It is a cold winter day in Seymour. I wake up to the sound of my dog barking at something outside. I stumble down the stairway to the living room. My mom and dad are in the kitchen baking eggs. I take a seat on the tall stools. I take a big bite of the eggs and my dad asks me a question. I listen real closely to what he said. My dad asked my sister and I if we wanted to sell our hunting land to get a cabin on a lake. We said yes, so then later that day our family drove off to Towsen to search for cabins. Once we got there we found tons of cabins but none that we liked. About a week later my dad said that the government controlled the water level so some years the lake could be 5 feet deep. That night we browsed through the internet looking
for good lakes. We found about four lakes, two of them they were called lake Lucerne and lake Metonga. The next weekend my family drove to Lincoln where we looked at a cabin. I loved the cabin it was green, had a huge fireplace and windows. The second one that we looked at was on lake Metonga, I didn't like that cabin at all. The only good thing about it was the shed, it was the size of Texas. We went home and it was about 5:00 when we got there. Then a week later the buyer of the hunting land didn’t want to buy the land. We were really confused but it was because there was a sand mine that was being put in a mile down the road. My dad called him and convinced him to buy the land again but for a little cheaper. I was so happy, I said “I hope he doesn't back out now”. The next week my dad, mom and I went there to go make an offer on the green cabin. The previous owner's accepted the offer, I was filled with joy. One month later the cabin was ares so we took a long beautiful drive out there the cabin was awesome but the lake was better. On Sunday we drove up our driveway to our house and thinking, “that was the best weekend ever.
To some, this argument may seem the most blatant form of mistruth, horrendous, even, in its lack of taste, a kind of literary sacrilege, in fact. Surely we have reached the end, one might say, when one can considerer comparing the immortal Hamlet, Prince of Denmark, with the adolescent protagonist of Salinger’s The Catcher in the Rye. Salinger’s hero has been compared to many literary figures, from Huckleberry Finn to David Copperfield. So many different attitudes have been taken toward him. Let’s stop talking about him and write something else. Isn’t the subject getting boring? Perhaps so, but Holden will not go away. He continues to pester the mind, and while reading A.C. Bradley’s analysis of Hamlet’s character, it was hard to resist the idea that much of what Bradley was saying about Hamlet applied to Holden as well. Perhaps the comparison is not as absurd as it first appears. Of course, there is no similarity between the events of the play and those of the novel. The fascinating thing while reading Bradley was how perfectly his analysis of Hamlet’s character applied to Holden’s, how deeply, in fact, he was going into Holden’s character as well, revealing, among other things, its potentially tragic nature.
Today we hit a long and rushing river, that I overheard was called Laromy river. The first few steps were simple, then the current started to push. I had made it to the other side of the river, when I heard a scream, and I saw one of the guiders being swept down the stream. In an instant they were gone. The dripping survivors and I were welcomed with a group of soldiers with towels. The soldiers lead us to buildings where we could sleep the night. That night I was feed the soft bedding hay, and they gave me clean good tasting
I am sitting in the passenger side as my dad is driving, and we are on our way to my grandpa's land which is located about 25 minutes east of Dubuque. First thing we do when we get there is to finish putting on our coats, and then to grab our bows out of the back, then I close my door softly. Walking through the open field I have dead weeds and tall grass crunching under my boots, and at the end of the field we reach a barbed wire fence that we crawl under. Then we cross under a bunch of pine trees and go about 30 yards into the woods to where my tree stand sits. Then my dad tells me good luck and he heads down into the gully where his stand is located. So I then climb the 12 foot ladder and sit on the seat and put on my safety belt and get my arrow ready on the bow string. I survey the land and look for any movement, so I look to the left where there is another set of pine trees, then I look in front of me into the first set of pine trees don't see anything yet. Then I hear a sound of crunching leaves and immediately look to my right and sure enough there is a big doe getting ready to cross the fence 15 yards away.
I woke up my dad and told him that it was already light outside. He jumped out of bed and said we had to go. I went outside and started up the truck while my dad was getting dressed. When I opened the door to the trailer I noticed clear blue skies and a light frost that covered the ground. I jumped in the driver's seat of the 1990 white GMC Sierra, pushed in the clutch, and turned the key. The truck hesitated for about ten seconds and then started. I turned on the defroster and the windshield wipers so we wouldn?t have to scrape the frost.
An enigmatic person strolls into a humble village secluded in the mountains, ignorant to many things. The enigma then enlightens the villagers to the truth whether good or bad. Mark Twain uses such a scenario in many of his works such as The Man that Corrupted Hadleyburg, and The Mysterious Stranger. In both stories are set in small towns who's residents are oblivious to their own moral hypocrisy. The sudden appearance of a stranger spreading a sort of knowledge, initiates a chain of events the leads to certain residents to self-evaluate their own character and that of the whole human race. It's is through these "Mysterious Strangers" and the events they trigger that Twain is able to depict his unfiltered cynical view of the moral status of the damned" human race.
The Character of Tom Wingfield in The Glass Menagerie Tom Wingfield is a determined young man. He has decided against everyone else in his family's wishes that he wants to leave the dismal life of a factory job, to pursue a chance in the Merchant Marines. He realizes that he would be running off like his father and this is probably the only thing that kept him from leaving this long. Amanda, Tom's mother, deep down knows the day is coming that Tom will leave. She says "But not till there's someone to take your place."
Surprisingly, our parents had beaten us to the top and we all stopped in awe, mesmerized by the great waterfall in front of us. My mouth felt like the Sahara desert. I vividly remember reaching for the chilling water bottle that hid underneath the tons of clothes stuffed in my father’s black backpack to quench my thirst. I took off my beaten down shoes and stinky socks covered in dirt from the trail and blood from the blisters on my feet and dove into the refreshing lake. After swimming through the lake for a few seconds, I abruptly jumped out of the freezing water. My toes turned into a blue that reminded me of the blueberry muffins from breakfast that morning. My body shivered as I exited the lake and threw on a warm towel over my shoulders. Gradually my body heat increased, escaping the risk of hypothermia. At that point, I just wanted to go home. My family and I gathered all our belongings and I dragged my energyless body into the large, gray shuttle. The shuttle smelled of sweat from previous passengers. It drove us down a rough, bumpy trail, causing my tall father to constantly slam his head on the roof of the car. After we finally got back to our hotel, we all let off a sigh of
As I was squatting there in my little ditch while the snow rose about another inch I barely heard the sound of my grandma’s voice yelling my name. The cat had heard it too and scurried away; even though the cat was running away I was still not able to move because my legs would not work and I heard the sound of crunching footsteps coming from behind me looking for me but, I was still so scared that I realized that I came close to a wild animal that could really hurt me even though I thought that no animal could come into my grandparent’s property with the six foot high fence that surrounded the ten
Im James Jones and Im 9 and was born in 1802. I live with Ernest my dad, Mary my mom and my two other brothers Edward and Frank. When we lived out in the country on a farm life was great there was so many different plants and animals. I would use to go fishing in a small little creek over near my home. But when the farm was not making a lot of money someone burned it down, killed all of our animals and demolished all of our crops. So we had move into the awful city it was tiny 5x4 meter house right in the middle of London. When we just got into London it was really muddy I thought it was weird because it had not rained in three days. A week past we had no money so me and my brother were sent off to a factory to work. When me and my brothers got there we heard screaming all through out the factory.
My parents and I jumped into our 1989 blue Aerostar van. My brother was away on a camping trip, so it was just the three of us. The 20-minute drive felt like two hours, and I can remember every second of it. We drove up to the shelter on a smooth paved road that went up to a hill. An empty pasture was on our left side and an old cemetery was on our right. The shelter looked like a small prison. It stood alone in the middle of an open field, surrounded by fence. We jumped out of our van and headed up the walkway.
“Hey kids come on get in!” My dad yelled across the parking lot. Reilly, Olivia and I were going camping with our dads just for the weekend. We got in the car and began our 2 hour drive to Hocking Hills. It was a boring drive, and we were cramped in the back with all of the camping gear, tents, food, clothes, bedding. Eventually we got to the campground and set up our tents. It was a nice cozy little area. We had woods all around us except in front of us where the car was. Reilly, Olivia and my tent was in the middle of our dads’ tents. After we had everything set up we did some exploring in the woods. We didn’t know what secrets it held.
This summer I traveled to Orange Beach. And why I went because I was going to play in the world series. And I almost got to go skiing. And my mom, dad, mawmaw, and two of my cousins and my brother. And we got to the qualifying round and we came in 3rd place. It happend on June26 - 31. And we saw dolphins. And I saw a shark. And me and my brother caught some fish. And I stayed in a condo. And I didn't see any jellyfish. But I caught some sandfleas. And some crabs. And I saw some boats. And I saw people parasaling. And I eat some good good. But I saw some people patrolling the roads. And I saw some chopped food. And when I saw the shark I started
Outside, I lay on a picnic table and look up at the blue sky at my campsite and wait for my friends to pick me up. I text them on my stupid LG asking where they are. Noah texted me back, “We are on our way”. So I go back inside my camper to see if I got everything, and I thought I got everything. Then I hear a car pull up and I grab my phone and bag and went outside.I got in their car and Noah’s mom greeted me. Then we took off to Lake Michigan!
When my parents told me that they were going out on the lake with friends, I didn’t think too much about it, but when my parents left it was late, so I started to lay down and go to bed, I was happy because I never got left home alone. Then I woke up, it was like 4:00 a.m. So I sneakily went into my parents room to see if they were home but they weren’t home and I got a little concerned. I woke up the next morning excited to see my mom. I was going to the living room and I seen my mom on her rocking chair soaked and I was curious. I seen a little hole the size of a pebble on her knee and her side was bruised.
The morning started just as any other. I would wake to a bowl of cereal and then make a dashing escape out of the house to meet a friend. My friend’s and I all lived on the same block. Anything we had going on involved one of us. We were a very tight pack and never let anyone get in with the group without some sort of initiation. On this particular day, in the late September month, we had decided today that we were going to finally find out whether the stories were really true. The weather was perfect, not a cloud in sight. When all of us finally got together, we began our trip to the river.