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The Deja Vu Experience
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Through the corner of my eye, a car surged to a halt at the blinking red light. The breeze collided with my face, what a good feeling it was, cooling my warm skin. In the sweltering heat, a heat as wild as a loose, angered gorilla, I gazed through the tinted matt window, it was difficult to see. I made a picture out of the fuzzy view and saw a glamorous women sat beside a striking man. I looked at the car, with watery eyes, I regretted how I, I could have earned myself a fabulous car like that; it was not the case as I derailed my education far too early to get myself there. I turned a deaf ear to it. After a while I was curious of who was in such an elegant car. Was it a doctor? Or was it a geologist? I was so perplexed; I had to turn to my work buddy. I asked Bruce “Who d’ya think they are mate?”, but the answer was already something I knew, “Some filthy rich couple”. Then suddenly all four windows rolled down. Was it Homer Simpson! No, just the stench of garbage getting to me yet another time. Well it did remind me of him. An old mans suit reflected in a posh mixture of white, g...
Ace Atkins begins by providing the reader with a scenario of two distinct persons driving a Prius and a Ford truck. He describes the stereotypical thoughts that may run through the Prius driver’s mind of the Ford driver such as being “a red stater”. The tone of Atkins introduction is certainly humorous and nonchalant as he explains that the man behind
She thought about her family, and the neighbors, and the town, and the dogs next door, and everyone and everything she has ever met or seen. As she began to cry harder, she looked out the window at the stores and buildings drifting past, becoming intoxicated suddenly with the view before her. She noticed a young woman at the bus stop, juggling her children on one side of her, shielding them from the bus fumes.
As I walked toward a bus full of strangers, using my sunglasses to shield the tears forming in my eyes, I couldn’t help but to be apprehensive of what was to become of the next twenty-three days of my life. As I trudged up the stairs of the bus leaving behind all that was known, I couldn’t help but wonder; What have I gotten myself into?
Her ability to use incredibly graphic details poetically just enhance the experience for the reader. Her car ride is a solemn one, and readers are introduced to the disturbances inside of the car as well as outside. Olds is able to express to readers the issues her father has with drinking while associating it to the death outside of the car as well. She is able to bring readers into the dark car with her, witnessing the wreckage, the cars strewn over the highway, and most importantly the body of the woman. While the accident wasn’t any fault of the car she is riding in, she is up front with readers how her father is not quite sober, and just missed hitting someone himself. Olds is able to use the graphic imagery of the accident and the somber interior of the car to express the family struggles she endured as well. Sheltered by her mother from the scene outside, she is left reflecting on the life that is represented on the road. Readers can feel the dark turn of her thoughts as she compares the carnage on the road as “…glass, bone, metal, flesh, and the family” (Olds). It is this ending in which Olds allows readers to understand the complexity of feelings that were associated with the accident on the dark rain covered highway. Reflecting on the
When the day came to leave I was woken at the crack of dawn. I was keen to get to Blackpool as swiftly as possible, not only for the football that was ahead of us but also for the famous Pleasure Beach. The coach picked us up at around 8 am and in we crammed into an already full coach. The journey down was full of laughter and friendly joking from the parents. That day, it was particularly hot and inside the coach a number of people were becoming uncomfortable. I was unaffected by the warmth inside the coach, with my earphones in I relaxed and paid more attention to the vast countryside we were passing through. The vivid scenery blew me away, with colossal hills to calm rivers that we met on the journey.
It may start with one simple spark in the darkest of times. When the walls of the world seem as though they are squeezing the life out of you, and you're trapped under the demands and desires of an overwhelming society; when you feel so broken inside, your identity is almost unrecognizable. When this pain feels as if it is too much to bear, it may be that one spark that suddenly lights your world anew and in some cases changes your life forever. I read it over the long hours of one night, unable to put it down, until suddenly the light of the sunrise penetrated my blinds. As I closed the book with a satisfied smile, tears streamed down my face until the title of the book became one big blur.
Hollow eyes glanced around the pristine apartment, the gray scale color scheme seems to match the women clasping her hands together, pursing her lips and searching for approval from the girl that stood in the doorway. Automatically, the girl deduced the woman was quite wealthy, especially in the neighborhood she'd now live in. The streets were busier, filled with nicer cars instead of busted ones without their fenders falling apart at the edge. Her nimble fingers explored the wall as she took careful steps into the living room. Winnie wasn't acclimated to this life style: the wallpaper wasn't being striped at the corners, stainless carpets without nothing questionable left behind, no sign of undesirable critters, and silence. She could finally
Long, wide roads, small houses, steel fences, tall palm trees, a black Toyota parked at a yellow colored house, an abandon house, which looked like it was hunted, the front door was open and you can see from afar that inside there is nothing but darkness. The house was surrounded by trees and it was secluded from all the other houses around it. These were my view as I walked into an unfamiliar building called Thomas Jefferson Middle School. As I opened the blue wooden door and walked in the building, a tremendous chill came over me, which I have never felt before. The building was very cold; I started shivering as I was walking in. It was old and was not well cared for. The colors of the walls were faded and the elevators made the sound of
The small legs that whisked back and forth in the open space of the vehicle were full of energy. The young girl spent the day with the two people she admired the most. A bigger version of herself sat in the passenger seat with her husband driving next to her. They laughed over conversation. Every so often, the girl would stick thin fingers against her mother’s shoulder to receive her attention. She would say something trivial and obvious, but her mother would still entertain her. She absorbed every phrase her daughter said as if each filled her with a tremendous joy and was the greatest thing ever spoken. Her mother had selected a black dress for her today with a large white ribbon tied around her midsection. Her hair had been combed back in two braids so that the tips were touching her shoulder blades. They were coming home late from a Christmas party at church.
Ow. My head hurts. It has been lying against this wall for at least an hour now. I scratched the back of my head to move around my dark, curly hair. It was beginning to feel plastered against my scalp. It was a bit tangled from not brushing it for a day and my fingers did not run through it with ease; nevertheless, it felt good to keep the blood flowing. I was lying on a thin, light blue mat on the floor. My head was propped up against the cold wall as if it were a concrete pillow. My chin dug into my chest and I could feel the soft, warm material from my sleeveless sweater cushioning my jaw. I looked down. I could see the ends of my hair cascading over my shoulders. The red highlights matched quite nicely with my maroon sweater. My arms were folded over my belly and they appeared more pale than usual. My knees were bent, shooting upward like two cliffs. My baggy blue jeans covered the backs of my fake brown leather shoes. ("Christy, let me borrow your pants, the baggy ones with the big pockets. I can hide more stuff in those.")
As I walked out of Cazares Driving school, I looked at my mom in disappointment and embarrassment. I never wanted to return to that awful place. All I wanted to do was curl up in a little ball and I didn't want anyone else to know what I had done. I didn't even want to hear what my mom had to say. As I entered the car I could feel my face burning like hell surely enough it was red like an apple. I was trying to hide my face in the palms of my hands as I imagined all the remarks my mom and brothers had to make. "Darling how could we have miscalculated six months?"
The third maddening buzz of my alarm woke me as I groggily slid out of bed to the shower. It was the start of another routine morning, or so I thought. I took a shower, quarreled with my sister over which clothes she should wear for that day and finished getting myself ready. All of this took a little longer than usual, not a surprise, so we were running late. We hopped into the interior of my sleek, white Thunderbird and made our way to school.
The car was hot and stuffy when I slipped back into the driver's seat. I found the most depressing music I owned and drove out of Glenwood as the sun started to set. Two more hours until I was home, two more hours of thinking what a terrible day I had gone through, and two more hours of cussing myself for being so naïve. The drive was a long one.
The sound of the wheels from a skateboard on the pavement rattles my head. The only thing stopping the pounding noise was the slight breeze of air that flew through cooling down all the noise. Blowing through the blue curls in my hair the wind covered my ears. No worries could reach me in this moment. The excitement to get to the library kept me flying down the road. I could already imagine the smell in the air of old paperback books enveloping my nose. Getting to run my fingers over new books hard spines that hold the forever stories together.
Frost, the only thing I saw out my bedroom window, kept me focused on my homework. Temperatures dropping so rapidly, it dropped twenty- five degrees in an hour. The temperatures, frigid, plumbing to negative fifteen by the time it was over. Sunday nights are for the procrastinators to do their homework, surprisingly, one is me. Suddenly cellphone vibrations filled the room, it was from one of my classmates. The picture message downloaded for a few minutes, and it stated, “If you think this girl is a w****, s***, and a b**** forward this on.” I sat there in a moment of silence, mice scurrying up and down the walls. Being a junior high student, I really didn’t put much though into it. You don’t think for your future you think for the time now. The message referred to one of my ex girlfriends, so that made me forward it on with out any thought. Making that decision shocked me for what awaited me at school the next day.