I love writing ✍️
“Hey puppy! Whatcha got there for me? Huh bud?” My dog ran up to me excitedly, with something in his mouth. He dropped the item on my lap and stared at me, his long tail wagging vigorously, and saliva dripping down his exposed tongue. My eyes widened when I looked down and realized what was laid out before me. My homework. “No no no no no this can’t be happening! Flash, this took me 3 hours to finish!” I yelled furiously. I got up from my bed and started to pace around my room nervously. I held my homework in my hands, or what’s left of it. I sighed. How am I supposed to turn this in? Just when I got the tiniest idea in my head, Flash took the rest of my homework from me. “No! Bad! Bad dog!” I tried to pry his mouth open but it was too late. He had ingested it before I got the chance to take it back from him. Perfect! Just absolutely perfect! Now I don’t even have proof that I completed the assignment.
A Lonely Kind of Life
Billie stared at her keyboard blankly, tears threatening to fall from her face. Being stuck in the house with her family all day, every day has been very hard for her. She never had a good relationship with her parents even before the virus, but at least when she was able to go outside with friends, she could escape. Now, there was no escape for the distressed girl. Fights broke out in the house too often. Yelling and screaming, various objects being thrown around the house, sadness, and anxiety—this was her new world. She swears that if she got a penny for how often neighbors would come by, knocking on their door, only to complain about how they can’t go to sleep or their dog keeps barking because her parents were often way too loud for their own good, she would be out of the house, living in a gigantic estate and owning a luxurious yacht, away from her oh so stressful parents. “I wish I can leave and never come back!” her father’s voice echoed in her brain over and over again. This was something he said quite a lot. Then, he would leave the house, go on an hour of two hour drive just to get away from the family for a bit. When he would get back, he would sleep next to her mom, facing away from each other, trying very hard not to accidentally touch even the slighgest bit or talk to each other, even if if was just a small grunt of frustration. And him really abandoning them, like he said? She never knew if he meant it at all. She only knew that it hurt. “You know what happened? We fought again because of you two.” These were words that she had become accustomed to hearing. Her parents would often blow off steam after the fight by putting it all on Billie’s shoulders. It was her fault, always. She was a bad child, always. In a room with the whole family, her and her little sister would exchange words through eye contact, as their parents yelled for hours on end. This was their secret way of communicating, as their parents were never keen to listen to the two girls. It was as if her parents had forgotten that their young hearts could still feel. So, Billie always carried so much weight on her shoulders and never knew how to unload. Because of her situation, she was so often both physically and mentall tired. Taking plenty of naps through out the day, even maybe sleeping the day away, was only normal for her. What was worth waking up to anyway? Not that her mother would not come banging on her door to get out because she was “lazy”.
To Make Him Stay
Her expression could have been seen from miles away, her sorrowful eyes glistening with tears as her lip quivered. Una Ferguson, a young woman at the age of 21, was very well known around town. She was sweet. She was generous. Her voice, always laced with sugar as she spoke. Quite an angel, this girl was. Not only, in appearance but deep down in her heart as well. If ever there was a frown on her face, it was never out in public. Her face shined like the brilliant sun as she walked around town, grinning at every passerby. So, the devastating expression she had on her face was not just saddening, but disturbing. For, how could a light shining so bright suddenly turn off? A tear rolled down her cheek, as she stared out of the window, one thought in her head—Steven Bailey, her boyfriend of seven years. Seven years and he still hasn’t even brought up the topic of marriage. Seven years and Una was starting to feel disheartened whenever he would leave early in the morning and come back late at night, which was almost daily. It was basically breakfast, leave, dinner, and bed. Though they slept only inches away from each other, Una always felt alone. Her worries of “when is he going to marry me?” had long gone, as her head filled with destructive questions and conclusions. Where is he going? Who is he with? Why does he always come late? Most importantly, why doesn’t he hold me anymore? And why don’t we talk anymore? Her partner had now become simply her roommate. In other words, Una longed for affection. She ran her fingers through her soft, curly, brown hair, as she waited for his return. Then, her eyes widened and her eyebrows lifted. Harsh lights and a single honking sound. He’s back! She got on her feet and practically sprinted to the garage door, only to be greeted with her boyfriend’s tired eyes and “I’m skipping dinner tonight”. She watched him as he walked into their bedroom, saying nothing. As soon as she heard the door close, she felt a sharp pain in her heart. “But I cooked your favorite…”
Frowning at herself in the mirror, Anto raked her long, slender fingers through her blonde hair, feeling the unsatisfying brittle texture of each lock. She’d tried so many natural remedies and hair masks to fix the damage that was done to her hair but nothing ever worked. She scoured the internet and flipped through countless magazines only to feel helpless in the end. She looked at her reflection with dissatisfaction, bringing her fingers up to her face to gently caress her skin. She wanted so badly to look like the other girls her age, who had perfect button noses, silky hair, and glowing skin. Of course, these looks can be easily achieved through makeup and photoshop, but there was not enough makeup in the world to fix her blemishes and no amount of photoshopping could ever fix her insecurities. She sighed, beginning to braid her damp hair into two pigtails, getting ready to air-dry them. She had learned from magazines and online sources that airdrying was much healthier for your hair and hopefully, her naturally straight but frizzy hair could become curly and voluminous, by the time she wakes up in the morning and unbraids her hair. Oh but this wasn’t the first time she’s done this. So, she knew what to expect. Curly...yes. Voluminous...well, big? But perfect? Most definitely not.
Hero's Journey: The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the witch, and the wardrobe
I’ve decided to analyze one of my favorite movies of all time; The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. The plot is set during the World War II bombings and four siblings are sent to a country house, by their mother, so they can be safe. In this country house, the youngest of the siblings, Lucy Pevensie, finds a wardrobe, which was actually a portal that took her to Narnia. The next time she ventures through the wardrobe, she brings her other three siblings with her and along with the narnian creatures, set off to defeat and dethrone the Queen of Narnia (who was not actually the queen, but rather the evil White Witch, who likes to call herself the Queen) to take their rightful place on the throne and release all of Narnia from her terror.
Roman stared at his reflection in the mirror, buttoning his black dress shirt up with his nose in the air. He darted his eyes to the right of his mirror, where he could see his bedroom door open. There stood a woman with a concerned look on her face. “Are you sure you’re okay Roman?” she said. “Mom, how many times do I have to tell you. I’m fine.” His worried mother raised her perfectly plucked, brown eyebrows. Roman was a proud boy. He was never the type to show his weaknesses. “You haven’t been acting like yourself.” she said. The boy slightly parted his lips and huffed in frustration. He was easily irritated and most definitely did not enjoy being poked and prodded like this, but he raised his head even higher. An entitled, arrogant boy by nature, his intimidating aura started to grow stronger. His mother sighed. “Be outside in ten minutes.” she turned to a tall older man, holding an expressionless face, as always. “Wadsworth, please make sure he’s down by ten. Late arrival is horrendous for the family image.” Wadsworth was the family’s butler. A strong silent type, he has known and served Roman since he was an infant. He nodded in response and watched her head down the marble stairs, with her head hung low and a frown on her face. Roman had the whole household worried. He’s been acting differently, since the death of his best friend, Finny had died. He’d become more robotic since then, his face harder to read and demeanor significantly more haughty than usual. He acted as if Finny’s death had no effect on him.
It was a chilly night in Manhattan. A sad girl walked the snowy streets, feeling snowflakes fall against her smooth, tan skin. She had been walking around for almost half an hour, wearing just a plain, old, thin, white dress in the middle of december. In her arms, she held a small shih tzu puppy. She loved that puppy so she knew that she was doing him a favor. She paused. Right in front of her, was a woman standing under a postlight, wearing a thick, red, coat. She wore a matching red hat on her head. The woman turned around, her thick raven hair flying behind her gracefully, as a big smile formed on her glowing face. She waved to the girl, who came running over to her, holding the precious puppy securely in her arms. The woman smiled. “Hi. I’m Jeanette. Wow he’s such a sweetie!” the woman said, sticking a finger out towards the puppy, allowing him to lick it. The girl felt a tear slowly roll down her cheek, as she handed her puppy to the woman. The puppy looked at the girl, whining and crying. The thought of someone else cuddling, holding, and playing with her puppy pained her bleeding heart even more. She sighed. “You take care of my little rascal.” she said, petting the dog and placing a kiss on the tip of his nose for the last time, before she stiffly turned away from him. Her bottom lip quivered at the sound of her puppy whining and barking loudly. She hugged herself and sped up her movements, until she can no longer hear the dog’s cries.
Black magic is simply just a definition of magic. Magic is magic. That’s it. That’s all. People are people. Now, there are good people and there are bad people. There is good magic and there is bad magic. The magic that is referred to throughout this story is one of black magic. Black magic is defined by the summoning of a demonic entity or a negative energy to bring forth a demonic result. An example of this would be an individual using communication with something of that sorts to bring harm to someone else or to bring forth a negative situation. Now, it may not always be for a negative result. You often hear about people selling their souls to the devil or spirits. There are many people who work where they give offerings of blood, hair, or some form of DNA to a demon in return of what they want. That is still black magic. I could easily tell the history behind black magic. However, today I will be telling you the experience of a little girl I knew, named Emilia and her mother, with black magic.
On Prison Reform for US Prisons
Overcrowding has been one of the main issues in United States’s prison systems within both prisons and inmates alike. According to statistics gathered from the Bureau of Justice Statistics, the US actually comes in at number 13th as the world’s most overcrowded prisons (McCarthy, para. 1). The exceeding population in US prisons has threatened the deterioration of inmate’s and staff’s mental and physical well-being, as well as safety. The leading cause behind overcrowding in US prisons is due to the high rate of recidivism following criminals’ release. In order to prevent recidivism it is imperative that the US promotes prison reform, in which the prison system provides more resources and programs to better equip inmates with the skills to successfully integrate into American society.
Slinging my heavy, blue duffel bag over my shoulder, I hurried down the stairs. My best friend, Aaliyah and her family are waiting for me right outside the door, ready to take me to camping with them. It was a ritual we had every summer to celebrate our school accomplishments that year. Just as I was about to open the door, I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned around and behind me was my mother, a worried look on her face. “Be careful out there.” she said. “You do remember that tonight is the anniversary. Don’t you?” My eyes grew wide. No. I did not. In fact, it completely left my mind until now, yet I looked back up at her and nodded. She dropped her hand from my shoulder and I was soon making my way out the door. I looked behind my back. She was still there. So, I gave her a small, reassuring smile. “I’ll be okay. Promise.” I said and with that, Aaliyah’s brother helped me into the car and we were on the road, driving to the campsite.