The Cat Who Walks Through Walls

There’s a house about two blocks down, dark grayish-brown, with weeds growing everywhere. The door opens and closes on it’s own. My mom says it’s the wind, but it’s too rusty and squeaky, and usually it happens when there’s no wind. Sometimes I walk past it on my way to school, and I see someone in the window watching me, yet no one has lived

The room was warm, Sparks Flew everywhere. “Charlotte! CHARLOTTE MOM DAD!” Ian cried out loud. He could barely breath through the smoke in the house.He looked for his family throughout the house. He coughed as he made his way out the house.Charlotte was there but not their parents. They waited for their parents to come out, But they never did… Charlotte Started to cry and Ian look over and tried to comfort her. She flicked his hand from her shoulder and looked over to him as well. She didn't look

Institutionalized inequalities, a societal prejudice against others through a community or organization, is a prevalent issue within the novel, “The Bluest Eye”, written by Toni Morrison. The use of racial discrimination, gender roles, and class structures construct these inequalities, and illustrates the immoral high road that institutions in the 20th century would follow along. Pecola Breedlove, the main character and the person who falls to victim most frequently, endures numerous setbacks and obstacles

gold that started to rust. I walk inside seeing the laminate floor and the walls which were a mixture of yellow and white. The hallway went all the way towards the front door. The kitchen was right next to the door. The cabinets are around a honey oak shade. The appliances are all a shade of silver or black. And the walls are an ugly 80’s shade of orange-ish peach-ish color. Closing the door something starts to rub across my leg. I look down and it's a Siamese cat with all black fur and shining

one of moving into the house my mom has had it feeling just like a home should in my eyes. You walk in and you can just tell whoever lives in the house is really about family, it is a very pleasant feel. There is pictures of friends and family all over the walls. I smile each time I pass the pictures and reminisce on the special moments and people in them. In my house you have a chance to see the cats zoom by if you get in the front door fast enough. Or you might have to chase after the dogs if you

slightest bit of joy or happiness in them. His literature mainly consists of a dark and gothic mood; mostly due to the fact that his actual life was worse than his stories. For those who have read a few of his stories or poems you might notice a similarity in plot. In his works“ The Cask of Amontillado,” “ The Black Cat,” and “ The Tell-Tale Heart,” there is clear similarity of plot between the three stories. In “ The Cask of Amontillado,” the reader is introduced to two characters, Montresor and

out of the wall focusing on Marinette. Stuttering, Marinette explains that she has a gift for Adrien. The mailbox opens and swiftly closes after the present is placed inside, dismissing Marinette. Marinette does a little dance, hoping Adrien enjoys the gift. Alya asks if Marinette signed it. Marinette freezes, realizing she did not. Nathalie, who is sitting in a white room with a white desk, sighs, putting the present on the corner of her desk. When Gabriel Agreste calls her to ask who was at the

Through Dallastown Cemeteries younger: St. John’s for mass, we’d creep through a graveyard, weeds & blue birds & my father said to grasp tightly onto our breath’s fingers as we walk or else we’d inhale souls of dead people & I’m sixteen now but still, at sunrise service I hold my breath tightly because I don’t want Ms. Hartenstein & her old, shriveled fingers in my alveoli, she’d rather be in heaven, playing grand piano, anyways but my father said she built a wooden home in that graveyard

takes my hand, hinting me to walk with him. He is moving fast, I trip over the rocks and divots of the ground trying to keep up. After what seems like forever, we come to a stop. He lets go of my hand, I stand there unsure of what to do. Then, I feel him rest his hands on my shoulders as he leans his head towards mine so that our faces are side by side. The pungent smell of alcohol and cigarettes radiat from him. The blindfold comes off. “Welcome home” he says through a grin. It feels like I have

like this, “It is a sunny day in August. I am out taking a walk, since it is such a nice afternoon. The streets are crowded; not with people, but animals. Dozens of cats and dogs flood the pavement, each running in a different direction. They seem to be ricocheting off of one another. I try to keep my balance as I maneuver over the energetic pooches, but a huge, smelly dog, covered in mud barrelled by me, pushing me over as he was chasing a cat. As I fell to the blacktop, I cut my palms and knees. To