It was a Thursday morning. After grumpily dragging myself out of bed, I made my way to the kitchen where my mother was cooking Vietnamese waffles. The rest of the house was dark and docile, it lay silent and seemed to sleep. The kitchen however, was filled with a golden light that seemed to breathe life into the room.The waffles sizzled in the waffle maker, turning the lifeless batter into airy waffles. Pots and pans flew around the kitchen with several clangs. The air was filled with the fragrant smell of sugar and pandan. Just over in the living room, the news was flashing on the T.V. screen. “And the weather today will be…” the weatherman commentated as arrows and clouds danced around on the green-screened map behind him. The waffles were taking centuries to cook. Impatiently, I once again checked on the waffles in the glistening waffle maker. To my dismay, the stubborn waffles were still only bubbling pools of green batter. Exasperated, I decided to start with a glass of milk and eat the waffles later. When I went to grab the jug of milk, an infinite number of cartons of juice and bottles of water dove in front of the container I was trying to retrieve. I was too tired to deal with …show more content…
This was a new, heavy jug of milk, and I couldn’t muster the strength that early in the morning to lift it and pour the milk into a glass. Instead, with the cap unscrewed, I placed the jug on the table, then tilted it so that the lip of the jug rested on the lip of the glass. With the jug at an angle, milk began spilling into the glass. However, like a waterfall in a drought, the stream of milk winded down until it eventually disappeared. The angle the milk jug was at was no longer sharp enough for the milk to spill out. Drowsy, I decided the best course of action would be to set the jug back onto the table, then tip it again. I figured the momentum would cause additional milk to splash into the
a cow laughs, does milk come out of his nose?" So I took what was left of the
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...
“The house is settling,” my Italian carer would say as the lights dimmed and glowed in her ghostly presence… but this wasn’t all the house did. I slept in my room. Well, not really slept. Sleep was never something I did much of, especially early on. My worries at seven pm far outweighed my need for sleep. Awake. Forever awake. My father had left me. My mother…
Rays of golden sunlight were piercing the blue sky. Today was a hot day. There had been no rain in the last month. A young child was playing in the field while his father was harvesting the crops. The boy was playing among the newly harvested golden vegetables. There were a lot more vegetables than he remembered from years past. The boy knew they were going to sell most of this harvest. Where are the other plants that he remembered? Why was corn the only thing growing? Why is it in straight lines instead of winding around the property like it normally did? He pondered these questions on the way to school. Today, unlike normal, his teacher let him out of school early. Though he thought nothing of it at the time the sky was turning dark. It was almost like a monster ate the sun. Not only was it getting dark the wind started to blow. The wind sound like a wolf howling at a full moon. When he reached his house, his father rushed him inside. The first of many dust storms hit and the period known as the Dust Bowl began.
couldn't do anything about it. Then, I saw my aunt rising from her chair to get
The arrival of winter was well on its way. Colorful leaves had turned to brown and fallen from the branches of the trees. The sky opened to a new brightness with the disappearance of the leaves. As John drove down the country road he was much more aware of all his surroundings. He grew up in this small town and knew he would live there forever. He knew every landmark in this area. This place is where he grew up and experienced many adventures. The new journey of his life was exciting, but then he also had a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach of something not right.
Wiping the sleepies out of my eyes, I quickly glanced at my alarm clock – 5 am. “Good, I’ve got plenty of time,” I thought to myself. As quietly as possible, which never works when I am trying to, I quickly grabbed a bowl of cereal for breakfast. Checking my list and grabbing my gear I headed out to wait for a taxi in the cool fading morning. I could taste the excitement, or was that the humidity?
The physics behind bottle flipping is pretty complex. Even though it's simply gravity pushing the bottle down while the Angular momentum rotates the bottle. But I will go more in to detail in the essay. Bottle flipping started last year when a senior at Adrey Kell high school in North Carolina flipped a water bottle for his talent show performance.
I jumped out of my bed, rushed to the window and took a very deep breath. The morning air was full of special fragrant. I could not understand that scent; just remember that it was quite special. Now I know that it was a scent of freedom. It seemed like I could see all the molecules that were dancing in the rays of the sun as a little cartoon bulbs: very light and happy.
On the table are two glasses of milk. This is one of the most powerful
The disappearing milk After the arrival of the Brazilian convoys, the narrator develops an incurable and relentless uneasiness and anxiety which forces him to flee his house in an attempt to find peace of mind. He travels to the Mont Saint Michel where his state of mind seems to improve. However, upon his return, the narrator’s anxiety becomes palpable. On July 4, the narrator describes an encounter with an invisible being akin to a succubus. The presence straddles him during his sleep and sucks his life through his lips.
They arrived at the cottage it sat on a hill in the distance the cottage was painted a radiant yellow. The grass was so rich it bounced back in place after every step they toke. Beautiful marigolds, poppies, and roses surrounded the white picket fence. Inside was the table piled high of food fit for the gods. Frosted pastries oozing with sweet-smelling filling, mouthwatering glistering chicken, and freshly plucked fruits.
This cup is not filled to the brim; one can assume that it was filled to not touch the brim, one may also assume that it was emptied so it would not touch the brim. These are the most reasonable and satisfying answers. Assumptions, it's crazy how they work. At such a young age, one could not assume the glass was half empty or half full. One would have to witness the cup of milk being poured or emptied to determine if the cup was full or not.
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
As I depart from the kitchen, I walk into the living room. There is a terrifying ugly brown couch with a crocheted throw draped over it. Two more Lazy-Boy chairs sit by it. On the opposite side of the room from me is a stone fireplace with shelves built on either side of it. These shelves are filled with books on every topic one can think of. Subjects range from the Civil War to cooking and mechanics. Above the fireplace rests an old, dependable clock. As it strikes the hour with its dings and dongs, I know I am where I belong. I am home.