It was a regular Saturday morning. Dragging myself against my will out of bed, I trudged down the stairs and made my way to the kitchen. Popping two pieces of bread in the toaster, I grabbed the pitcher of orange juice from my fridge. Closing my fridge, I made my way to the kitchen table. I flipped the radio on and looked into the carelessly discarded newspaper on the counter. As I scanned through the articles, one caught my attention. They were releasing robotic super-suits for the cops in our area. I didn't think of it as important, so I casually shrugged and looked for upcoming films in the newspaper. Suddenly, I heard my toast pop. As I strolled to my toaster, I heard a sound of a whirlwind behind me. I looked behind me to see an older version of me. He looked well-built, with dreadlocks and a red bandanna across his brow. He wore a dark olive green trench coat, with camouflage pants. A scar was placed on his left eye. In his left hand, he held a large gun. He aimed his weapon at me, yelling, “What year is it?” I stood there in a moment of stupor. The man pushed his weapon against my head, bellowing the question again. I snapped out of my daze, and whimpered, “2013?” The stranger pressed a button at the back of his gun, and the gun shrank down to a stick and he placed it in his pocket. Extending his hand, he announced, “Ayomiro Aderin, MPEF Founder, at your service.” Looking at him in a confused manner, I inquired, “M-P-E-what? Wait, who are you, really?” The older man sighed in exasperation, then articulated, “Look, I don't have enough time to say this, but the apocalypse is going to begin by the end of this week. The destruction is inevitable. It will scar the world for life. It will be caused by the robotic suits being made... ... middle of paper ... ...e version of me. Upon locating him, I threw him his globe-trotting device and exclaimed, “Get us out of here! Now!” As soon as he received the time machine, he returned me to my current day and age. A week later, I was out for my morning jog. I've noticed that the sky was a dark shade of orange and red. Surrounding me were house in flames, cars careening out of control, and dead bodies everywhere. I look to the sky to see streaks of life heading towards me from the sky. As they came towards me, they appeared to be humans. I gave them a look of defiance. One of the humanoids tossed a beam of energy towards me. I grinned, “Welcome to the new age!” As soon as those words left my lips, I generated the energy beam and tossed it back at the humanoid. It took the head off and I heard short-circuiting noises. “Androids,” I announced, “Prepare for the fight of your life!”
In “ ‘It Was Like All of Us Had Been Raped’: Sexual Violence, Community Mobilization, and the African American Freedom Struggle” by Danielle L. McGuire, McGuire begins her piece with a haunting tale of the rape of Betty Jean Owens, that really illustrates the severity of racial brutality in the 1950s. She depicts a long history of african-american women who refuse to remain silent, even in the face of adversity, and even death, and who've left behind a testimony of the many wrong-doings that have been done to them. Their will to fight against the psychological and physical intimidation that expresses male domination and white supremacy is extremely admirable. The mobilization of the community, and the rightful conviction of the 4 white men most definitely challenged ideologies of racial inequality and sexual domination, and inspired a revolution in societal
As I walk to the store to pick up snacks for the next half of the super bowl, I am trying to make it quick. I finally arrive at the store and quickly get my two favorite items, skittles and an ice tea. Thinking to myself that this is all I need, not knowing that it would be my last meal. On the walk back home, I have a feeling that I am being followed. I speed up. I turn around to find that a grown Hispanic man, mid-age, and heavily built is in fact, following me. In my head, I just want to make it home safely. Every move I make, he makes the same moves. Finally I turn around, quite nervous, to see if there was a problem. Next thing I know, we are on the ground fighting. Here I am, seventeen years old, up against a man in his thirties. As we fight, I know that this situation isn’t going to end well. Last thing I remember is being shot in my stomach. While I lay in the grass taking my last breaths, all I could think is “Why me”?
I. Intro. - Imagine you are sitting home one night with nothing to do. Your parents have gone away for the weekend and there is absolutely no one around. So you sit around that night watching TV for awhile but find nothing on worth watching. You go on upstairs to your room and get ready for bed. Turn off the lights, lay down, and close your eyes. All of a sudden you here a crash of glass in your kitchen. You rush to your feet and put your ear to the door listening to what’s going on downstairs. You begin to hear the voice of two men as they start going through the living room, making their way to the stairs, right outside your room. What do you do? You aren’t going to confront them since its just you—remember you thought you heard two of them right? Well you are really stuck in your room and all you can do is sit there hoping that they leave soon and don’t harm you. Now if it were at my house things would be a little bit different. For starters I would get out my shotgun from my closet and begin to see what is gin on down stairs.
Tanner had a plan and he told me to go order a hotdog then we would examine it to compare the hotdogs Robert is selling to the ones Tanner sells. I ordered the hotdog and Tanner noticed something ver familiar. “Aha, he is using my hotdogs because my hotdogs are the only kind that are made with cinnamon pretzel bread and my buns have a tiny T initial in the corner.” I was really impressed of how much detail he put in his hot dog buns.”The reason why I put that initial is because I know how to identify my buns if someone tries to steal my hot dogs again, because believe me this isn’t the first time someone has tried to steal my hotdogs.” At last, we finally found out Robert was the guilty one. Tanner and Mario got their hotdogs that were stolen back and Robert’s business was shut down. We realized that sometimes people do all kinds of crazy things to see people suffer in order for them to be happier, even if it’s not the right thing to
On a cold night in December, Linda, a cutthroat investment banker, was walking home late at night from her luxurious office in Houston, Texas. The night was Christmas Eve, but Linda had to work late to finish up a big deal she was closing. It was lightly snowing outside, and as Linda liked snow, she decided walking the short distance to her apartment rather than driving would be relaxing. Her husband and two children were eagerly awaiting her arrival to spend Christmas Eve together as a family. As Linda was walking, she began to have the strange feeling that someone was following her. As she looked behind her, there was one man walking a few hundred feet back on the otherwise empty sidewalk. This frightened Linda a little, and she quickened her pace slightly. The man followed suit, increasing the speed at which he was following the nervous woman. Linda wasn’t quite sure what to do; this had never happened to her before. She turned around a second time, and felt a wave of horror pass over her as she saw the mans face, dark and fierce. She also saw something in his gloved right hand, long, silver, and shining dully in the dim streetlights. Linda knew that the object was indeed a knife, and now realized that she was in serious trouble. As she rounded a street corner, she began to sprint. The mysterious man rounded the corner, looking down, and saw a pair of high heels laying in the middle of the sidewalk. As he looked up, he saw Linda running as fast as she could, her bare feet kicking up snow. The man took off after her, furious that he had let her gain so much distance between them. Linda tried to open her purse in order to use
Wells, H. G. “The Time Machine.” The Complete Short Stories of H. G. Wells. London: Ernest Benn Limited, 1966. 9-91. Print.
When I woke with a few rays of light peering through my window. I got up stiffly, pulling my gun out from under the pillow as I did so. Since initiation as I almost always had a gun on me, it was a dangerous world in Chicago, your life could end at any moment. There was a couple times that just tapping the gun in my waistband had saved me from confrontation. I slipped out to the kitchen as Jack's snores still rang through the silent house. I quietly made myself a bowl of cereal and ate it watching some old western on the TV. You would think that having run away from your past would make your life more interesting, but instead it only made things mundane and painful.
My day was going well. I devoured a big breakfast, my brother, for once, got out of the shower quick, and no major assignment was pending. Life was very, very good. Then life began to fall into oblivion. I saw on the board in the front of Mrs. Smith's room the journal entry for the day. It was about what would I write about in a narrative essay. Hope faded away. Somewhere on the planet a nuclear bomb went. An earthquake struck in some unknown place on the Earth. A volcano erupted on Jupiter's moon Io and killed a bunch of Ionians. Somebody's red rose just wilted and the petals fell onto the ground. The end of the world was indeed upon us. My jaw dropped and warning bells went off in my head. I went completely and utterly blank. I tried as hard as I could to write my journal. Channel One came on and talked about a nuclear bomb going off in India that caused an earthquake that somehow caused a volcano to erupt on Io (that killed a bunch of aliens). My jaw dropped once again. It was now the floor. As I was finishing my journal, Mrs. Smith went to the front of the room and talked about, du du du, narrative papers. She gave us a cold, white study guide that gave me no hope for survival. She then gave us another evil sheet of pap...
“Can I help you?” the 7-11 clerk asked me loudly, searching for some response that would reassure him that I wasn’t an armed robber. He knew this dark skin and long, black hair of mine was dangerous. I had potential. (p. 292)
I looked around, the room had exposed pipes on the ceiling and the entire room smelled faintly of Clorox wipes. Around me girls and boys talked and caught up. The majority of them had apparently gone to Kindergarten together. While I was the new kid, the outsider. Seats were scarce. I looked for a familiar face, for some reason. I settled next to a girl with fiery red-orange hair. “Hi, I’m Halley.” She introduced herself. Her smile was the fake kind, seen in school pictures everywhere. I smiled and responded, “Hi, I’m Lorna. I just moved here from Texas.” Her smile became increasingly forced, “Um, cool.” She turned her body away from me. Ok, I though, sorry I offended you, I guess. In my head, I was sneering and thinking rude thoughts to no end. In class, however, I upheld my morals. I was silent for the rest of the
Usually when you end up drifting off to sleep, you fall into a deep sleep and begin to experience a so called dream.” However, most children, and even some adults, experience some even more terrifying so called dreams. These dreams are called nightmares. Nightmares have been occurring in people’s sleep for hundreds of years. People have been interested in them for centuries and they have quite an interesting past to them.
We Like It, We Love It, We Want Some More of It: The Allure of Time Travel
We listened as Mrs. DeCostia enumerated the names of those involved. “Kat, Tara, Kelly, Alexis, Rob, Joe, Matt, and John.” She announced with annoyance. How is it that all my friends got in trouble for the greatest prank in Fairfield’s 75 year history, but my name was left off that prestigious list? I watched my friend’s proud faces as they walked to the front of the room and I laughed as I heard Matt say “So you caught the people, who perfectly reconstructed your room on the roof of the school, but you will never know who the genius behind it was, and as long as that stays a secret, we’ve done our job.” Then Mrs. DeCostia grabbed him by the shirt collar and dragged him outside. Soon there was a wave of people standing and clapping for their hero, the only person to show Mrs. DeCostia what a horrible person she really was. Apparently since my name had been left off the list, they had no intention of revealing it. But still I got the greatest prize of all, even better than being called up there with them: knowing that it was my idea to take every item out of her room and put it on the roof. There was a loud slamming of the door and soon the classroom fell silent. “Whose idea was it?” shouted Mrs. DeCostia. She was answered by silence. “I’ll ask one more time: Whose idea was it?” She said, speaking ever so slowly to ensure he understood. This time she was answered by a deep voice that could only be recognized as John’s. “You’re never gonna know so you might as well give up now.” “Oh, I will find out and when I do that person will be expelled! Now who is it?” Then in a voice that always seemed to say “What are you looking at?” Kat said “Listen lady, I don’t know who you think your dealing with but you’re never gonna know. We’re like...
Have you ever been scared for the safety of a complete stranger? Have you changed somebody’s outlook on life just by being a Good Samaritan? Well, I have. It was a late Thursday night and I was in a bad part of town informally known as “The Knob.” I had been at a friend's house when we decided to leave to find somewhere to eat. On the way, my friend got a call from his mom telling him he had to be home. His house wasn’t really out of the way. As I pulled down Belle Avenue, towards his house, another friend of mine shouts out “Hey, pull over that guy just knocked that girl out” I instantly questioned this absurd accusation. “What? You’re joking.” As I turned around I noticed that he certainly wasn’t as I saw a middle-aged lady facedown on the pavement. Without hesitation I parked the car and we all ran over to see what was going on. You could see in the distance a man in an orange hooded jacket fleeing the scene. My friend attempted to wake this lady up. She was out cold. At this point each one of us had no idea what we should do. Obviously, the first thing we should have done was call the police, but let me remind you this was a bad part of town and didn’t know if we would be the next. Tommy, my friend, the nearest house and knocked on the door. A trashy looking man answered the door. After being informed that there was an unconscious lady in front of his house he scurried to her aid. The man then realized it was a good friend of his. Jane was her name. You could sense his anger and concern for this lady. He began to frantically ask questions. Who, what, when, where, why, how and every other sort of interrogation question was thrown our way. We described her assailant and which way he went. Evidently it was her boyfriend. At this ...
Too late! He had heard me. Why had I been so stupid as to scream? I had lost valuable seconds and drawn negative forces to me.