“I’m going to what?!” I looked at mom as she held up my crumpled up sketch I threw away after finishing my homework.
“you’re taking art lessons from your grandmother.” Mom had looked at me as if I was someone who just said they wanted to drop out of school and run away when I shook my head. Why does mom want me to do art so badly? I thought to myself. “This looks amazing!” she exclaimed in a sing-song voice that gets on my nerves at times. She looked at me and showed me the drawing, sketches of birds that I saw while working on schoolwork.
“I hate walking over there! It’s about to be dark ma!” I exclaim as I look at the golden sky outside, peeking over the old willow tree, full of reds and browns as leaves hang down over the hillside.
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I stared at the beautiful purple and red sky shining through the leaves. I sat on the swing and just looked at all the beautiful colors and touching the soft flowers growing in small patches where light had shone through, I looked at some leaves falling and a few flower petals, from the movement of the swing.
I also went over the old bridge that creaked as you walked, sounding like an old cabin door on a windy night, I walked quickly as the beautiful sky faded away into a dark and gloomy gray.
I shook as I walked up the steps of her house, the shadows of the trees stood over me eerily. I rubbed my forearm feeling the goosebumps. I looked at the yellow and pink house casting a shadow over the yard, and walked to the door. “It’s scary here at night…” i say to myself.
I knocked. Once, Twice, Three times. Then I heard grandma carefully open the door, peeking out from the side to see me. “Hey Grandma, Mom said I’m taking art lessons from you.” I try to fake a smile and mumble “Until I die from boredom…” I look away as I say that, not wanting to offend her.
“She had called and said you were coming over, please come in. I have some food and art supplies set out for you.” She smiled a fragile smile, one that you get when you help an old person cross the
The grass was so sharply cut you could cut yourself with it. The bushes by the french doors had patches of different types of flowers. There was a patch of lilies by the marble steps that gave off a tropical feeling. The house had an old spooky look but yet a homey look. When the group of 10th grader thought it would be funny to spend the night and prove everyone wrong that is was just an abandoned house nothing more.
The poem “Summer Night, Riverside” by Sara Teasdale transports readers into a young, summer night. Teasdale paints a serene scene that is easily visualized because what is seen is not the only thing thoroughly described. As a reader we are given an image with sight, smell, and feelings. You can smell the “fragrant darkness” (15) and picture the moon shining down on a “curving pathway” (6) bordered by blooming trees. The author presents the reader with a magical evening and provokes sentiment for the readers own summer nights.
Finally the moving truck came to a screeching stop. As Sterling exited the family car he looked so shocked at his new neighborhood it was like he had been dropped off in a haunted town. As the front door opened, it let out a loud squeak, and all that came to Sterling’s mind was haunted house. “Click” turned on the lights and slowly a huge smile formed on Sterling’s face” Pretty nice” he thought to himself. As Sterling ascended the stairs in leaps and bounds, he couldn’t wait to see what his room looked like.
When I saw the flash of my mom 's headlights my body shook with fear and I held in a sob. My mom opened the front door and I ran to her, clinging to her like I did when I was a child. I felt the warmth of her skin against mine and listened for a moment to her heartbeat. “Can we talk about something?” I asked, letting go of my mom.
It has been the longest 7 years, 7 weeks, 7 days, 7 hours, 6 minutes, and 23 seconds of my life! It has been this long exactly since the last time I saw Ms. Pointy, and I think I will eventually go crazy if I don’t see her sometime soon. Ms. Pointy just happens to be my most favored teacher of all time. I had her in my second year of fifth grade-the first year I have ever been held back in school. I looked out my window desperately and deep in thought.
Something such as returning back to school was long gone and in my past goals. After a couple of years I never thought I would end up going back to school since everything that I wanted was going good and according to plan. However sometimes we are faced with tough situations where we must find other resources in order to improve and better ourselves. Going back to school was one of the most important and wise decisions that I have ever made. Finding well-qualified candidates for a job or career nowadays is a challenge, especially in the field that I am currently in; law enforcement.
Guess what the hardest thing I have ever done? It was to think about how I felt the last 11 years of my life and describe that on around three pieces of paper for your middle school application. Just imagine three weeks of visiting 5 schools, in the middle of the school year. It is the dreadful first day of the week, and the sun is waking up in Virginia Beach at the Helman’s house.
I looked up at the ceiling blankly, it had once been a crisp white but had faded to a sickly pale yellow. It had been a week since I had gone through plastic surgery. My face felt fake and heavy and I didn't think I would ever get used to it. I heard the door creak open, someone slipped in. I paid no attention and kept staring at the roof thinking it was a nurse.
I had to persevere in high school because school is hard because I have learning disabilities. I have ADD which causes a few problems. For one thing, it makes comprehension and doing work slower because I lose focus and have to come back into focus. Another thing is it makes it hard for me to sit still without being quite fidgety. I was that kid at story time that the teacher had to give a ball of wax to, so that I could fidget in order to sit quietly and listen to the story.
An enormous, elegant, homely window with detailed wood and an oval-shaped top sat to the right of me with a cold drift that flowed through the cracks. The cold whisp seemed to pinch my legs with the late spring air. My eyes gazed out the homely window that I so desired to escape from, as I noticed every detail over the cigarette and air freshener smell. The faint yelling of the girl with the name of Maddison rang in my ears, leaving an aftertaste of dismay as she tried to relate to the incapacitated people in the room. As I continued to chip away at my baby blue nail polish and twiddle my thumbs I noticed my reflection in the spotted window as I stared out into the world that was stolen away from me.
The sun was out bright showing off the beautiful fall colored leaves on the trees. The walk was peaceful and quiet. It was a very long walk to the cliffs, but I still love the beautiful scenery. As we walked along the path we saw tons of mushrooms, some were very pretty so we took some pictures along the way to the sand cliffs. As we were close to the sand cliffs I could see little bits of sand on the path, and I knew that we were close to the cliffs.
No one came up here. The old school house was rickety and in the dawn as the sun rose, thick streams of golden light swayed through the cracks and shine on the walls like dancers at a ballet. It was beautiful to Anna. Even though the tiles in the house were cracked and the roof had holes so that when it rained tiny drops of water would make a splash onto the peeling up wooden flooring (Anna found the sound soothing). The townsfolk had left the place to rot, but Anna had cleaned up a bit.
I see the faint shadows of towering, tall trees side by side in the forest. It 's dark out. All the critters are asleep and there are no longer the sounds of angry drivers racing down the nearby highway, or shouts of children on the playground a couple blocks down. The white, fluffy, deep snow makes it hard to walk, and my feet are numb from the cold. I have to squint my eyes to make out what 's in front of me.
She was very quiet and involved while drawing, unusual as she is generally quite talkative, and predominantly fully involves me in all of her play. When she was finished she wanted me to write my name in the cloud beside ‘me’. I found it interesting that she didn’t just ask me how to spell my name and write it herself, but wanted me to write it. Perhaps she wanted to somehow involve me in the process of creating the image.
I feel it radiating into my blood, as my heart skips a beat. Soon, enlightened by a beating pair of wings effortlessly moving up and down, more fragile than the glass that once was sitting on the edge of the table. The fluttering pair of painted silk wings circles my front, as another pair comes into sight, creating a delicate breeze that brushes past my quilted cold cheeks. I manage to smile at the picturesque view in front of me, sending a warm satisfaction to my body as it sparks my heart and floods my eyes with tear-filled blur.