It was a hot summer day, the sun floundering every terrace with its burning waves. I was with Sam, at his terrace, playing with those plastic tubes that spread water everywhere as we squeeze them. It was among the happiest moments of my summer vacation, which was not that long, for it was only two Sundays a month, the rest was at the daunting and exhausting mill of my master or patron.
Sam and I were bond by a sturdy friendship crowned with the innocence of the early childhood that I miss greatly. We were happy in our little emulations, where I used to let him win so that I reap the happiness of seeing him jumping with joy.
The day went on smoothly until the crepuscule showed its majestic colors throughout the calm sky. We were playing with a lot of tiny toys, keeping it real in our little imaginary world. We used to bring to life all the cartoon characters that we saw at television, even though we saw them separately, him at home, and me in the archaic coffee shop where I "drove by" to essentially watch the cartoon, sell retail cigarettes, and expect the owner's wife to give me some cookies or an apple.
As the Sunset Prayer Call echoed in the air, I kissed my friend in the forehead and rushed to the staircase, hoping for the millionth time that my dear father wouldn't, by me being late, erase the few holly verses that still hang in my head.
My daily ritual was to run at the train station and watch passengers get in or get out this titanic machine that makes a noise I listen to like a dilettante enjoys a beautiful symphony. But the real purpose of me being there is to wait for her to come out the train, as she has been doing every day at 6pm. Her name was Sara, a pretty fictional name that we recourse to in a lot of novels an...
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...t her as soon as she arrives from her work. She was an escort by the way. and I did, Sam was with me, he told me she kissed that ugly guy and that she let him grab her tits, he saw all that from the window of the terrace. So when I saw her, I run to her and shook her dress, she turned to see who. "Do you want to buy a cigarette madam? Please madam they are good, I haven't bought any today". I was sweating, and she pushed me with disgust, and continued her way.
My best friend was laughing like crazy. I returned to him, with a little tear in my dirty eye. That was the only time I spoke to her, and I have never been the most important man in her life. I always slept with her in my fantasies.
It's hard to imagine that we can be animals by so wanting meat and at the same time be ingenious and creative to come up in the mind with great scenarios just to get this meat.
Jonathan Safran Foer wrote “Eating Animals” for his son; although, when he started writing it was not meant to be a book (Foer). More specifically to decide whether he would raise his son as a vegetarian or meat eater and to decide what stories to tell his son (Foer). The book was meant to answer his question of what meat is and how we get it s well as many other questions. Since the book is a quest for knowledge about the meat we eat, the audience for this book is anyone that consumes food. This is book is filled with research that allows the audience to question if we wish to continue to eat meat or not and provide answers as to why. Throughout the book Foer uses healthy doses of logos and pathos to effectively cause his readers to question if they will eat meat at their next meal and meals that follow. Foer ends his book with a call to action that states “Consistency is not required, but engagement with the problem is.” when dealing with the problem of factory farming (Foer).
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cold, harsh, wintry days, when my brothers and sister and I trudged home from school burdened down by the silence and frigidity of our long trek from the main road, down the hill to our shabby-looking house. More rundown than any of our classmates’ houses. In winter my mother’s riotous flowers would be absent, and the shack stood revealed for what it was. A gray, decaying...
As though their adulterous tryst were timed with the weather, their forbidden lust filled afternoon was over just as the storm was moving on. Although basking in the after-glow, neither dared to sleep. “The rain was over; and the sun was turning the glistening green world into a palace of gems.” Their passion was as fierce as the crashing torrents of the rain outside and then the after-glow from both being mutually satiated was like the sun coming back out.
I guess you want to know all the sordid details huh ? Hmmm. Well. Let me start with an introduction to the scenario. I'd already had a slave before but she wasn't behaving so I had to cut the bitch loose. It was a real shame. She was a real looker too. But oh well. I was cruising the bar circuit as is my usual. I went to the downtown core to scope out my next target but from what I saw there was nothing interesting around until the wee hours of the night when I was getting in my car and this young lady asked me for a light for her cigarette. Oh she was a looker, just like the one before. Long blonde hair that cascaded to the middle of her back, a generous pair of tits and wow, what a pair of legs. I was so stunned by her I almost forgot why I went out that night. I remember giving her a light so I'd have an excuse to strike up conversation. Just enough to stall her from leaving. She'd agreed to gab a bit so we both had a cigarette and talked in my car. The night air was a little cool so I turned on the car to keep us
Rachel Watson boards the 8:04 train on a morning just like any other. Little does she know that what she is about to witness will question everything she thought she knew. The girl on the train finds herself fantasizing about the lives of an ordinary, suburban couple (Jess and Jason) that she sees everyday while riding the train. She soon finds herself entangled in the disappearance of Megan “Jess” Hipwell. By offering what little information she knows, Rachel is determined to aid in clearing Scott “Jason” Hipwell’s name. In the end, Rachel discovers that she may be causing more harm than good by putting herself as well as others in jeopardy. In this journal, I will be evaluating, questioning, and predicting.
The journey back home was full of singing and celebrations of winning the tournament. Although it was the early afternoon that we arrived home, I was exhausted. The remainder of the day was spent telling everyone about the days gone past. Then life went back to normal.
The smell of the restaurants faded and the new, refreshing aroma of the sea salt in the air took over. The sun’s warmth on my skin and the constant breeze was a familiar feeling that I loved every single time we came to the beach. I remember the first time we came to the beach. I was only nine years old. The white sand amazed me because it looked like a wavy blanket of snow, but was misleading because it was scorching hot. The water shone green like an emerald, it was content. By this I mean that the waves were weak enough to stand through as they rushed over me. There was no sense of fear of being drug out to sea like a shipwrecked sailor. Knowing all this now I knew exactly how to approach the beach. Wear my sandals as long as I could and lay spread out my towel without hesitation. Then I’d jump in the water to coat myself in a moist protective layer before returning to my now slightly less hot towel. In the water it was a completely different world. While trying to avoid the occasional passing jellyfish, it was an experience of
“The assumption that animals are without rights, and the illusion that their treatment has no moral significance is a positively outrageous example of Western crudity and barbarity. Universal compassion is the only guarantee of morality."(Schopenhauer). I always wondered why some people are not so drawn to the consumption of meat and fed up with only one thought about it. Why so many people loathe of blood, and why so few people can easily kill and be slaughter animal, until they just get used to it? This reaction should say something about the most important moments in the code, which was programmed in the human psyche. Realization the necessity of refraining from meat is especially difficult because people consume it for a long time, and in addition, there is a certain attitude to the meat as to the product that is useful, nourishing and even prestigious. On the other hand, the constant consumption of meat has made the vast majority of people completely emotionless towards it. However, there must be some real and strong reasons for refusal of consumption of meat and as I noticed they were always completely different. So, even though vegetarianism has evolved drastically over time, some of its current forms have come back full circle to resemble that of its roots, when vegetarianism was an ethical-philosophical choice, not merely a matter of personal health.
Sandra's tale brought back much nostalgia for my younger days. Those days when everything was much more simple and happiness came with almost no effort. Cisneros reminds the reader of infantile glee by repeating words, just like a kid would do. She writes, "please, please, please," and "and there! And there!, And there!…" making almost an alliteration of words that realistically depicts the speech of a child ...
Golden sunlight trickled into the master bedroom of their beachfront house. They’d just purchased it a month ago, but it already felt like home. It was not fancy, nor large – there was an upstairs and downstairs, two bedrooms, two bathrooms (“With room to add on!” their relator had chirped), but the wraparound deck on the upper-level and the incredible water views from the floor-to-ceiling windows had convinced Percival and Gwaine this was the place for them.
I awoke to the sun piercing through the screen of my tent while stretching my arms out wide to nudge my friend Alicia to wake up. “Finally!” I said to Alicia, the countdown is over. As I unzip the screen door and we climb out of our tent, I’m embraced with the aroma of campfire burritos that Alicia’s mom Nancy was preparing for us on her gargantuan skillet. While we wait for our breakfast to be finished, me and Alicia, as we do every morning, head to the front convenient store for our morning french vanilla cappuccino. On our walk back to the campsite we always take a short stroll along the lake shore to admire the incandescent sun as it shines over the gleaming dark blue water. This has become a tradition that we do every morning together
When time jumped like lighting, so did we, not to our feet but towards each other. We held one another even tighter and didn't want to let go. Although, time was spent wisely and carefully saved, we had run out and were rushed like an ambulance to meet the schedule appointed in half an hour. In sweet bitterness, we packed up and went home. An everlasting day at Lake Lavon that is perpetual in my heart will remain there forever.
Let me begin with the words by George Bernard Shaw: ‘Animals are my friends and I don’t eat my friends’. This indicates the ethic aspect of meat consumption. In fact, people often don’t realize how animals are treated, but they can see commercial spots in their TV showing smiling pigs, cows or chickens, happy and ready to be eaten. My impression is that there can’t be anything more cruel and senseless. It is no secret that animals suffer ...
I awoke to the sun piercing through the screen of my tent while stretching my arms out wide to nudge my friend Alicia to wake up. “Finally!” I said to Alicia, the countdown is over. As I unzip the screen door and we climb out of our tent, I’m embraced with the aroma of campfire burritos that Alicia’s mom Nancy was preparing for us on her humungous skillet. While we wait for our breakfast to be finished, me and Alicia, as we do every morning, head to the front convenient store for our morning french vanilla cappuccino. On our walk back to the campsite we always take a short stroll along the lake shore to admire the incandescent sun as it shines over the gleaming dark blue water. This has become a tradition that we do every