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Dealing with unexpected changes in college life
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Apprehension and curiosity enveloped me as I walked down Keeter hill to my new home for the year, Memorial Room 201. As I attempted to navigate the unfamiliar hallways filled with unfamiliar scents and faces, one thought consumed my brain, “When can I escape and go back home?” Unlocking the door to my new home, I stepped inside, instantly dropping my luggage in shock. The room seemed equal in size to a parking space. I had yet to figure out how I would share a room this size with another person, who I had yet to meet. I trudged up and down the stairs, hauling the majority of my belongings behind me. As I rounded the corner, I saw her, my future roommate. Overwhelmed by panic, it took all my willpower not to turn around in that instant. Mustering
all of my courage, I ventured forward with caution, dubious of the transpiring future. Six people crowded into my room, sharing a common goal: unpack my roommate and I’s belongings, then leave. Finally, the last person departed, leaving me alone with a complete stranger, fourteen hours from the familiarity of my home. Character Camp kept us moving at a hurried pace, keeping the thoughts of a home far from my mind, but the thought of returning to the room and living with my roommate lingered throughout my mind. Returning the room the first night, the air permeated with politeness, we kept our distance from each other, still wary of the impending future. Within two days, bonding over a conversation at two o’clock in the morning, my roommate who had once been a stranger, became my best friend. Adventures, stupidity, and the sound of laughter have since replaced the days filled with apprehension and worry. Little did I know the impact one person would have on my life.
In Mary Downing Hahn’s “The Ghost of Crutchfield Hall,” Downing Hahn shows that sometimes the best of people who deserve the best end up getting the worst. In this companion book, you will see the difference between the two main characters; Sophia and Florence. You will also find out about the setting and what dangers can go on at Crutchfield Hall. You will see what something in the book symbolizes, including the cat and the mice, and the cold. I will show you Sophia’s mind and her thoughts, and what she is planning on doing, more about her death, and possibilities of what could’ve happened.
In Edgar Allan Poe's short story, "The Masque of the Red Death", Poe use many symbols
The first stop was Monica’s class room. We walked through the never ending hallway, searching for Monica’s classroom like detectives on a mission to find a key to the unknown door. We found the Monica’s classroom and dropped her off. The next stop was mine. I found myself getting more nervous each step, I toke. Suddenly my mom and my dad stopped walking and told me that this was my classroom.
breeze had found its way into the stadium. TJ took his helmet off and stood there, letting the wind comb through his dark hair. The fresh Utah air filled his lungs. He could smell the grass, the popcorn, the hot dogs. Listening to the roar of the crowd, TJ grinned. There's no day like game day. He thought.
A certain familiarity has developed over time that makes it home. As I sit here, I can vividly picture myself there. I drive my car into the pot-hole filled parking lot off the main street, and park in the same spot I always have, people just seem to know that’s my spot. Walking around the back I gently push open the wooden door, which is like a barrier between two different worlds. The hot thick air quickly rushes out and escapes past my body. The familiar damp smell of sweat still inundates my nose when I walk into the ...
I stick my hand out of the window of my father's beat up old Jeep Wagoneer. The air is getting colder and colder. Looking around, I see the plants slowly change from bushes to majestic, white-trunk aspens to gigantic, green spruce and other evergreens. These are the signs that we are closely approaching my haven; a little piece of serenity for me to clear my mind. We are going to my family's cabin.
At the end of my mat was the other end of the cell. The wall hovered over me like a tall, ominous castle. Small blocks protruded from beneath the thick, smooth paint and stared at me. A long, thin ray of light replicated the thin, long, dirty piece of glass that was probably trying to mimic a window. It was about three inches wide and a good meter in length. Sometimes, I stare out that window at the world outside, at the people walking freely on the streets two stories below. I wonder if they appreciate the freedom they have. I wonder if they appreciate the smell of the air. I wonder if they appreciate the nice, big windows they look through when they go home. Home. I wonder if they appreciate home. I know I didn't before. No. I didn't appreciate any of that; at least not the way I will when I can have them again.
Opening Event: An amnesiac young man wakes up in pain by a bloody empty police car. Stunned by his bloody reflection in the mirror, he suspects that he might be some kind of criminal and runs away when he hears the sound of incoming police cars (which in fact is just his hallucination). Basic Situation: He runs into a shabby motel Heaven Inn and randomly makes up a fake name “Sam” to check in, but realize that he carries no money.
“WAKE UP” Maddie screamed a few minutes later, Gracie and I are not morning people. If Maddie wasn't with us we would have never left those beds. As we arose from our beds we put on some shoes threw our hair up in a messy bun and walked straight out of the hotel not bothering to look in a mirror.
It is natural as human to want to remember important people or events from our past that changed, influenced or affected us. “According to psychologists, memorials help survivors to come out of the emotional shock in a fruitful manner. Memorials also serve as a permanent record for future generations and genealogy. Memorials allow family, friends and the community to know about their past generation.” (Corablef)
Everything seems like it’s falling out of place, it’s going too fast, and my mind is out of control. I think these thoughts as I lay on my new bed, in my new room, in this new house, in this new city, wondering how I got to this place. “My life was fine,” I say to myself, “I didn’t want to go.” Thinking back I wonder how my father felt as he came home to the house in Stockton, knowing his wife and kids left to San Diego to live a new life. Every time that thought comes to my mind, it feels as if I’m carrying a ten ton boulder around my heart; weighing me down with guilt. The thought is blocked out as I close my eyes, picturing my old room; I see the light brown walls again and the vacation pictures of the Florida and camping trip stapled to them. I can see the photo of me on the ice rink with my friends and the desk that I built with my own hands. I see my bed; it still has my checkered blue and green blanket on it! Across from the room stands my bulky gray television with its back facing the black curtain covered closet. My emotions run deep, sadness rages through my body with a wave of regret. As I open my eyes I see this new place in San Diego, one large black covered bed and a small wooden nightstand that sits next to a similar closet like in my old room. When I was told we would be moving to San Diego, I was silenced from the decision.
As I depart from the kitchen, I walk into the living room. There is a terrifying ugly brown couch with a crocheted throw draped over it. Two more Lazy-Boy chairs sit by it. On the opposite side of the room from me is a stone fireplace with shelves built on either side of it. These shelves are filled with books on every topic one can think of. Subjects range from the Civil War to cooking and mechanics. Above the fireplace rests an old, dependable clock. As it strikes the hour with its dings and dongs, I know I am where I belong. I am home.
I felt uneasy but still managed to put on my boots and coat. My parents were upstairs sleeping like a baby. If my dad would have known that I sneaked out the house he would have hit the ceiling. I shivered outside, as I walked to the corner to meet Selena.
She is on the second floor of a lovely apartment building which overlooks a park in Sydney. It had about 24 rooms and brick pillars at the entrance. From the front room window you can see the park - rolling fields of green, a grove of green trees make amazing autumn colours. I remember I used to spend the afternoon there while enjoying the view. The hallway leading to her front door was a soft floor covering with bright halogens. The sterile air conditioned hallway soon becomes a pleasant comfortable room as you step through the plain wooden door.
As I drove to the small mobile classroom, nestled behind the empty high school, I felt anxious that the time had finally arrived. With a deep breath, I wiped my sweaty palms on my pant legs and made my way toward the building. As I pulled open the door I remembered the first time I had been to the building, and the doubts that ran through my mind. I felt the fear start to creep in again. Once inside the building I went to the restroom and looked at myself.