these NBA games and see these players wear Jordans. Jordan 's back when I was a youngin and still today where cool shoes you had popularity if you had Jordans. All the cool kids had Jordan 's and I wanted to be like that a cool kid. So I acted like someone I wasn 't, buying many pairs of Jordan’s (which are expensive) so I can fit in and so everyone can know me as a cool kid because as a little boy at Colonia Middle School I wanted to have recognition as the kid with the expensive shoes and the showy clothes. Also, I was pressured by my surroundings to buy these items because I saw a lot of kids being bullied for wearing inexpensive clothes and I didn 't