One day‚ in June‚ I was at tumbling class. It was about 80 degrees and sunny. It smells like sweat‚ but I’m used to it. An old‚ dingy and torn apart gym. A drop of sweat comes down my face and I got an idea. A dumb idea. Everything was going great until something vile happened‚ something that I will never forget. I was in line waiting for my turn‚ and I decided to go off to the side and practice one of my own tricks. Then BOOM‚ I broke my arm‚ I couldn’t explain how fast it went. My coach came
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Why do people want to live in a perfect world? Everyone wants to live in their own fantasy world because that is where all their dreams are able to come true. No one wants a world of grief and sorrow. Life should be lived to its fullest. It should not be wasted. It should be embraced. When we are faced with agony‚ we must either make a choice between accepting it or hiding from it. In the play “A Streetcar Named Desire” by Tennessee Williams‚ the author mainly focuses on Blanche Dubois‚ a woman who
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"Are you sure you’ll be fine without me?" Mabel asked‚ twiddling her numbs nervously as she sat on her bed in the room she shared with her brother in the Mystery Shack. Mabel was preparing to leave for a fun day with her friends‚ Candy and Grenda‚ as she planned to spend this summer more focused on friends and family more so than romance. In response to her question‚ Dipper gave a small nod‚ and coughed in between. Dipper gave her a weak smile‚ his voice cracked awkwardly even more than usual because
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A Doll’s House as a Naturalistic Play Henrik Ibsen was a nineteenth century playwright who is known for his great depiction of social reality. Ibsen was born in Norway; however he worked in different countries to earn a living. His plays are the most frequently performed after the ones of Shakespeare. One of his most popular plays‚ which we have studied as a part of the “Modern Drama” class‚ is called A Doll’s House. The following essay will try to demonstrate with detailed explanations and references
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For the sake of anonymity I’ll keep some names private‚ and call myself Beowulf. My story happened around two years ago‚ I was 26 years old when my family and I had noticed that my grandmother was starting to forget our names‚ couldn’t recall certain events‚ and at times seemed in a daze and lost from her state of mind‚ completely forgetting where she was in that moment. This was followed by her stumbling around the house and falling a few times. One time it got to the point where she fell down
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Silence fills the room and for a moment you can nearly hear everyone’s heartbeat‚ as constant blood flows into their bodies. Alicia grew impatient and says “ So is no one going to speak?” Alicia looked at everyone‚ then proceeded to look in her bag‚ pulling something out and unwrapped it and asked. “Whose pregnancy test is this?” While the look of confusion fills everyone’s face‚ but Rosey’s. Rosey once filled with color became white as snow. Her face looks as if she had left her own body. Rosey
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It may have been rough in the wild‚ but no one disrespected my solitude. And they’re the ones that leave the front door open for so long! Sometimes I think they want me to run out. But alas‚ every time I bolt out the door I hear a chorus of “JB!!!”s. I try and hide in the neighbor’s bushes‚ but somehow they always find me‚ and I am un-willfully carried back inside. Life inside has gotten quite boring. I already found all the sunny spots the during the first few weeks of indoor existence‚ and
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Howardsville‚ a quaint little city‚ nestled in the foothills of the Putney Mountains located forty miles southwest of Charleston‚ West Virginia‚ had its own dark history. Having lived his entire life in the two–story house on the outskirts of town‚ Ernest Cassidy was familiar with the myths‚ legends‚ and lies about his city and was always quick to defend it. The mysteries began years earlier when Dr. Ronald Hackney; a surgeon at General Hospital in Charleston came up missing. One morning‚ he didn’t
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Though‚ Castiel had never seen the man reading a book‚ it was odd to say the least; coming to a place made for books but not read a book. Castiel didn’t think much about the issue‚ he was usually daydreaming about how it would feel to touch that honey like hair or how it would be the man’s reaction if he ever caught him staring. Castiel presumed that the man only accompanied someone to the library and was always waiting for them to comeback‚ and Castiel never stuck around to see who it may be. Perhaps
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The graveyard was dark and shadowed; tulips lined the cobblestone pathway that led to the mausoleum‚ looming darkly against the feeble moon. I strode through the graveyard‚ glancing nervously around at the shadows that lay thick upon the graves like a shroud. Tulips‚ protruding like withered stakes from the ground‚ lined the pathway‚ and I could smell their sickly-sweet odor as I approached the mausoleum‚ looming above me like a forbidding monument to the feeble moon above. “Rachel!” I cried out
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