When I was younger, I use to love going to the lake with them. Every summer, the four of us would get driven to my Grandma’s house, wriggling with excitement the entire way. The lake wasn’t far from the old cottage, hidden in the little patch of woods that enveloped the west and south side. Back when my grandma was still alive, the four of us would run crazily in our swimsuits to that pool of water, and she would chuckle and stroll behind. It was our little haven, where our friendships grew and the outside world faded away into nothing. Ten years later and the car rumbles on the same gravelly road again. Except this time my stomach clenches and I am alone with my thoughts. The road gives way to a narrow pathway sprawling with weeds and pebbles …show more content…
That one summer day destroyed my sanctuary and I dread seeing the little old cottage. The house watches me, it's bleeding eyes and gaping mouth ready to swallow me whole. My mind flashes back to the beautiful summer’s day, the leaves a bright green and the air warm with moisture. Waiting impatiently for Gabriel, Ruby and Elliot to hurry up. Puffing my chest out with pride when Grandma entrusted me to take them to the lake. Running elatedly into the woods, the air around us charged with the carefree spirits of four, eight-year-olds. I remember the way Gabe’s blonde hair stuck up, and how Ruby’s bright smile lit up her face. Most of all though, I remember Elliot, panting heavily, her face flushed with excitement, all bright, red hair and small, pale hands. We had reached a long, hollow log which I had promptly stood on to proclaim my grand …show more content…
It looks exactly the same, long and hollow covered with a fine layer of chartreuse moss. This was when I would stand on it and declare an awe-inspiring fact. Gabe would always smirk, as if it was something childish and embarrassing. Now looking back, I guess it was. But they had always, always listened no matter what. Except no one’s here now. Not Ruby or Gabriel or even little Ellie. I am alone. All alone. “Marco”, I whisper quietly. “Polo”, they answer, three different voices ringing out around me, in unison. I stagger backwards, my heart hammering erratically as three familiar faces glide out towards me. The edge of my horror-filled gaze catches sight of the lake. It is frozen. Just like last time. A frozen lake. A little boy in the middle. And three corpses floating around him. One with a blue top and short, blonde hair. Its skin is blue and puckered up into mounds of flesh. One with long brown ringlets, arms swelled beyond comprehension. And lastly one with a small hand and perfectly round nails, mottled with a myriad of blues and blacks. Red hair, that was once streaked with happiness and the light of a thousand suns, hanging limply in strands, its bright lustre gone. The little boy
He just turned and left without a word. I touched Lennie’s grave. The rough touch of the wood deflecting to my fingers. I walked back to the ranch. Everyone was asleep. I wanted to run away tomorrow but I couldn’t let this chance pass up. It also prevented any chance of Candy following me. I tiptoed out of the room and went straight to the woods. I made sure to mix myself in with the shadows of the trees. I saw the river and It felt like I did it...until I felt something grab me by my neck. I quickly got flipped over and pushed to the ground.
can seem to stay frozen in time, “…the lake was exactly where we had left it, the same number
For many people there is a sweet scent, an inviting image, the familiar sound of laughter that bring them back to a place full of childhood images. In “Once More to the Lake”, author E.B. White longs to bring his audience back to one of the most memorable places in his childhood, a camp on a lake in Maine, starting in about 1904. He shows the reader how he feels he has replaced his own father and is playing the same role he played nearly forty years earlier.
You know the feeling when everything’s perfect, and suddenly your heart just stops? The 1 hour 48 minute drive to Lake Ontario was just like any other. Movie playing, siblings arguing, music blasting. My family hosts our annual 4th of July party up by Cape Vincent. With the warm air filled with the scent of the grill, and the sounds of laughter and music,that weekend was turning out to be just like the rest. Or at least that’s what we thought. 1311 Failing Shores Lane was never quiet during any of the previous events, but for some reason a dead silence draped over the lot.
Surprisingly, our parents had beaten us to the top and we all stopped in awe, mesmerized by the great waterfall in front of us. My mouth felt like the Sahara desert. I vividly remember reaching for the chilling water bottle that hid underneath the tons of clothes stuffed in my father’s black backpack to quench my thirst. I took off my beaten down shoes and stinky socks covered in dirt from the trail and blood from the blisters on my feet and dove into the refreshing lake. After swimming through the lake for a few seconds, I abruptly jumped out of the freezing water. My toes turned into a blue that reminded me of the blueberry muffins from breakfast that morning. My body shivered as I exited the lake and threw on a warm towel over my shoulders. Gradually my body heat increased, escaping the risk of hypothermia. At that point, I just wanted to go home. My family and I gathered all our belongings and I dragged my energyless body into the large, gray shuttle. The shuttle smelled of sweat from previous passengers. It drove us down a rough, bumpy trail, causing my tall father to constantly slam his head on the roof of the car. After we finally got back to our hotel, we all let off a sigh of
The lake represents both the author’s past (childhood) and the present (when he took his son). As White spends time with his son at the lake, he experiences a dual existence. He says, “I began to sustain the illusion that [my son] was I, and therefore, by simple transposition, that I was my father” (White 459). This shows that White reminisces his childhood by going to the same lake that he went as a child and goes back and forth from the past to the present. In the past, there would be “peace and goodness and jollity” (White 462) which indicates that it used to be quiet and peaceful. Due to advancement of technology, White gets startled by the loud motorboats. He continues to describe his childhood compared to the present with his son. White would reminisces his adolescence and talk about how “ the boys played their mandolins and the girls ang and we ate doughnuts dipped in sugar… and what if felt like to think about girls back then” (White 463). White demonstrates that he has internal conflict about himself since he is trying to relive his adolescence and he is afraid of becoming older and eventually dying due to age. The last word in the essay is death since White realizes that his son will enter adolescence which shows that when the son matures, White will grow older until he dies of old age. His son will end up taking the
I arrive home around 11:00 p.m. to a sleeping wife and child. I walked into my daughter Emily’s nursery to give her a kiss goodnight. I leaned in and placed my lips on her forehead as she lightly opened her eyes. I rubbed her back and sang softly to put her back to sleep.
I make my way through the woods; I am familiar with my path that I don’t even mind that the towering trees have blocked out the sunlight from seeping in. I know exactly where I am going. The trees are endless and lost in the sky above. An outsider would have been lost here for days. I walk on through until the towering trees stop being menacing and the sunlight becomes more and more apparent with each step. The sky above is no longer shards of indecipherable green leaves but the soft and inviting blue of the cloudless sky. I am now in the light completely, the sunbeams washing over me. I just need to walk another mile to reach my destination.
One day we went to Yosemite National Park to visit again for my birthday because I asked to go there again. It took a very long time to get there. When we got there we had to pay at the main entrance, the park ranger said, "$30 dollars please", in a Texas voice. The park ranger said,"Enjoy your way into beautiful Yosemite. But the day before we had to pack lunch, fruit, vegetables,and clothes just in case we got wet in the water. But then we began our journey to Yosemite again. We found a spot to get wet but the water was very very cold so we tried to find another spot and we did. The water was so warm like a brownie out of a oven that's how warm it was. So then I got in the water with my brother
You can go now' he announces to my family and I. I look around nobody seems to be moving. I count to three in my head.' Splash '. The water is so warm and clear.
I jumped out of bed on today, June 19, eagerly waiting when I would finally arrive at the Channel Islands National Park. I have been researching this park for some time, and I couldn’t believe that I was going to spend a few days on these wonderful islands. I got together my tent and my supplies, and I eventually headed out the door. I got on the boat bright and early, and I’m going to spend this time going over research. I read that it was established as a National Park on March 5, 1980.
I turned left on the road that was getting a little farther from the water. I passed a beach with a playground that was merely just heap of uneven snow now. I remembered visiting there with my brothers long ago during the warm vibrant summers. We’d walk in bathing suits and flip flops alongside the brown pine needled covered street twenty minutes to that beach. We’d swing on the squeaking metal swing sets and swim through the cold murky lake water to the anchored raft that bobbed offshore.
Creative writing Calling from the lake. I used to have a little sister, Ariella. We were very close growing up, even though she was thirteen and I was seventeen, we always looked out for each other. She would make sure I was ok
One of the most unique creatures are fish. As I am sitting here in my room, my fish are swimming about with not a care in the world. I wonder what it would feel like to be a fish.