There once was a boy named Joseph Anthony Reyes. To the naked eye he seemed like every other eleven year old boy on Pinewood Drive. He was short and scrawny with unkempt, brown hair that fell just below his ears. His little legs flew him off the bus and through the yard. He reached the front porch; opened and then slammed the door; threw off his back pack; ran his way threw the living room and found himself in the backyard. The rocks were all accounted for as well as the small scraps of wood. His father’s tool belt was in the corner of his eye, when his mother opened the back door. “Come on in Joey we need to talk about your last spelling test,” his mother called. His little legs dragged their normal path to the back door. She helped him understand …show more content…
They rushed out to greet him full of excitement and hope. They hugged his calves and unstuck the seeds from his jeans. The stones were quickly thrown to the ground beside him and replaced with familiar greetings. When they lead him to the ground and told him to rest he complied without hesitation. The visitor was adorned with flowers and gifts. Joseph had become decorated and stuffed with food. And then he slept. The queen ordered that their be a blanket made in honor of his visit, so that he could rest underneath it the following night. There was not a moment within the eight hours that he slept that a little eye was not watching him. They were absorbed with the thoughts of his day to day life. The tried to use the things in his tool belt, but they were much too big for the small creatures. As he slept they fantasized about what he would make for them this year. He awoke as the sun reached its head above the horizon. His first sights were hundreds of fairies gasping at every movement he made. He thought that the little creatures were funny. They over reacted to every single thing. A yawn gained a glorious thunder of applause. The next step in his morning was a beautiful feast. He was stuffed with nuts and fruit as he began …show more content…
He packed his supplies and tools and began the journey. When he reached the clearing he was not met by a single fairy. He walked to the big tree. His houses were empty. They had been lived in, but there was no one to be found. He searched the surrounding woods as well as their old homes, but he found nothing. There were no fairies left. He was too late. The trip back was depressing. The bryers stung as he ripped through the weeds and tears formed in his eyes. The path took much less time now that he was older. The question popped into his head; had he made it up all of those years ago? He came into the backyard to see that the tiny window to the left of the back door was open and his daughter was struggling to shimmy through. He quickly ran to help her. When she plopped out into the grass her face turned bright red. She thought she was in trouble. Her father laughed and let her play. He sat on the steps by his back door to pick the seeds off of his jeans when he saw it. She had grabbed his tool belt and a few scraps of wood. He was right, he was filled with joy when she began to dance and create. He knew now why they had left the clearing. They found another scrawny eleven year old to spoil and teach; it was her turn now and he would not take her away from
People disappear for several reasons; it could be to start a new life, it could be to hide from someone or it could be because someone doesn’t want you found. This paper is about the disappearance of Yessenia Suarez and her two children. Can the police determine if a crime was committed and by whom? This paper will describe the evidence and the timeline of events in the case.
Carlos Deluna was born on March 15th 1962. Carlos DeLuna, who was arrested for murder, was developmentally disabled and had a low IQ. He dropped out of junior high and took a series of manual jobs. He had a history of petty nonviolent crime, including robbery and car theft. DeLuna also developed a taste for huffing spray paint. He was arrested multiple times holding a can of spray paint with his hands and mouth “smeared with the stuff.” DeLuna was convicted of murder and sentenced to death by the state of Texas. On the night of February 4th,1983 a 24 year old gas station attendant named Wanda Lopez was murdered.Reporters said the young woman had been stabbed multiple time with a buckle knife. At his 1983 trial, Carlos DeLuna told the jury that on the day of the murder he had ran into Hernandez, who he'd known for the previous five years. The two men, who both lived in the southern Texas town of Corpus Christi, stopped off at a bar. Hernandez went over to a gas station, the Shamrock, to buy something, and when he didn't return DeLuna went over to see what was going on.Mrs.Lopez was killed while on the phone with the police, having just called 911 reporting a suspicious person. Police found DeLuna hiding in a truck a few blocks away. DeLuna told the jury that he saw Hernandez inside the Shamrock wrestling with a woman behind the counter. DeLuna said he was afraid and started to run. He had his own police record for sexual assault. "I just kept running because I was scared, you know." When he heard the sirens of police cars screeching towards the gas station he panicked and hid under a pickup truck where, 40 minutes after the killing, he was arrested.(Pilkington) DeLuna always maintained that he didn't do it, but waited until his tr...
As he looked at the picture, his eyes welled up with tears. It was a picture of him with his little sister, whom he would never play with again. Being only nine years old, he had not been through the deaths of any family members, except for his grandma he never even met, who passed away only months after he was born. But this tragedy turned him into an emotional wreck, as he would never be with his four year old sister again. It all happened in a heartbeat, he woke up on the first day of Spring Break and found his little sister lying silent in her bed, not breathing. And now, two days later, he finds himself at her funeral. The picture that stood out was of him and his sister showing off the vegetables they had picked in their garden
	"It mattered that education was changing me. It never ceased to matter. My brother and sisters would giggle at our mother’s mispronounced words. They’d correct her gently. My mother laughed girlishly one night, trying not to pronounce sheep as ship. From a distance I listened sullenly. From that distance, pretending not to notice on another occasion, I saw my father looking at the title pages of my library books. That was the scene on my mind when I walked home with a fourth-grade companion and heard him say that his parents read to him every night. (A strange sounding book-Winnie the Pooh.) Immediately, I wanted to know, what is it like?" My companion, however, thought I wanted to know about the plot of the book. Another day, my mother surprised me by asking for a "nice" book to read. "Something not too hard you think I might like." Carefully I chose one, Willa Cather’s My ‘Antonia. But when, several weeks later, I happened to see it next to her bed unread except for the first few pages, I was furious and suddenly wanted to cry. I grabbed up the book and took it back to my room and placed it in its place, alphabetically on my shelf." (p.626-627)
Sue, D. & Sue, D. (2016). Counseling the culturally diverse: theory and practice. (7th ed.). New
Arriving at Lacey’s house I walk to the backdoor letting myself into the house. Lacey was putting on tanning lotion in the kitchen, “Lacey,” I called to her, “my mom wants me to pick up snacks for the beach, do you want to go into town with me?”, “Sure,” she replied, “do you mind if my cousin comes with us?”, “Of course I don’t mind,“ I answered, “but we have to get moving, my dad only left me the car to use ‘til noon.”
He has affiliations with Sport Clothing businesses and R.A.H. Productions Owner/Product on youtube He is a Retired Marine wounded in Afghanistan and amputee since Oct. 2011, Ever since becoming an Adaptive athlete he has dedicated himself to motivating and inspiring other people with the same or even other conditions. Jose Luis Sanchez was born January 14, 1984 in San Antonio, Texas. He was an athletic youth that participated in football, basketball and track. Immediately after graduating from high school in 2003, Sanchez joined the U.S Marine Corps. His first duty was Okinawa, Japan with 3/12 Artillery as a Field Radio Operator followed by service in OIF at Iraq, Ramadi with 3/8 Infantry.After OIF, Cpl. Sanchez went to Guantanamo Bay, Cuba
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.
Democratic Representative Ruben Hinojosa of the 15th Congressional District was first elected in 1993 and is currently serving his ninth term in the 113th Congress (Hinojosa, Biography, 2014). Hinojosa is considered to be a supporter for the underprivileged and has distinguished himself as a strong campaigner for the Hispanic minority, education, housing and economic development (Hinojosa, Biography, 2014).
The story begins as the boy describes his neighborhood. Immediately feelings of isolation and hopelessness begin to set in. The street that the boy lives on is a dead end, right from the beginning he is trapped. In addition, he feels ignored by the houses on his street. Their brown imperturbable faces make him feel excluded from the decent lives within them. The street becomes a representation of the boy’s self, uninhabited and detached, with the houses personified, and arguably more alive than the residents (Gray). Every detail of his neighborhood seems designed to inflict him with the feeling of isolation. The boy's house, like the street he lives on, is filled with decay. It is suffocating and “musty from being long enclosed.” It is difficult for him to establish any sort of connection to it. Even the history of the house feels unkind. The house's previous tenant, a priest, had died while living there. He “left all his money to institutions and the furniture of the house to his sister (Norton Anthology 2236).” It was as if he was trying to insure the boy's boredom and solitude. The only thing of interest that the boy can find is a bicycle pump, which is rusty and rendered unfit to play with. Even the “wild” garden is gloomy and desolate, containing but a lone apple tree and a few straggling bushes. It is hardly the sort of yard that a young boy would want. Like most boys, he has no voice in choosing where he lives, yet his surroundings have a powerful effect on him.
A child’s coming of age is a universal and inevitable transition that Seth does not foresee or even expect, and until looking back on it almost thirty-five years later, he does not realize the true significance of his passage. That day Seth’s very foundations were rocked as his eyes were opened to the world and its ways. When the story begins Seth’s transition has already begun to take place, and the smooth and repetitive rhythm of his life that has always brought him so much comfort slowly begins to crumble. Even such a small and seemingly insignificant thing as not being allowed to go outside in June without shoes, something which he has always been able to do, puzzles and confuses Seth. The appearance of the odd and out of place stranger even further fascinates and bewilders the small boy. Seth’s world begins to spin even faster and stranger as he sees Dellie, a woman that he has always thought he knew so well and even refers to her as being methodical as a machine, violently strikes her son as he has never seen her do and later as Old Jebb questions Seth’s mother’s very words. Until that day, Seth has never considered the fact that things would ever any different than they always had been.
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.
He awoke to the sun peeping over the horizon and through the dusty wooden blinds. The sudden brightness startled him. He took a breath, lifted his head, and gently observed the mystifying beauty of the landscape. But he lowered his head. Once again, he remembered.
The year is 2003. It’s the beginning of July in a small suburb town. A little girl sits in her backyard on a covered swing. The sun sat in a cloudless sky, casting shadowy patterns across the cushion on the swing. She can hear her younger sisters laughing and splashing in the pool that is just a few feet away. But she was not interested in swimming, because her attention was on the book on her lap that she had just gotten yesterday. Her feet brushing against the grass with every motion of the swing. Her eyes eagerly scanning the pages, trying to soak up as much of the story she could. Before her mom told her to put the book down and spend time with her family.
The dark, black sky was covered with a million bright shining stars. The moon shimmered above a small town in the suburbs of London. The gentle wind swept past the bare trees and danced with the leaves below it, creating a colourful array of orange, yellow, red and brown. Across the street, a light was on in a small house where a tall, dark haired woman stood, talking to her two children Nicola and Erin. While she was tucking them in Erin asked, “Mummy, will you tell us a story please?” “I’m sorry but its time to go to sleep now,” she said. “Please mummy,” begged Nicola “Okay but only one story,” she replied “This story is about how I got lost when I was a young girl and how I met an incredible man. It all began when…”