The air was musty and cool. The light was dim with only a single bulb lighting the small space. It was just big enough for me to comfortably crawl on hands and knees. It was a place I liked hanging out because it was a good spot to cool off on a hot summer day and if I wanted to be left alone with just me and my thoughts this is where I went. I would go as far as I could and sit and rest my back against the cool earth. I had two feet of dirt above my head. As I would get further into the earth I would take scrap lumber and cut it to size then prop it up piece by piece. The lumber strengthened the ceiling in case of cave-ins creating a tunnel that was about 3ft tall by 3ft wide and 8ft long. I was 16 at the time. My brother and I were continuing a life long addiction to digging. Our favorite pass time was digging "army" trenches. I had from the time I was 5, dug holes as deep as I was tall and this one was the biggest. The hole was 6ft wide 10ft long and about 5ft deep. This tunnel was just one of my …show more content…
Maybe I could make one of those mirror setups, a periscope, "Yeah that's what they're called." A while later I'm not sure what made me figure it out, I came up with the solution. I found a small old black and white TV and dug out an old video camera, the kind that dad would lug around on his shoulder, that recorded onto old VHS tapes. Then hooking the two together with an assembly of wires and cables I put the camera above ground and camouflaged it with some inconspicuous junk laying around. Then back down the tunnel I crawled like a mole with an extension cord in my mouth, I plugged it all up. "Click click," I turned the dial on the old tv, "if I could just get this station tuned in" Then a few more turns and there it was. I could see in real time what was above ground. "I have a bunker," I thought, "complete with
Mine? Crafting a tunnel that took me the best of 20 years to do. I didn’t realise how stormy it was until I got the pipe.
During my christmas vacation I went to Indiana .The actual place I went to is Sky Zone!
Also, the inside of the house felt cooler inside than outside once walking a few steps inside. When walking to the left along the hallway is a living room with a window to look out at the front yard, a multi-purpose pool table set and a couple of couches. I kept walking down the hallway until I reached the dining room; the long wooden table was empty except for the same oak chairs surrounding the table as if they were worshipping the table. The seven candle holder against the right side of the wall isn 't lit because the dining room had enough light from the sun shining through the sliding glass door that is past the main living room. From here I could hear my turtle tank and my fish tank filters splashing the water like kids in a
The description of the divine room was expressed by the narrator as “being a pavilion among the
It was a Saturday afternoon, and I was at golf practice. It was a gorgeous day. The sun was out, there was just a slight breeze, and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. No one could have asked for a better day.
Because of some of the circumstances that make me who I am, it is hard to say I have any one definitive home. Instead, I have had two true homes, ever since I was a young child. What makes this even more of a conundrum is that my homes have always had little in common, even though they are only a few hundred miles apart. Between the big city of Houston, Texas, and the small town of Burns Flat, Oklahoma, I have grown up in two very different towns that relate to one another only in the sense that they have both raised me.
Though many missions were completed, some included blasting an intricate underground tunnel system with bombs. Though not a lot of men were thrilled, it was a task that needed to be completed. Once below the ground, it is as a game of twenty questions
The surrounding areas of the complex are void of nature, and the seven “movable embellishments of the seven chambers” are manmade (Poe, par. 5). Edgar Allen Poe utilizes the setting to enhance the experience for the reader. For example, the seventh chamber uniquely “failed to correspond with the decorations” and “the panes were scarlet--a deep blood color” (Poe, par. 5) relating to the ‘Red Death’. Poe’s use of scenery is magnificently executed to match the gothic genre, where a “sense of unease and foreboding” is achieved
Greg Williamson’s poem, “Outbound,” illustrates passengers riding backward on a train moving forwards, images begins with the line,“We passengers ride backward on the train.” This train is presumably moving forwards and the action of being seated backward is shared between all passengers. In the second line, the passengers “train our eyes on what has passed us by.” In the first two lines, Williamson uses "train" as both a noun and a verb, adding a subtle zest to the stanza thus far. Although written in the collective third person, the poem shifts to an indirect first person. The third and fourth lines, “A cobalt blur composes/Into a woman picking roses,” exemplify a shared image even though each passenger would not necessarily be looking at
like I was meant to be there. It is a safe haven for me. It is my only escape route. Everyone is afraid to go in there, but that was not the case with me. This was a coincidence meant to be.
Inside the nicely decorated room with taupe walls just the perfect hint of beige, lie colorful accessories with incredible stories waiting to be told. A spotless, uninteresting window hangs at the end of the room. Like a silent watchman observing all the mysterious characteristics of the area. The sheer white curtains cascade silently in the dim lethargic room. In the presence of this commotion, a sleepy, dormant, charming room sits waiting to be discovered. Just beyond the slightly pollen and dust laden screens, the sun struggles to peak around the edges of the darkness to cast a bright, enthusiastic beam of light into the world that lies beyond the spotless double panes of glass. Daylight casts a dazzling light on the various trees and flowers in the woods. The leaves of fall, showcasing colors of orange, red, and mustard radiate from the gold inviting sunshine on a cool fall day. A wonderful world comes to life outside the porthole. Colossal colors littered with, abundant number of birds preparing themselves for the long awaited venture south, and an old toad in search of the perfect log to fall asleep in for the winter.
cold, dark and musty with a real feel of tension in the air. I want
It is not fully clear that what exactly this room is. However, from author’s description of the chamber, the reader can almost tell that the chamber is a place for the speaker to hang out, relax, dream, read books, and take a nap. The story takes place during 18’s, in the month of December referred as “bleak December” by the speaker, around a dreary midnight with a windy weather. The setting itself plays a crucial role in the reader’s creation of expectations of what may occur in the story. In accordance with the Poe’s description of the place, the chamber was occupied with the elements reminding the speaker of his lost.
It was just a great place, and it made me happy, and I don't. know why. That makes it better in a way, just knowing that it has that power. Everyday, I would meet with a friend at the drain pipe. That is until a teacher found us and told us that because we didn't have any adult supervision.
Once upon a time, I saw the world like I thought everyone should see it, the way I thought the world should be. I saw a place where there were endless trials, where you could try again and again, to do the things that you really meant to do. But it was Jeffy that changed all of that for me. If you break a pencil in half, no matter how much tape you try to put on it, it'll never be the same pencil again. Second chances were always second chances. No matter what you did the next time, the first time would always be there, and you could never erase that. There were so many pencils that I never meant to break, so many things I wish I had never said, wish I had never done. Most of them were small, little things, things that you could try to glue back together, and that would be good enough. Some of them were different though, when you broke the pencil, the lead inside it fell out, and broke too, so that no matter which way you tried to arrange it, they would never fit together and become whole again. Jeff would have thought so too. For he was the one that made me see what the world really was. He made the world into a fairy tale, but only where your happy endings were what you had to make, what you had to become to write the words, happily ever after. But ever since I was three, I remember wishing I knew what the real story was.