short story 3

I don’t know why he’s been acting like this. He always had the biggest, most loving heart. Three years now I’ve been able to enjoy his presence. The melt your heart smile, the big beautiful blue eyes, and baby soft skin. He’s been a bit distant from me lately. The only time I feel happy and loved is when I’m with him. My life revolves around the laughs and smiles we have.
Tonight were going out to dinner to a gorgeous restaurant that takes months to get reservations to. The smell of sauce and garlic fills the air as I wait. Couple after couple walk to their seats as I play with the hot candle wax, and eat the stale bread. The aroma, and the candles both start to fade, and yet, I’m still sitting alone. I’m starting to think that he doesn’t love me anymore, or he just doesn’t care.
The drive home was lonely and I didn’t know where he was or what he was thinking. My thoughts ran wild through my head, and I knew my heart was going to be broken tonight. When I finally got home, I was hesitant about walking up the cobble stone walkway. I reached for the door, and I slowly reached for the handle. The sweat on my hands made it hard for me to turn the knob. I slowly stepped into the house and looked around in the darkness. I called my fiancés name. All I could hear was his sobbing in the kitchen. The house was quieter than usual; even our hyperactive dog was lying down. The first thing into the kitchen was my head. The only thing that was moving was the second hand on the clock. A pin drop could be heard in the silence. I saw him; his head in his hands, and a little puddle of tears on the table. I stood behind him and slowly reached for his shoulder. I could feel his whole body shaking. He turned to me with tear streaked cheeks and bloodshot eyes. No words were exchanged between us. He fell to his knees and hugged me as tight as he could. The blubbering of his words made it hard to understand what he was saying. I couldn’t help but drop a few tears. It took minutes before he got a hold of himself, and he stood up. He looked me in the eyes and hugged me with such passion and he says to me, “We won’t be able to do this once I get shipped to Iraq tomorrow.” The pit of my stomach dropped. He couldn’t even look at me anymore. He let go of me, expressionless and with nothing to say.

community proposal

For my community service project, I want to make a survey and have each age group fill it out. A young child from 8-11 years old. A teen from 13-16. A young adult from 20-23. An adult from 36-45, and an older couple from 50-55. The purpose would be to see how each age group feels about love, and how their thoughts differ.

short story 2

I wake up to sand. That’s now where I sleep. My sister and I exhaust ourselves searching for bananas or coconuts: that’s now our breakfast, lunch and dinner. We play in the salty ocean. That’s now where we bathe. It was five years ago since my sister and I have seen our parents. They just left. There was no reasoning to what they did. Being only four at the time, neither of us could really understand why the people that we thought of as heroes would just leave…
Everywhere we went the smoldering hot sand would burn blisters on our feet. Living on our own is now a daily routine for my sister and me. Two eight year olds trying to find their way to just one person that could help us.
Going through our usual day, something didn’t seem right. We both brushed it off. What could possibly go wrong now? Trudging on to find civilization, what we do every day, came to a halt when our vision was transformed from a sky of blue and pink, and tropical palm trees hanging over as if they were holding hands, to a giant hairy creature that looked like a descendant of humans.
Our first instinct was to get out of the area. We were too late. The giant beast spotted us, and the race for life began. My sister and I hunted for a hiding spot, but it was no use. It found us. We couldn’t get away. I felt my sister’s life slipping through my hands as the extended hairy leg grasped her. I couldn’t do anything to help her. It was hopeless. She was gone…
Just then, beeping filled my ears. Coldness ran down my spine. Slowly, I opened my eyes, and standing before me were the parents, I can never trust again, my sister I thought I lost, and a nurse. I’ve come to learn that not only was I abused when I was a baby, but I was in a coma for five years from being pushed down three flights of stairs, by both of my parents.

critique #2

The composition fits perfectly together. The daughter and mother seem very comfortable with each other. The placement of the mother’s hands, and eyes, show the love coming off of the mom towards the child. My first reaction for the subject matter was that the mother has serious love for the daughter. By the way she holds her daughter it shows that she doesn’t want to let her daughter go. The focal point is the mothers eyes fixated on the daughter. There is more emphasis coming from the mother than anything else in the image. There is a subtle narrative. There may not be a narrative at all. The narrative that might be present is it is an early morning, and the daughter hopped into bed with her mother. The mom is drinking either a cup of coffee or tea on the bedside table. The characteristics that make this image strong is the mother in general. She has a stern dark look on her face and that’s the first thing that is noticed when looking at the image.

short story 1

Why am I so cold? Did this really happen? I try to push the cold walls with my weak hands, but they don’t seem to budge. I have to get to my daughter...
* * * *
I knew this day wasn’t going to be a good one when I woke up to a broken coffee maker. On my way to work in the North Tower I had to stop for my daily coffee because of the inconvenience. If I only knew what the day would really bring. I had never been late to work once in the two years I worked at the North Tower, but today was an exception. The second I stepped out of my red Hyundai, I looked up to my office on the 58th floor, as I do every day, and I was in a state of shock. It was terrifying sight, seeing that that jumbo jet, soaring only 50 feet above my head, smash into the North Tower where I once spent my days. Without a thought I got right back into my car and drove home. The moment I stepped into my apartment, I ran to my daughter who was already glued to the window, and I held her tight. We isolated ourselves into our already cramped house, and shut and locked every window in the place. We gazed in terror at the TV set hoping to find an answer. Getting my daughter to sleep that night was difficult; distraught from the images of the day’s events.
* * * *
The soot and residue still clinging to the outside of the house and windows brings the aroma of charcoal and ash. I can’t help but think I cheated death. I should’ve been in that office, but the, what I thought to be the biggest inconvenience of the day, broken coffee maker, made me late. Trying to erase the images that haunted both my daughter and me, we decided to go to the zoo, where her favorite animal is, the giraffes. The walk there seemed to be endless since she wanted to stop at every candy store in sight. I looked up into the grey sky, and saw some construction workers repairing cable wires that were disrupting the TV signal. My daughter tripped over herself numerous times. Under a large oak, she took break and tied her shoe. The workers just above my daughters head must’ve made a mistake and the wires, sparking, fell down and grazed the large oak. To my disbelief, the massive branch was ripped off the tree and fell down to where my daughter was tying her shoe. I ran as fast as I could to her and threw her as far as I could from the tree and the flaming branch plunked me on the head, and I fell unconscious to the hard ground. Now I realize...I can’t cheat death twice.