Mythra’s consciousness was fading as he dragged his feet through the endless sand dunes of the Uria Wasteland. His dehydration had caused his lips dry and shed like a kukian maggot on its growth spurt. His wavy hair--though cut short to prevent itching and discomfort was still drenched wet from his own sweat thus making his hair look like the seaweed from the Mane Shore. He tried to wipe the sweat off his face with his handless right arm only to be reminded by the fact that he had lost his right arm not a day ago, he then wiped the sweat on his face with his left hand. Under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t lose my arm only to some oversized gecko. Mythra thought to himself as he laughed at himself attempting to wipe his face with a handless arm not a moment ago, the toll of his journey did not only affect his body but his mind as well. As he passed through the …show more content…
He cut a bark of a nearby cacti tree with lading blade he pulled from a pocket in his belt and let the juice drip into a bowl he had prepared before.. The Hantoo Star is the sun, which the planet Kyna, the planet which Mythra step upon revolves around. It was twice in size compared to the sun in the earth’s solar system. The planet Kyna is the fifth planet in the Hantoo Star System and was the only habitable rock beside the giant moon of Planet Kyva the seventh planet in the system. Mythra felt his consciousness fading as he gazed upon the beautiful sunset at the horizon, the fatigue from the 7 hours long walk had taken its toll. Up until his fifth day of his journey, a seven hours long walk would be a piece of cake for him, but with his supply exhausted it was a different case. He got no energy to do anything. The face of Indura Sitrak, his Informant, passed faintly in his mind just before he fell
A single drop of deep crimson blood fell onto the pristine, alabaster sink in the home of Thomas Milburn. In his peripheral vision, he could see another one slithering down his cheek into the basin. His hands were shaking again, he had noticed the tremors only yesterday, and yet they were already worsening. He looked down at the silver razor in his hand, the white splotches of cream were now tinted with a red hue. “Damnit,” he said, under his breath.
WOOSTER — Dawn Cazzolli’s job is stressful. She is the executive director of the Wayne County Children’s Advocacy Center, which looks into allegations of sexual and severe physical abuse. “It’s stressful and people get burned out, but when you look around the table, there’s people who are just as passionate about child safety and child welfare,” she said. “I think of it as a calling.” To help Cazzolli recharge, she, her husband, Andy, and their children, Greyson, 15, and Sophia, 13, like to go camping, “into nature where birds are singing, where I feel the breeze, to bike, hike and see so many flowers.
A single sword-stroke had pierced the breast. The fallen bamboo-blades around it were stained with bloody bosoms. No, the blood was no longer running. The wound had dried up, I believe. And also, a gadfly was stuck fast there, hardly noticing my footsteps.”
In my life, I have yet to experience a tragic loss. I have never felt the agonizing feeling one gets when they lose an essential person in their life. I have people in my life that play that crucial role of bringing happiness, but none of them have I ever lost. Before reading Into Thin Air I could only imagine the journey of losing a loved one. Now, after reading the book and being able to create a connection with the characters, through Jon Krakauer’s writing style, I was able to truly experience some feeling of loss.
Jeannette was neglected, beaten, and starved all throughout her childhood. She lived without a home, money, and enough food to get by and also managed, against all odds, to fight for her ambitions. The Glass Castle, a memoir by Jeannette Walls, depicts the hardships of her upbringing by her nomadic, undependable parents, yet also her ability to persevere into a successful and aspiring young woman. As a young girl, Jeannette was always travelling due to her unstable parents and living on edge in fear of her parents’ outbursts. When she was the tender age of five, she actually recalls thinking fondly of her dad, always being his little “mountain goat”.
Have you had a loved one that worried you sick? It was a another day at school, and Konnor can’t wait till the bell rings to go home. Today Konnor is going to go play some basketball at the lower lake in Eureka, IL. He is going to go with his older sibling Kaleb, and his cousin Austin. The basketball hoops are a little rusty and old, but the hoops are still adequate to play and shoot into. It was a long day of hard work at school, but Konnor got through it!
The Thing It 's been 3 months since Annie Merr disappeared from the quiet little town of Easthallow. It 's been three weeks since old Charles Bradley was thrown into the town jail for her murder. You see, Annie Merr was a quiet girl, around the age of 17.
This morning was hell. The will to lift myself from my friend’s couch waned exponentially and spoiled my insides, costing me my first class of the day. Consciousness devolved into a haunted, sleepless void. I want to die. How my friends convinced me to get up that day, I don’t know, but every aspect of my surroundings was plagued with a layer of desaturation; my gut, caked with viscous contempt; my wrist, decorated with gnarled, carmine stripes.
Both Toni Morrison’s “Sweetness” and Edward P. Jones’ “The First Day” are short stories written by African American individuals. Other than this very basic similarity, these stories and their authors bear resemblance to each other. Both of the authors lived in a time before the internet, cell phones and probably more importantly the rise of an equal rights for all races movement. Given these facts and their shared African heritage, it is understandable both of the stories have at least an undertone of racial issues. On the more superficial level both “Sweetness” and “The First Day” feature a mother-daughter relationship.
In the beginning there was only a path that was traveled by many, each from a different place. There were different Gods from other worlds and some were just there for the endless ride. Our god named Silas didn’t own a world yet because he had seen that they were hard work, but he knew he would eventually have to create one to live up to everyone 's expectations. One day he was traveling the path and came across a human, her name was December and she was from another land. They decided to walk together.
TI thought about the experience in the woods for the rest of the day. I couldn’t seem to shake it from my consciousness. “Mr. Rider, are you paying attention?” said Mrs. Stweed in a saccharin voice, her eyes blinking. “Yes,” I grunted. “Good!”
Social groups are composed of roles known as insiders. Outsiders are people who do seem to fit in those groups. An individual is not tied down to one of these roles, because there are different kinds of social groups. Although a person may not fit in with one group, the person can be an insider of another group. In the article, “Life as the Maid’s Daughter,” Mary Romero illustrates the events that took place in Teresa's early life.
This time spent here helped to begin to develop the creature’s mind, proving he was in fact rather intelligent. The monster knew that he was different from these people, often describing them all as beautiful. He knew they would not accept him, and yet his search for belonging and family continue to surge the novel forward. While the creature is lonely and hurting, his actions slowly become malicious.
Its most defined feature was a vast mouth, pulled down and down at the corners, tight with a kind of pain. Its lips were thin, and raised, like welts from whip-strokes. It had blind, opaque white eyes, fringed with fleshy lashes and brows like the feelers of sea anemones. Its face was close to the ground and moved toward the children between its forearms, which were squat, thick, powerful, and akimbo, like a cross between a washer-woman’s and a primeval dragon’s. The flesh on these forearms was glistening and mottled”
She Breathed… that life might be long. It was only yesterday she had thought with a shudder that life might be long……. There was a feverish triumph in her eyes, and she carried herself unwittingly like a goddess of