The Story Of My Life

My legs are shaking with pain, but I need to know where I am and what strange things lie outside of that door way. Slowly I am making my way there, I hear people having a conversation just outside. I haven’t a clue what they are saying, it seems to be in some odd language. Finally I’m at the door. Terrified, I grab the knob and start to open it. It squeaks when I swing it open. In the hall I see no one, just white walls with white tile. “What the,” I say to out loud. I could have sworn I heard someone. My eye catches my room number, 387, it has my name on it. I look right and left, but see nothing expect florescent lighting and shut doors. I go to the door across from mine and try to open it. Locked, that’s odd. I try the next one, locked once again. I keep going, now at room 365 I give the knob a turn and it actually comes open. I hesitantly wander into the area. It looks the same as mine, minus the painting on one of the walls. It is an extremely abnormal painting. It depicts an out of the ordinary creature. “Why would this be in a hospital?” I whisper to myself.

I grasped the knob to turn it, but recoiled when I felt something slimy. Looking down, I saw a gummy red substance coated my palm. More fast food dreck…probably globs of sauce from a Big Mac. Yet some strange urge made me hold my hand to my nose and sniff.

We all stood there looking to where her finger directed itself and I soon saw what she saw. I walked up to the wall and wiped the dust off and letters appeared.

serendipitously notice a needle head size speckle of blood on the wall fascinated me. Or the way

At last I arrived, unmolested except for the rain, at the hefty decaying doors of the church. I pushed the

However three days later he shows up again, that hollow look in his eyes still there, but maybe a little less obvious now.

Then, I heard footsteps getting louder and louder, so quickly hid in the closet. I could hear my heart beating faster and faster as the person kept getting closer. About an hour later, I saw a shadow of a strangely shaped person leaving the room and locking the door. I was relieved and scared at the same time, I didn't know how to get out. So, I first tried to escape out of the black and blue colored window. It was very hard to open,

Then suddenly, a disconcerting fear latches onto your cold shoulder holding you tight. What if these walls eat you alive? What if the only things you will ever see ever again are the scuffed tile floors, plain walls, and flickering fluorescent lights? The fear makes your head spin, yet it yanks you back to this moment with its boney, thin, gray

She speaks of seeing something inside the wallpaper. “And it is like a woman stooping down and creeping about behind that pattern. I don't like it a bit.” She talks of seeing eyes and different shapes in the pattern of the wall. She begins to crawl along the walls as the woman in the walls does.

Holden is alone and wants someone to spend time with someone. However everywhere he goes,

Animal Farm is an example of dystopian literature and not an example of utopian literature because Propaganda is used to control the animals of the farm, the animals fear the outside world, and the animals lack freedom. Firstly, Propaganda is used to control the animals of the farm. For example, in chapter 3, Napoleon makes the animals do a "Spontaneous Demonstration" which is where the animals all lineup and the horses yell "Long live Comrade Napoleon". This boosts Napoleon's self-image and gives no reason for the animals to rebel

I stared in horror – that wall was stained with gruesome blood stains. What the smell was became all too obvious and I felt the need to vomit… that motion put away and forgotten in an instant when the shuffling of feet rustled behind me. Panic. I turned around in a blur, my eyes huge and watering. My stomach stirred in the slightest. A lamp? Indeed, a tall standing lamp radiated a warm light only a few metres in front of me. Was it real or a figment of my abused mind? Curiosity would get the best of me, lending me a tiny spurt of energy to boost me on my feet. Teetering footsteps led me forward cautiously, random tremors reminding me of my weakness. The lamp was close enough to touch, its friendly warmth the only hope in the world to me. Basking in it for some slow seconds, I wondered, maybe there were more things in the room that hadn’t been revealed to the naked eye? Turning sharp on my heel, I let out a blood curdling screech as I came face to face with the most horrific thing I had ever seen. Huge fly-like eyes took in my paling complexion, and a lopsided smile of stinking razor sharp teeth mocked me. Rancid skin that looked like the algae layer that sat upon a swamp bubbled and oozed, trickling down a sharply shaped ‘face’. Flight or fight reaction chose the obvious option and I turned back again to run. Where, I did not

For a multicultural classroom to exist, it must flourish upon students’ cultural differences and use them as a foundation for development. However, modern day public schools are rarely welcoming of cultural differences and tend to educate students as if they are all programmed one specific way. Teachers should be determined to address diversity and implement it into the curriculum which will create a multicultural classroom and advance the education of all students. In this essay I will be exploring numerous requirements needed to create a multicultural classroom through Krishnamurti’s Education and The Significance of Life and Hooks’ article on “Embracing Change: Teaching in a Multicultural World.” I believe that the world is full of multiculturalism and that teachers need to be free from previous established patterns of thought so they can focus on applying the “right kind of education” Krishnamurti emphasizes. I will be arguing that teachers must be open-minded, encourage language differences, move beyond tokenism and create a classroom full of respect, freedom and love so that multiculturalism can thrive.

The voice in my head, normally so calm and controlled, was screaming at me to run. That was exactly what was going through my five year old mind when I walked around the hallway corner to see my mother being beat to her death by my biological father, Brax Magnus. As I tried so hard to stay and defend my mom, I could not help but panic and so I ran. I ran so far until I seen a small gas station. I went inside to find a phone, but realized I did not know who to call. The cashier, seeing that I was crying and looked panic, walked over to me.

At first glance, it just seemed like a graffiti-covered wall but if you look just a little harder, you’ll be able to see the outline of a door. I pointed it out to my friends and we looked at it in wonder. Reaching out tentatively, I traced the faint outline of the door. I stopped and we stared at it expectantly. Nothing happened. Isabella reached out and pressed on the strange symbol. Then the ground started shaking and the wall started creaking and rumbling. Then the door sunk down into the ground and a dark hallway appeared. I stepped in and lights started turning on. I gestured for my friends to follow and we ventured into the unknown.