She is short enough to stand on her tippy- toes to see over the counter, yet tall enough to reach the top shelf in the freezer for some ice cream. This is my sister Meagan. The melanin in her skin corresponds with that of a caramel delight. The vibrant smile she displays indicates her missing incisors, but also the joy from the smallest things. The luscious smell of strawberries and mangos drifts from each coil of her curly kinky hair. Eyes filled with endless dreams, display an abyss feeling if one were to stare long enough. Dark and maple, her eyes display a warm feeling of acceptance. From any distance, the high -pitched shriek of laughter can be identified as my sister. When she laughed, the sound calls to her eyes for tears to race down her cheeks. Not only do these tears come from laughter, but the pleading in her voice to get out of trouble, which she seems to stay in. To her ears, her singing can identify with Madonna or Selena, but to the listeners it leans more to the sound of four-baby elephants play fighting in the safari. She is apart of the children’s choir at New Faith Church in Houston, Texas. For God she tends to stay with the actual melody of the song and sing for the King. I don’t know if it’s the setting of the Sanctuary, or my sister’s focus to not be verbally noticed, but when …show more content…
Just like a toddler with a binky, Meagan’s trademark is her size four crew neck cut uggs. Each outfit is set to perfection with her uggs. From recess to communion, if you are looking for Megan, let your eyes wander to the ground and find the fuzzy purple shoes. She begged for these shoes about two years ago, and they have never had a day off. Even if she needs to dress up, as soon as the occasion is over, Meagan will pull them out of her abyss of a bag filled with various items, and slip them on. The relief in her face is like letting down your hair after a long
garments. Thinking her mother and sister didn’t understand heritage as Dee says, “ You just don’t
Aimee hears, “flags snapp[ing] like whips and the crooning of the wind harmoniz[ing] with the steady sound of human crying” (Baskin 181). All of the sorrow and pain felt by the crowd gathered is released through their sounds and together these sounds produce a musical composition. Their cries produce exquisite melodies and harmonies because everyone in the crowd is experiencing the same general emotions of mourning and heartbreak. Music has strong effects on one’s emotions and the music playing during the 9/11 memorial service is certainly filled with an array of heartbroken emotions. The music the crowd creates symbolizes how the tragedies of 9/11 bind all Americans
Joyce Carol Oates began her short story, “Where Are You Going, Where Have You Been?,” with a 15 year old girl named Connie whose mother that had always compared her to her sister June. This gave the reader a chance to establish a connection with Connie. Since almost every teenager has felt a comparison to another sibling at least once in their life, unless they were an only child, but then they were probably compared to family friend’s child. Her mother would say things like “Why don’t you keep your room clean like your sister?” or “How’ve you got your hair fixed – what the hell stinks? Hair spray? You don’t see your sister using that junk” (Oates, 1). Perhaps this is the reason that Connie has created a fantasy against the reality of the life she lives where “everything about her had two sides to it, one for home and one for anywhere that was not home” (Oates, 1). However, this is challenged when Connie meets the strange figure of Arnold Friend, who ultimately ends up changing Connie.
Looking out across the stone-paved road, she watched the neighborhood inside the coffee colored fence. It was very similar to hers, containing multiple cookie-cutter homes and an assortment of businesses, except no one was there was her color and no one in her neighborhood was their color. All of them had chocolate skin with eyes and hair that were all equally dark. Across the road to her right, a yellow fence contained honey colored people. She enjoyed seeing all the little, squinted almond eyes, much smaller then her own, which were wide set and round. One little, sunshine colored boy with dark straight hair raised his arm and waved his hand, but before she could do the same back her father called her into the house. His lips were pressed and his body was rigid, the blue of his eyes making direct contact with her
“Two sisters. One text. One accident will change everything”. The book, “The Secret Language of Sisters”, by Luanne Rice. Is a fiction book. It is about two sisters, Ruth Ann (Roo) and Mathilda (Tilly). Roo responded to a text while driving, which lead to a car crash. Roo and Tilly were not only sisters but best friends. This devastating news took a toll on Tilly’s emotions. They both already lost their fathers the past summer. Both sisters worlds were flipped around at this point. Roo could see and hear everyone and everything but couldn't get a voice out of her mouth or make a movement to let them know that she was in their presence. Tilly had lost her best friend. She thought that it was her fault that Roo was in that hospital bed, lying
Kurt just sat there for a moment before he asked if she was alright. He knew that she would answer with “I’m fine,” but he asked in hopes that she would just answer him honestly for once. Every night, he heard her crying herself to sleep. He knew that she was trying to be silent, but he had grown so accustomed to silence that even her small noises seems like thunderclaps. The countertenor new how she felt about him and Blaine inviting her to stay with them, but despite what she thought, the two boys actually enjoyed it a lot. Kurt had always been an only child, and when he lost his mom, he had wanted someone just to be there for him so bad. Now, seeing someone in his life that had just gone through the very same experience, he wanted to be
In our day an age, music has been used throughout numerous spiritual occasions. For this assignment, I used my personal experience from a funeral church service I attended on November 3, 2015. Throughout my life, I 've been to numerous spiritual events and one type of event that really has a strong emotion towards it, is a funeral service. One important aspect of a funeral, is the music that is used during the services. The funeral I attended was for my parents old friend and it was a very emotional event that was paired with music. Music in this type of spiritual event is really important in how it changes the atmosphere and the role it 's used in the service to convey certain feelings from the music.
Her eyes are dark and obsidian. I meet her gaze. We stay like this for a while, until she slowly rises from her spot by the window, potato sack wrapped tightly around her thin shoulders like a cape. She walks—no, floats over, her gentle footsteps making nary sound nor vibration. Her gaze is fixed on the desk—no, the book—no, the pen.
Everyday I see her, sitting alone. It’s only seven thirteen and I know her friends will join her soon; I stay sitting across from her. Everyday, my curiosity grows. I see her all day and I know next to nothing about her. She sits alone most of the time, an almost forlorn look plastered to her face.
My thoughts were suddenly interrupted when I heard s familiar voice calling my name from behind. " Helia, Helia, come on we're going to be late"! I turned around, slim figure with copper hair, green eyes, and olive brown skin, came rushing behind me. She was my sister, well not my real sister, just the one I've been paired or matched with. She had a big beautiful
'Compare/contrast Faulkner's 'Dry September' with 'A rose for Emily' in terms of writing style and character presentation.';
Catalina glanced around the quiet room. It was still dark because of the cloudy skies. It was like London in her village, always cloudy. Catalina rubbed her eyes and slid out of bed. Her feet softly brushed against the cold, hard wood floors which sent chills down her spine.Catalina was a wire-thin, beautiful, fourteen-year-old girl. Her soft, bouncy hair was long; it came down to her hips. Her eyes were dark brown like the wood of an oak tree and her hair was silvery-blonde. She was tall for her age, but she was still short in the eyes of others and Catalina was alright with that.
So much has happened in my life i’ve been threw so many things, and if i said them all we would be here for weeks so i’m gonna shorten it to the most dramatic heart breaking moment of my life. Losing my Father in the process of losing him i lost myself i lost Lauryn she was nothing but a hollow shell roaming the earth.
The stress of my day drained away the moment I heard my sister’s laughter. Every other noise would vibrate in the eardrum and make me feel like I was about to topple over. I reached out for her, the warm, small palms fitting entirely in mine. When she flashes an innocent smile in my direction, I cannot not help but feel grateful I have her around. Although she does not understand it, I attribute my determination to succeed to her.
For some reason, I’m having trouble putting my sister’s character into words for you, so bear with me.