I spend half of my life here and spend the other half there. The plane is going down, I’m here. Here to explore my new life in a new country called the United States, and a new language to master. It has been a long plane ride from China to America, but I’m finally here, here to stay with my parents. The plane had landed.
I rose up to steal another glance, but when I stood, my eyes met sight with a pair of predatory eyes. Startled, I dropped down in a cold sweat. Had the witch seen me? My heart began to thump wildly in my chest. The image of the face etched deep into my mind.
Once upon a time there lived a leprechaun, you know, the kind that protect a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow. This leprechaun was very short, small, and was only about thirteen years old. He had bright red hair and always wore a green hat with a gold buckle on it to match his green outfit. He was a very friendly, talkative leprechaun who was named Big Red.
Tita had refused to return to reality when she left the ranch. When Checha went to go visit Tita, she gave her ox-tail soup. Both Tita and Chencha believed that ox-tail soup would make any person feel better. This was indeed true because after eating the soup Tita felt much better. This is an example of Magical Realism because when Tita returned to reality, she started weeping so much that her tears had created a stream that went down the stairs.
When a 17 year old boy named Ethan with OCD (Obsessive Compulsive Disorder) finds himself with the lives of young children in his hands, It is up to him to save them. Will he go in or will he leave “The Door” forever. Not only leaving “The Door” but the children… leaving them to die. The Door written by: Alisyn Zigelstein As I approached the closet door I could hear the eerie chiseling noise coming from within, like nails on a chalkboard.
March 17, 1838 Dear Diary, Today while sitting in the crispy cold weather, with the clothes that now resembled rags, I sat pondering my life. My face now covered in the unpleasant texture of dirt and smut from the factory; now appeared to have become a part of m. My hands disarrayed and my cracked hands bandaged lay tight in my lap and now mirrored my life. I haven’t any parents to speak of so I found myself this alley where I write to you. Not far from work I await the loud bell to alarm me of my next shift down at the factory.
The Black Cat and Alcoholism Written in August 19,1843, The Black Cat by Edgar Allan Poe is the account of a drunkard who kills not only his cat, but his wife for no logical reasons, other than rage and paranoia brought from the evils of alcohol. This narrative is quite conducive with Poe’s personal views, as he was strongly against the recreational use of alcohol, contrary to popular belief. The Narrator of The Black Cat details his upbringing, describing himself, possibly falsely, as a kind child who loved animals almost unconditionally. He recounts his teenage years and his early marriage.
The only location that I was aware of is Miami, FL, until the age of eleven. When my mother told me and my sister that we were going to visit a place called Chile, it was an exciting feeling of what I was about to experience. Visiting a different area there are so many expectations on how the environment will be, the strangers to encounter, and being different to others. At being such a young age my imagination will run wild on how the environment will be.
In my arms, my young daughter took her last breath. Her once-strong, -lively body was now as frail as a wilted flower. And her eyes—her black, playful eyes—were peacefully closed, never again to open. I listened hopelessly to the women’s song of mourning, sung in our native Cherokee tongue. At my side, my wife, Yellow Blossom’s, voice rang out smoothly and softly, but intermittently interrupted by brief sobs.
Black Water “You don’t understand. Your baby is going to die.” I tried to focus on the words coming from the mouth of the doctor standing in front of me. Die? The word seemed foreign to me.