hard here in Serbia ever since my mum died. Nothing was the same. No more clean water‚ no electronic luxuries and a huge shortage of money. I had to often help my dad on the farm if there was any chance of affording a Christmas present. Any second I had free I was on the streets playing football with my friends. Football was all I thought and dreamt about. Several years ago my mum bought me a Barcelona kit and some posters which currently remain on my bedroom wall. I had outgrown the kit many years
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beneath her hooves‚ and the steady beat of her lively heart. Behind her was Dave‚ the small black boy‚ who was tasked to lead Jenny through the fields. But she already knew the way; she had done it‚ day in and day out‚ for as long as she could remember. From the time she was a little mule‚ she remembered her parents had done this‚ day in‚ day out‚ and believed she would be subject to the same monotony. She briefly stopped‚ looking up at the waning sunlight. It was almost time for the boy to leave for the
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When caught in your direction‚ they not only saw your body but also your soul. So bewitching‚ as if she could lure you in with a single grimace. I was breathless. Her beauty was bewildering. I could not seem to comprehend how a woman could be so perfect. It seemed as though utopia did exist‚ though it had taken human form. I had never felt like that before‚ it was incredible‚ yet somewhat miserable… would I ever see this woman again? Was she real or was I going mad? I continued to promenade through
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Hemingway’s story deals with the sterility and vacuity of the modern world. The boredom of the man and the desperation of the girl reveal the emptiness of the postwar generation and the crucial necessity of taking responsibility for the quality of one’s own life. Hemingway’s characters seem to live in a world without a God‚ without traditions or clear and established values; they are‚ in Jean-Paul Sartre’s words‚ “condemned to be free” and consequently are responsible for their own meaning. One particularly
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SOMETHING TO SAY “You won’t want to head there‚” the storekeeper in Yucca‚ had told me in her dialect. “The trail is challenging and I doubt your metal contraption you call a car can survive it. Plus‚ there is only one person I heard of that lives there‚ and he won’t be of much help since he doesn’t talk much. Tree‚ they call him. And a pretty smart name too‚ considering he’s one of the people of the pine trees. The Hualapai. And trees don’t talk much‚ eh‚ do they?” She chuckled at her own joke
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was scared I didn’t know what was happening. the last week i hadn’t been feeling well but i thought it would pass. days passed by and more tests were done. they told me i would have a freddy instead of having to stick needles in me all the time. They told me they didn’t catch the cancer early but it wasn’t too late either so they have a chance of stopping it from spreading. My best friend Amanda came and visited me that day with
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The "Other" The two stories‚ "Araby" and "Going to The Moon"‚ seem to have a common theme‚ fascination and fear of things different. From the opposite sex to distant places‚ these fascinations exist within all people. "Araby" is the story of a young boy’s journey to a mystical bazaar known as Araby. "Going to The Moon" is the story of a young boy who feels "isolated and like an interloper in his world" and a dream of other worlds to be free of ridicule. The two characters mentioned above are prime
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Klingova‚ Milena 10/3 02/04/13 SHORT STORY Final Draft She was walking home after a big trigonometry test‚ which in her head had not gone well at all‚ even though she had spent hours and hours‚ preparing for it. When I think about it‚ her thoughts cannot be entirely trusted‚ as she was highly competitive and ambitious‚ and even though she was only 16‚ she knew exactly what she wanted to do with her life. Who was she though? Her name was
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an inability to see clearly or make plans for the future. It was as if my grandmother limned the past and if that past no longer existed how could I possibly anticipate a future? Memories are extraordinary. There are voids in one’s remembrances‚ yet the mind can conjure up detailed images of others. As the youngest in the family my “pre loved bicycle was a battered royal red etched with a silver logo. On countless Sundays I had ridden up the hill‚ over the rise and passing the weeping willow‚ to
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“FIRST LOVE ” Every Christmas‚ together with Nancy’s Family they travel for a Family reunion. Then one Christmas they went to her Uncle’s resort in Negara‚ Nancy is never excited‚ and this time is no different. They travel for almost 8 hours from their place to her Uncle’s Resort. It is 12nn when they arrived and everybody is so excited to meet their relatives except for Nancy who are on the other side. Nancy was walking in the seashore when she sees lots of familiar faces. It is her cousin
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