Amidst a long, desiccated tunnel, that leads from the aesthetic outside world, into the excruciating world, where time stands still. A blinding hallway that is like an entrance to an insane asylum, with pictures and flyers drenching the hallway walls. The smooth tile blanched my eyes, with their reflexive capabilities. The effete doors looking like windows into the abyss. The ephemeral thumping causes the metal to rattle. Entering through the growling doors, and ordinarily seeing all those desks, just like entering in on a colossal crowd. In the gargantuan, white room, away from all living things, I took a monumental exam that would guide the rest of my mathematical life. I sat in disbelief, sighing at every question. All my answers I thought
The Narrative Structure of The Red Room In the beginning of the story, as we know the narrator is very cocky and confident. When the narrator is in the sitting room, we can see that tension starts to build up when he meets the weird and daunting old people. The description of the old people in the sitting room builds up tension, due to the gruesome description of the almost terrifying old people. They also act strange, which also adds to the amount of tension. While the narrator is on his way to the sitting room, we can see that more tension is being built at this stage, due to the explicit description of the surroundings, this increases the amount of tension by ten times, terrifying the reader, keeping the reader on the edge of their seats.
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.
...o scream, the pain to great to hold back any longer. The scream was mute, a silent calling into the world of pain, a mute scream of nothingness called out into a world without sound, only deft ears could hear and none were around. A gnawing thirst started, begging him to drink and drown out the parched feeling in him. He glanced up at his mirror self so high above. Why was he laying on the ceiling? What was the world upside down. Everything no longer made sense. How many days did he lay dead? Dying? Was he dead? A glace at the wall clock told him nothing, the numbers danced. With great mental effort he pushed his cold tired body up. He felt so numb, so distant and disconnected. The clock said 8 minutes had passed, 8 minutes from when he first danced with the razor. Tick TOCK Tick..ock... Nothing, forever more. He finally found OBLIVION. and more importantly, Peace.
I was in the middle of traffic. It was 7:24 a.m. and I had to be in class in six minutes. After studying a significant amount of time, nerves were eating me alive because this exam would mark a stage in my life. My mind kept running, going over and over everything I had studied, thinking about physics, biology, and my worst nightmare; organic chemistry. Five minutes had gone by and I was almost at the location where my future would be defined. My vehicle was parked and my anxiety would not go away. Breathe in, breath out, I begun to ponder; what am I doing here?
It is a Tuesday night in San Marcos Texas, it is a bit chilly outside as I walk up and down the square looking for a section of bars I can observe. As I walked East on Hopkins street I stumbled upon two bars, Harpers Brick Oven Sports Pub and The Porch. Both bars were packed with what looked like a mix of native San Marcos residents, and college students. These two bars shed light on what the square is; a welcoming place with a carefree atmosphere for all people who call San Marcos home to enjoy.
Once upon a time, in a cabin far away, it was Halloween night October 31st 1973. A group of friends decided to go to a cabin in the woods to celebrate their favorite holiday together. Busses packed full of people were going to the party that me and Skyler had planned. We invited almost the whole school. Finally after hours of searching for our final destination we arrived. Skyler and I were the first to be at that raggedy torn down cabin. We brought the lights and the beers and the snacks , we spent hours and hours of decorating and setting up finally Andy showed up to help with all the heavy work.
One day in Tennessee, I came to the rescue of my brother. We finally got to our cabin after eight hours of driving plus stops. Tennessee is really nice because there are mountains and lots of green trees. The waterfalls are beautiful, too. My family’s cabin had two rooms and three beds. It also had a hot tub on the deck and a great view. On the third day my dad, brother, dog, and I went on a walk on a path by rocky walls. On the way we saw a wooden wagon that was old. My brother and I got in it for my dad to take a picture. Suddenly, my brother got stung by a bee! It hurt his arm, which felt like a needle poking you in the arm. I walked him back up to our cabin where he could get the first aid-kit. I handed him medicine and a band aid, then
11:14 p.m.-I slowly ascend from my small wooden chair, and throw another blank sheet of paper on the already covered desk as I make my way to the door. Almost instantaneously I feel wiped of all energy and for a brief second that small bed, which I often complain of, looks homey and very welcoming. I shrug off the tiredness and sluggishly drag my feet behind me those few brief steps. Eyes blurry from weariness, I focus on a now bare area of my door which had previously been covered by a picture of something that was once funny or memorable, but now I can't seem to remember what it was. Either way, it's gone now and with pathetic intentions of finishing my homework I go to close the door. I take a peek down the hall just to assure myself one final time that there is nothing I would rather be doing and when there is nothing worth investigating, aside from a few laughs a couple rooms down, I continue to shut the door.
On August 7, 2017, Orientation was taking place at Crown Road in Room 1590 (J). The computer was not projecting onto the infocus, I tried to fix it but couldn’t; therefore Yvonne Johnson proceed with the class. I left the room to look for help to possible see what was going with and fit the computer; I found Craig Evans and Tommie Griffin (both Maintenance Supervisors) and asked them if they would take a look at the computer to see why it wasn’t projecting. They came to the room and I showed them what was happening with the computer, a few minutes later, Ken Burks (IT Specialist) walked into the room with about three (3) students that were looking for the orientation room. He was asked to take a look at the computer; I then left the room to scan the
How can one establish one’s own personal identity when one’s societal expectations rules one’s life? Virginia Woolf uses her story, A Room of One’s Own, to show the stifling reality of the struggles in making room for women in the twentieth century culture. Virginia Woolf established a feministic view in the patriarchal world of the early 1900s. Woolf begins the story with a witty narrator preparing a lecture on women and fiction, and that the reality for a female to write fiction was not conducive to the weary life handed to her. The narrator of A Room of One’s Own points out that the cultural expectations for women in society was quite different from what many women’s goals actually were in life.
My Recreation room is an excellent place to lounge; it is the den in my home. Where my family can listen to music, or just getaway from the rat race of society. This den offers superior comfort and entertainment. It is a "no work area", which creates a soothing and peaceful environment. This room represents total rest and relaxation for the whole family.
Entrepreneurship is the activity of setting up a business or businesses, taking on financial risks in the hope of profit. In our grade 9/10 Entrepreneurship Class we created an escape room (an escape room is a physical adventure game in which players solve a series of puzzles. Players are given a set time limit to solve all the puzzles to escape the room.) But before we were ready to make money we had to Research, Design, and build the escape room. I was in charge of the Marketing side of the escape room, my job duties included: Making our presence known on Social media (Ex. Facebook, Instagram etc.) I was also in charge of designing flyers and other informational media for the public. Along with other many tasks to help guide the escape
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.