Aromas‚ sweet and wispy‚ excited my senses with a combination of ecstatic flavors. I looked at merchandise with a surprised expression on my face; an expression that would have made the average bystander wonder‚ “ who are these people?”. The colorful array of shops is still vivid in my mind‚ but it no longer holds the perplexing image it once did. The awe I felt at discovering things I had never heard of before‚ was one that I would most likely never experience again in my life. Massive synagogues‚ churches
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friends always say “Be yourself‚ there’s nothing better you can be.” Last January‚ my school‚ David Posnack Jewish Day School‚ received two bomb threats. Two more than any school should ever get. Two awful phone calls that no one should ever receive but‚ my Jewish school did. It challenged our safety and identities. Being Jewish and Israeli defines me in every way possible‚ it’s who I am. These threats that my school received frightened me. It made me question why anyone would do this‚ or how they
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I hate my life! Why the heck did my family ever agree to take this terrible voyage. It has been months and every day gets worse than the last. I am sitting in this dark‚ damp corner of our ship and my arms are itching like crazy! They have become so raw that they are starting to bleed. The blood is dripping down my left arm and onto my leg and won’t stop. I thought it was just eczema because of the little dots starting to sprout on my arms‚ but they have been getting bigger. They turn a reddish and
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The Little Mule that Could “Clip‚ clop‚ clip‚ clop‚ such a reassuring sound”‚ Jenny thought as she pulled the plow through Mr. Dawkins’ fields. Jenny could feel the soil 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
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Fantasy Story: Once upon a time there was a girl named Belle. She lived in a magical kingdom‚ but was unaware of it‚ until her 13th birthday. She and her friend Sunny are to discover that there were more than flowers in a garden. “Let’s hurry!” yelled Belle “We don’t have much time!” “Ok‚ ok‚ I’m coming!” murmured Sunny groggily. It was 3 in the morning after all! The two girls were heading to the Tulip Meadow. It all had started when they were having a sleepover
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thank goodness” Nancy says and then blushes. Handsome Chris laugh “ You might wonder why I am here.” “”NO‚ its okay” Nancy says” “Actually Uncle Alan wants us to be here to meet his relatives and you are one of his niece I guess” Chris says “Yes‚ his my Uncle ” Nancy replied “if you don’t mind‚ I just wanna ask why are you here? Why don’t
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or recognition or being singular. Superannuated retired because of age or infirmity. Unnerving make someone lose courage or confidence. Veneer Covering something with a nice piece of wood About the Author: Bill Bryson’s a popular travel writer whose hiking stories combine human interest with a sense of interest and humor. Bryson has spent more than 20 years in England‚ touring the countryside and writing bestselling books. In 1995‚ Bryson returned the the UAS in New Hampshire near the appalachian trail
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birthday. Did I tell you she was my twin? Yah‚ if you stood us by each other the only way you could tell us apart is if we spoke. Man did I hate her.” Dr. Grey’s eyes were finally met by Liv’s. “Why did you hate her?” questioned Dr. Grey. The doctor’s eyes where just like her name – grey. Liv thought they resembled that of a stormy night. Just like the night she walked out the hospital with her friends barely escaping with their lives. “I mean I don’t hate her…she’s my sister. I love her. She always
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MY FATHER AND MY SOUL When I was a little kid‚ I had so many questions about life. My parents had a hard time raising me because of my questions about everything. I wondered in what kind of world people steal‚ kill‚ hurt and betray each other. However‚ not many of my questions were answered. Even though my parents knew the answers‚ they kept them away from me as if they wanted me to find out for myself. On my way trying to find the answers‚ I also knew what kind of person my dad is.
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In the story‚ “The Lottery‚” by Shirley Jackson‚ the only point of view used by the author is the dramatic or objective point of view. In this point of view‚ the narrator is an unidentified speaker who reports things in great detail‚ even though the narrator does not play a role in the story. By using such point of view‚ Jackson builds an aura of uncertainty that endures until the dramatic ending of the story. From the beginning of the story‚ the knowledge about the lottery is revealed only by the
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