Wilmington Friends Meeting Narrative
The car squealed to a stop and I jumped out of the dinged up vehicle. I ran on the cement ramp that led me down to the Wilmington Friends Meeting’s undercroft door like I would usually do on a Wednesday evening. Grasping the cold metal vertical bar in my baseball sized fists, right over the left. I yanked, then again and again as the door clanked repeatedly. Realizing the door was locked I twirled around. Only to realize my dad vanished out of the alley. I started to panic and tears streamed down my pale face. Beating my fists “thud, thump, thud” onto the black chipped railing that led the path down the ramp. The alley where the car had once sat a few moments ago now was replaced with potholes here and there with grass growing through the cracks.
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Aint No Silver Spoon In The Ghetto Analysis
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1040 Words | 5 PagesMy eyes suddenly protruded outwards as they locked onto a wide metal door – with rust covering its burnished doorknob. I assumed that this must’ve been the room for the servants. I reached for the corroded doorknob, only to tragically realise that it wasn’t turning. I felt the vigorous blood being pumped into my brain, as my veins struggled to remain intact.
Andrew Jackson's Narrative
1560 Words | 7 PagesJackson’s heart sped as he ran towards his home. He could hear the pumping of his heart and the sound of his feet hitting the concrete. He turned onto his street and immediately slowed down, the door to his house sat wide open. The door let out a creak as his fingers grazed against the dark oak. In the living room, a light haired man sat facing the door.
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