...When i was little, sometime in the summer, I went night fishing with my dad, his friend, and his son. We were all packed up and about to put the boat in the water when it started raining, we didn’t think anything of it so we went and tied the boat up on W bridge. After a while it started raining harder and the waves got bigger so we reeled in the poles for a bit. The storm kept getting worse so we stopped fishing for a while longer. As the storm got bigger and the waves got taller my dad decided to try to get the boat to shore but the rope couldn’t be untied and the boat flipped. As the boat and everything on it sunk, I tried to find my life jacket. After what felt like an eternity trying to put it on, i finally got it zipped up and tried...
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...I sat at my house in the backyard with my neighbor (But I don’t remember their name). We had just come over from their house and we stood by the woods. We had decided to go through the woods to the other side. So I started going in and I jumped over a log and continued on. My neighbor went ahead of me and passed over this giant piece of stone that sat in the shape of a circle. It went down in the middle like a giant stone bowl. After my neighbor went across the piece of stone I went across. When my left foot touched the stone a huge vine dropped down on me. It hurt like crazy because the vine came fast and it had lots of thorns on it. It landed on my left leg and both my arms. It cut me up and I just jumped and yelled like a crazy person. I started crying and yelling a bunch because it hurt really bad and when stuff hurts really bad I just yell. Me and my neighbor ran out of the woods and back into my backyard, but After that I was just yelling and running and then I finally reached the back porch and my dad came out with some alcohol to kill and or prevent infections from getting in my leg. I was happy that my arm didn’t need the alcohol because it burned. When my dad poured the alcohol on my leg I kept yelling at him, “Stop it burns!” Every time I yelled at him, he calmly explained back, “I know it burns, but I don’t want you to get an infection because that would hurt more.” After my dad poured the alcohol on my leg he put a band-aid on it and put me on the couch to lay...
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...Two years ago on a bright morning I woke up to get ready for school. Once I had gotten dressed I went downstairs to eat breakfast and then made my lunch. As soon as I was ready my mom drove me and my sister to our school, Finley Farms Elementary. The day went by like any other day, but then, towards the middle of the day the fifth graders had to go to an assembly. This assembly, however was different from any other assemblies we had gone to, it was just for the fifth graders. When we got downstairs our teachers led us to a room which we later learned was the band room. We all sat down wondering what was going on. Then a woman called Mrs. Sopeland entered the room and told us that in fifth grade we all were given the choice to play in our school’s band. She then had some high school students come and introduce their instruments and play a little bit on them. Some instruments everyone knew, others I had never seen in my life before. After all the instruments had been played, Mrs. Sopeland and the high schoolers started to pass out sheets of paper to everyone that we could fill out if we wanted to participate in band. Even though I didn’t have to choose right at that moment, I knew that I was going to have a hard time choosing what instrument I wanted to play. I think along with everyone else in fifth grade I was feeling anxious because I didn’t want to choose, or not choose and instrument and then later regret that choice. throughout the rest of the day my mind was focused on...
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...The plan is crazy, but it’s also good. We take a somewhat of a direct approach. The building is surrounded by monsters. So we have to sneak in from the outside. If we tried staying inside the building until everyone left, we would be done for because the monsters would know where we are. We sneak on a taller building the one that Marco and Lily used to scout out the area. All we see are normal people, though we have eyes of demigods that allow us to look into the godly side of the world. When we look in we see hideous monsters like Cyclops, chimera, empusa, more shadow lurkers, and lastly a Minotaur. Great I truly think Philoctetes is underestimating the importance of the artifact. At least there aren’t Hydra. “Are you sure you want to do this Marco?” I ask “Yes it has to be done. This artifact is more important than we thought. If we do it right everything is fine.” Marco says reassuringly. All I do is nod my head because I don't know what to say. I hate the word “if” because if I mess this up then It might cost Marco his life. We separate Marco and Jeremiah go to the west wing and Lily comes with me to the east. We have very little trouble getting there. Human weapons can kill monsters, but with demigod weapons, it makes is much easier because these blades are made of efseví chályva which is basically godly steel. One stab to the chest of the monster with these types of blades it kills and then absorbs it’s essence. We make it to our destination a little too easily...
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...The mountains clustered together like they were cold, and under all that snow I don't doubt they were. I imagined them to shiver under their white coats, the real cause of the avalanches perhaps. Perhaps in that rock, they think in the way timeless creatures must, with no regard for time, no concept of what it must be to hurry, be anxious or sad. I'd like to think that deep in the tonnes of granite is a spirit of the earth, slumbering since the time of the dinosaurs or before. At this point I can't tell which of them the road will take me to, it disappears in the forest only fifty meters or so ahead. I only hope that it passes through a valley between two of them rather than having to scale a peak. The mountain path had become slick under the winter rains and the only clues to the lodge being the icy tire tracks. It rose steeply before disappearing at a rocky outcrop up ahead, I was unable to tell if it went to the left or right after that. The cold that had seemed mild at first now numbed my face and extremities. What residual heat I had absorbed in the lodge was gone, it had been my buffer, but unwittingly I had squandered it believing my thick winter jacket and boots equal to the task of preserving my body heat With each breath, more heat rose in puffs of white vapor, with each gust of the wind more heat dissipated into the whiteness, with each step the rocks and ice pulled more heat from my marrow. I had stopped composing wintry poetry of icicles and the specter of the world...
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...it must be the lighting in my freezer I thought she was beautiful, but I swear her eyes were never this dull, nor her lips so blue. “Kat,” her name spilled from my lips with ease, but I was awarded no response. The skeleton of who was once my best friend made her way into my home without invitation. She struggled to walk, but I knew better than to mention it. This girl had gone missing for two years without so much of a note, and yet here she stood before me. “I went to your funeral,” I mused, “we thought you were dead.” The intensity of her gaze hadn’t changed in the past twenty-four months. The probing significance of her scrutiny could retrieve any information that she desired. There was something so magnetic about her crooked smile, I struggled to maintain my composure. This woman had broken me, and yet here she was. “Shame,” she stifled a laugh. Her eyes locked onto my refrigerator, an obvious attempt to avoid presenting her remorse. The slightest raise of her brow informed me she longed for something within it, though I hesitated to assist her. She was a girl of few words, although when she spoke there was always a significance behind it. Some heir of mystery had been chasing her for years, and even now I found myself falling into its trap. I made my way to the fridge slowly, matching her irregular pace. She was not one to accept help, which is why I felt myself stiffen when her soft hand rested on my shoulder. It was gentle, far smaller than my hands, almost like...
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...Making the honest decision is not always simple as ABC. I recall a day were I admired the choice I made. When I used to live in California, Smoking weed was ‘’cool’’, various of my friends smoked in school or just about any were they could. All my friends acknowledge that I didn’t engage in drugs. This acknowledgement of theirs didn’t stop them from offering me drugs. Every time my best friend Gina and I hanged out she had a blunt with her. This drug business was getting annoying, when I would tell them to quit, there reply was ‘’we are in America, this is a free country!’’. I speculated to myself if my best friends would end their addiction, I didn’t know what else to do to help them quit, since my words were garbage to their ears. Their parents, family along with friends knew their complications. The desire of always being the greatest good friend to them didn’t stop me from explaining how bad smoking is. It was Gina, Kathleen, and Calvin, they were convivial, charismatic, and cordial apart from their drug consumption. I cherished all those moments we hanged out in the park, mall, stores, or restaurants. We all played video games together and went to each other homes all the time, when we were home we also did our treasured addiction, which was watching movies. Calvin which also came over on school days,he loved to helped Kathleen, Gina and myself do our algebra 2 homework, he was brilliant!. Gina was a cheerleader, I was astonished she never got drug tested, or caught smoking...
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...The rotten flesh of a dead child can be smelled from a mile away, and the salty water of his mother’s tears can be tasted by many people within the radius of the mile. What crime did he commit? What such a crime that he was shot to death without so much as the movement of his killer’s hair? All of these questions run through my mind as I walk down the street carefully, so as not to trip on one of the many potholes in the road. I hear the typical whispers of gossipers, saying that the boy’s mother hasn’t moved from his murder scene in the past five days; they believe that she chose to die next to him through starving herself instead of living with her loose. While I’m hesitant to believe it, I know that it’s true; everybody knows that it’s true, given that her screams became less and less audible as the days go on. Everybody stays away from the bloody scene as best as they can; her friend swore on her life that she could feel their souls before she even saw the bodies, and that the air became thicker and the sky’s darker with every step. While I personally thought that she was just being paranoid, I too felt the sensations that she felt when I walked too close. A hand violently grabs my shoulder, dragging me into the alleyway, all the while crushing my shoulder in an attempt to keep me at bay. I quickly regain my senses and punch my attacker behind the knee, stunning him or her long enough for me to tackle their body to the ground, grab their arms between my legs, and put them...
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...Living In New York City is a dream to many, but the harsh reality is that in order to live in the lights and the glamour one must make sacrifices. I'm not talking about emotional sacrifices, rather financial sacrifices. New York City ranks number one in cost of living. I come from a hard working migrant family and the the work ethic instilled into me derives from my parents. Being a lower middle class citizen is perfectly fine for me, but money often gets tight when rent is due and seeing stress in the eyes of my parents hurts me knowing I can do nothing about it. This was until my sister advised I looked for a job. The hunt for a job was very difficult, I often found myself on the internet for countless hours just scrolling past job offers until one suited my needs. After applying to approximately 20-25 job offers, I waited patiently for phone calls for interviews. Several days past and I was quickly losing hope that anyone would call me back. Until a local supermarket called me for an interview. My emotions were filled with happiness and anxiety as I quickly responded with “Thank you sir, You won’t regret it.”. I knew working at a Supermarket won’t make me a lot of money, but it will help enough to pay the small bills and hopefully provide some relief to my parents....
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...Family narrative Wes Moore, had a strong family presents that supported him in being successful in work and in personal life. “The single most important thing you can do for your family may be the simplest of all: develop a strong family narrative”(Feiler 2) The family narrative influences the child’s ability to be successful, the three narratives are ascending, descending, and oscillating. Ascending is the example of "Son, when we came to this country, we had nothing. Our family worked. We opened a store. Your grandfather went to high school. Your father went to college. And now you. ..." ( Feiler 3) Ascending is negative and the child is giving a common expectation of success. “ Second is the descending narrative: "Sweetheart, we used to...
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...Critical Response: Construction of the Hero Cara O’Keefe The construction of the ‘Hero’ is one every writer should consider. The hero or protagonist is designed to keep the narrative moving and whose actions create progress for the plot (Morrow et al, 1997). Pearson (2001, p. 101) defines hero’s as “fearless protagonists who realise their own special power and go on to take great personal risks in order to change their reality. In day-to-day life, these powerful archetypes provide a structure that can release the ability of ordinary people to rise to challenges, take risks, break rules, and transform their lives”. There are many ways of defining what a hero is and what a protagonist is. A hero is usually the protagonist but this is not always the case and vice versa. For clarification purposes within this analysis a protagonist or hero is a character who drives the narrative and plot and who embarks upon a learning journey that changes them. A writer’s construction of the hero will Is this Essay helpful? Join OPPapers to read more and access more than 325,000 just like it! get better grades be analysed using examples from Kate Grenville’s Lilian’s Story, Dan Brown’s The Da Vinci Code and Stephen King’s Carrie in comparison to Joseph Campbell’s (1949, p. 36) “destiny of Everyman” by firstly illuminating who the hero’s and protagonist’s are, how the character of the hero has been portrayed and how their journey’s compare. Dan Brown’s The Da Vinci Code construction...
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...Whale Rider Themes In the film the Whale Rider, the once complimentary narratives that governed the Maori culture: Gender, Identity, and Traditions are competing against one another. The fundamental elements of these narrative has stayed unchanged; However, some characters are interpreting these liturgies to their own personal narratives, causing conflict within the Maori Culture. Synopsis of film During a time of modernization, poverty, and the decentralization of the role the Maori culture play in the people lives, one local leader (Koro) looked upon Hope in a form of a prophet. According to the Maori's traditions, the ancient ancestor Paikea descendants: the eldest son are the rightful tribe leader and will centralize the community again...
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...War because of its design. The wall is among the most famous monuments to American history on the Washington Mall, its difference from other forms of memorial reflect the controversy surrounding the Vietnam War. The Washington Monument and Lincoln Memorial, are both designed with pillars and white granite, and is are seen. The Vietnam Memorial however, is not visible until you are almost on top of it. If you approach it from behind it almost disappears into the land. The memorial represents the stigma brought upon veterans returning home from the war. The wall reflects the feelings of veterans. They have a feeling of abandonment while at the same time the memorial provides a safe haven for remembrance. It does not have a narrative but instead promotes personal reflection. It leaves individuals to analyze and interpret their memories as they will. The names inscribed upon the wall directly represents an individual. The names as representations of...
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...Lacey Coronado L24607849 BIBL 104-D30 April 20, 2012 Summary of the books of the Old Testament Books) Joshua The genre of Joshua is narrative. The two major themes in Joshua are the possession of the land and the covenant. Key Events: The major events of the book of Joshua are essentially separated into three different parts, including: the conquest of the land, the division of the land, and the farewells. During the “conquest of the land,” God orders Joshua to take possession of the land and warns him to keep faith with the Covenant. After crossing the Jordan by God’s divine intervention, the Israelites begin conquering the land by first taking Jericho, and then Ai. After some mishap with the Gibeonites in the south, the Israelites overtake Hazor in the north with “Yahweh’s” help. The second division of the book of Joshua was “the division of the land.” The division of the land essentially put people in literal possession of the land. The land divisions consisted of land east and west of the Jordan River, and also cities of refuge and the cities of the Levites. Lastly, in Joshua’s “farewells,” Joshua tells the Israelite leaders that they need to remain faithful to the covenant and to Yahweh. He also tells reminds the whole land of Israel of God’s great works. Joshua then performs the last covenant ceremony and sends the people to their land. The book of Joshua emphasized how important it is to be faithful to the covenant. Key characters: God, Joshua,...
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...historical events in the book, this work cannot be called as historical fiction. Rather it falls into the category of Alternate history. It belongs to the genre where the author alters events that really happened in the past and sets his plot in the resulting changes. In the case of Flight, the novel can be called speculative fiction with a heavy dose of history and historical elements. In this narrative of Zits’ story, the author makes the protagonist jump into different historical identities. Zits does this as he travels through time and revisits history. Zits understanding of violence changes as he travels through these different...
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