Rachna Shah my heart beats for nothing It ends with the rain. Pouring droplets, beautiful in their ephemeral state of being, cloud their vision; two students trudge up the grimy hill, dirt coating polished Mary Jane shoes, leather fraying at the edges. They are of House Honor, the most valorous house of St. Joseph’s Matriculation Higher Secondary School, though an unbiased view is yet to be ascertained. Maroon collared shirts and white pleated skirts are a murky color, something of a mix of splashing mud from running to catch the bus, the only means of transportation, and the downpour from the monsoon season. The tallest of the girls, Ashika, stands hesitantly outside the polished mahogany doors. “Well, go on then,” Pushpa says in a tone terrified, though it is with good reason. “We’re tardy,” Ashika disagrees. “And,” she continues, staring down at the state of her knuckles, blackened in colors, red welts forming on the sides, “You do know what that means.” Pushpa takes a deep breath. “Professor Palvali adores you, or at least she adores your grandmother’s donations —you go first, and perhaps the rest of us will escape any sort of extreme punishment.” With an aura of reluctance, Ashika enters, something of force in her lethargic step; Moral Sciences is neither a class of prestige nor honor, but more of a class of duty. “Do you have any excuse for being late?” The professor announces, clear and distinct voice shrill, ringing across the classroom. Ashika stands at the corner of the room, unsure of whether to run towards her seat, unfortunately located near the front of the classroom, or wait there for her accorded punishment—perhaps being hit with a ruler or rod, yet physical pain is something of simplicity to deal with... ... middle of paper ... ...ion in vain that her oblivious guardians (she wouldn’t exactly call them guardians, but what else is there to call them?) won’t know of her disappearance during the Opening House barbeque event to anywhere but the Mehta mansion. Though the Mehtas have supposedly resided in the house for generations, there is still the faintest reek of cobwebs and death hanging in the air, and Chaaya’s father has finally decided that selling the house might be for the best. Who has a barbeque in the winter, anyways? Ashika thinks, flicking ebony-flecked hair, stepping outside in the frigid air (frigid compared to the rather arid Indian climate), a chill running down a slender spine as she wraps herself up within a hand-knit shawl, colors weaving together in threads like music blending to create a symphony, except music doesn't cause pricked fingers, blood fading into white cotton.
" Thanks for your help Violet " I say as I walk up the stairs.
...a bead of blood off her finger with my kerchief. “Is it better?” I ask.
“Time’s up! Let me see…” Pacing back and forth with a pressed finger against her lip, she stopped in front of the unlucky first victim. “We’ll start with you, Mr. Evans.”
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...
One rather beautiful day I head down to the building fields of Uruk with my only son Urnabe. He is 14 and he is turning out to be a skilled mason or at least better than his old man. When we get there I see that Binfem was already waiting for me.
...eral topic of school. The sister strives to graduate and go to school even though she is poor while her brother blames the school for him dropping out and not graduating. “I got out my social studies. Hot legs has this idea of a test every Wednesday” (118). This demonstrates that she is driven to study for class and get good grades while her brother tries to convince her that school is worth nothing and that there is no point in attending. “‘Why don’t you get out before they chuck you out. That’s all crap,’ he said, knocking the books across the floor. ‘You’ll only fail your exam and they don’t want failures, spoils their bloody numbers. They’ll ask you to leave, see if they don’t’” (118). The brother tries to convince his sister that school is not a necessity and that living the way he does, being a drop out living in a poverty stricken family is the best thing.
Once upon a time deep in a large forest there lived a woodchopper, his wife, and their two children, Hansel and Gretel. It was a beautiful forest, full of trees, flowers and butterflies and streams. Matter of fact, the family had everything they could ever want except for one little thing.
Worthern has created a sincere and serious tone to persuade her audience the importance of etiquette. The use of word choices like “stand up”, “vigilant defense” and “protect” shows her passion of establishing etiquette to include the “disempowered minorities” as well as to be the “guardians of civilization” due to the positive and protective connotation of the words. She also adopts a calming and informative tone to explain the significance and historical background of maintaining a respectful environment for both students and professors instead of creating an authoritative tone to doctrine and warn the students to discontinue their improper behavior. On the other hand, Wade adopts a demanding and sarcastic tone insisting upon the reader the proper behaviors of college students through colloquial language. The use of colloquial language although is effective because Wade’s intended audience is direct to students, she begins her list of “10 Things Every College Professor Hates” by the admonitory word “Don’t” which creates a satiric mood for the whole article. Wade coerces the reader to admit and accept her argument by appealing to the audiences’ guiltiness and criticizing the audience’s behaviors in academic environment. For example, “No, you didn’t miss anything
I looked down and there it was what she was talking about. A bruise the size of a quarter marked my arm where that woman from the Alliance drew from me last night.
When I first walked into Mrs. G’s English classroom, I had mixed emotions. I was eager to be there and I’m glad I was provided with an opportunity to interact with students and the teacher before class started. It felt lovely to be greeted by Mrs. G. with a good morning and small greeting. There are approximately 24 students and I did my best to count them as fast I could without making it uncomfortable for the scholars. Approximately, there are 13 boys and 11 girls with only 1 teacher. The classroom at El Sausal Middle School had a multicolored and untidy setting. When I say “untidy,” I mean that the desks, the materials and the equipment felt older and that they had been thro...
What I found most baffling was how I was completely oblivious to the control that alcohol had on my life. The family tried explaining the pliers-like grip it had on me, but they would further have to explain how I became very defensive when they did so, They indicated how I would incite arguments and become very ill-tempered in response to my inability to calm my cravings. However, I couldn 't even begin to conceive of myself displaying such behavior, especially towards my own family. Learning how my actions had hurt them in such a manner was perhaps the most difficult part to accept as it caused a mass of sorrow to fluctuate my heart and flood my eyes with tears on a regular base. I thought, endeavoring to wrap my mind around it all was literally incomprehensible. Still, something or someone had to be the voice of reason behind the broken furniture, busted walls, and smashed mirrors throughout the house. I came to grips with the fact that everyone could not have been fashioning the exact same fabrication about me and my sudden outbursts.
With a distracted wave of the hand Ms. Collins sent the girl on away, not bothering to sign her a pass. “Yeah, go ahead.”
Jane’s initial confrontation with Mr. Brocklehurst inside the school leaves her in misery as she i...
November 25, 2012. That day, or should I say night that changed everything. My best friend/sister of six years decided she no longer wanted to be friends with me. She looked me in the eye and said, “It’s just not the same.” Most people would say that’s not such a big deal, it happens all the time. In most situations it wouldn’t have been a big deal but that night I would soon realize that my life was going to spiral out of control and I was going to witness a domino effect like no other.