Holding hands

y name is Madison Newman. I am tall with auburn hair and blue eyes. I live the normal life of a seventeen year old in high school. I have sublime friends, a great boyfriend, and an even better family that surround me. I plan to go to an excellent college to become a Structural Engineer right after I figure out how to pay for it. My life is going to be unforgettable. Whenever my eyes open, I see my mother, and she tells me it’s time to wake up for school. Today is the last day before Winter Break

torso as they waited for their breakfast to cook, whilst the younger was leaving pecks on the back of his neck and shoulders. all was blissful and carefree for the two lovebirds. dan was now smiling to himself, reminiscing in his thoughts. he combs a hand through his locks that were slightly curled at the ends, pushing them back slightly to reveal some of his forehead. phil loved his hobbit hair. it was a rare

Mom’s hand is resting on my right arm, as if she is holding me in the picture’s frame. The rest of her features seem to blend into the drab background, but her right hand shows up clearly as it holds me in place. My mother hasn’t changed since the picture was taken almost sixteen years ago. Her hair style and figure have matured with

scary and always dangerous, but if it does happen there are a few things to remember: Stay calm by breathing deeply you can also try clenching and unclenching your hands so that you don’t ‘freeze’ up. Watch the criminals shoulders or chest, by looking in this area you can use your peripheral vision to monitor the arms and hands. When the attack starts, the shoulders will move first. You don’t want to stare them in the eyes because they may be an extremely cold, cruel and terrifying looking

you want to do all her chores. I found her slumped on her cot, crying. “I’m sorry they gave you a fit. You’re tired, been at this night and day with nary a complaint. Rest for a spell, I’ll see about dinner.” She rose to her feet, pressed her hands into the small of her spine, smoothed her apron and tucked wisps of hair behind her ears. “You will do no such, everything’s ready. We’s just waiting for you to straggle

Development (Fish Lacing Cards) Teacher: Ms. Zarie Baker Objectives: 1. Students will engage in activities that require hand-eye coordination. 2. Students will use tools that require strength, control, and dexterity of small muscles. NC Standards: HPD-5: Children develop small muscle control and hand-eye coordination to manipulate objects and work with tools HPD-5n: Engage in complex hand-eye coordination activities with a moderate degree of precision and control. Materials: Paper Fish Cutouts Yarn Crayons

Picture this: a small boy with a big smile on their face, excited for a day of learning as comes walking your way holding the hand of their teacher. As they approach you the boy’s smile gets bigger and bigger as he can no longer can contain his excitement to show off the Valentine’s card that he got from his cousin. He quickly introduces himself and wastes no time in telling you about how much he loves his cousin’s Valentine’s Day gift and that he is excited to get Valentines. This image is the first

It starts out the same as always. The black blobs on a white sheet of paper. A lady plasters a smile on her face, holding up the card for my view. "What do you see?" she asks politely through gritted teeth. She is frustrated with me. I have been silent the entire session thus far. "Another blob," I answer. She seems perplexed. "What do you mean?" I sigh, "The first of the blobs of splattered paint you're going to show me." Her smile falls a bit, but she tightens her lips around her teeth to

around 10:00-11:00pm; just to have an introspective thought about myself, a moment of peace of mind and relaxation. It was starting to get cold at night. I guess it was just the season. I was walking alone, hearing every step I made forward with my hands inside my jacket and my mouth covered with its tip; just to keep myself warm and not disturb my thoughts. The street lights were off. I could not even see my shadow on the ground. I felt something was wrong. Just that gut feeling that you sometimes

“No, sir” The man said, “It is not for free.” Endless mass of junk was stretched to either side of the stinking ally. I picked up the rusty old trophy which bore my name. The cold iron surface was visible from the craters in the gold paint. I scratched the surface and a large chunk of the fake golden paint fell to the land. The person manning the junk glowered at me. I shrugged and put the trophy back. “Do you know that this piece of junk has my name carved on it?” I asked, amused. The man was confounded