The girl by the corner
It was after school, i saw her. Standing by the corner of the street, holding her doll. I saw her everyday, always the same. Everyone thinks she's weird. But i was rather interested with her. What was keeping her company? Why she never cried? It was a true mystery, and i'm the one whose going to find out.
The next day, i hid in the shrub next to the corner where she usually are and wait. She came. Holding her dolly, with her school backpack. I crouched nearer to the shrub beside her, i seemed had made a small rustle, she heard it and ran. I grabbed my bag and raced to a street, i tripped over something soft. I took it from the ground. The doll. But, there was something strange about the doll, its eyes were blue like ice, just like the girl. Her bag lay by the ground, she was nowhere to be found.
I let out a silent scream as the doll, somehow, was staring right at me! I dropped it. It's all my fault, i thought. That i shouldn't chase the girl and this wouldn't happen. Was i going crazy? I picked up her bag, and rummaged through it. A dirty book with pictures that i found. I flipped over the pages and i saw the most terrible thing in my life, it was a photo of when her parents died. And another was at a b'day party, she was covered with dirt, as though she'd been running through the forest and carried a knife. She had the most terrible memories.
And i know now, her last company was her doll, dry and empty and she can't think. Her doll was an only choice.
The next day, i hid in the shrub next to the corner where she usually are and wait. She came. Holding her dolly, with her school backpack. I crouched nearer to the shrub beside her, i seemed had made a small rustle, she heard it and ran. I grabbed my bag and raced to a street, i tripped over something soft. I took it from the ground. The doll. But, there was something strange about the doll, its eyes were blue like ice, just like the girl. Her bag lay by the ground, she was nowhere to be found.
I let out a silent scream as the doll, somehow, was staring right at me! I dropped it. It's all my fault, i thought. That i shouldn't chase the girl and this wouldn't happen. Was i going crazy? I picked up her bag, and rummaged through it. A dirty book with pictures that i found. I flipped over the pages and i saw the most terrible thing in my life, it was a photo of when her parents died. And another was at a b'day party, she was covered with dirt, as though she'd been running through the forest and carried a knife. She had the most terrible memories.
And i know now, her last company was her doll, dry and empty and she can't think. Her doll was an only choice.
A man, a boy, a lady
There was a small village in the forest in a mountain on the east side of the earth. In the village lived a man with his son. His name was Jeremiah and his son was Clay. They lived in an old huge mansion, which was a guest house, quite far from the village. The house looked scary on the outside and the mansion’s owner also not a friendly person, but actually he had a kind heart even though they’re not rich.
One rainy and stormy night, came a beautiful young lady at the same age of his son. His son felt something wrong with the lady but he kept it inside, because he didn’t have evidence about his feeling. He kept an eye on the lady every time, every second, and every of her movement.
After dinner, the Lady asked them if they allowed her to stay for a night, as she had no house to stay. They allowed her to stay and prepared a room for her. Clay delivered her an extra blanket, it was very cold outside. He knocked the door but no one answered, then he tried again. He decided to wait, but five minute passed, he ran out of patient. He opened the door which apparently was not locked and stepped his feet inside the room. The room was so dark and the only light came from the opened window.
The thunder stroke a tree. He put the blanket on the bed and ran to shut the window. When he shut the window, he suddenly realized that no one’s in the room. He wondered where the lady was. There was no sign that the lady left the room, so he searches for her. Starting by opened the bathroom. At first, he saw nothing and no one, but as he walked to the bathtub he saw something dropping from the ceiling above the bathtub. He looked up and saw a body hanging on the ceiling. He called over his father but when his father arrived and Clay turned his head for a second, the body disappeared. They soon found that the lady was the first owner of the mansion who was committed suicide 50 years ago. That’s the reason why the guest house was closed.
Bad ending
One Day, i met friendly person on facebook. He live near my house. He really nice, we always chat together everyday night.
And then he want my phone number, and we send messages and start call by phone each other.
He the one who always ask aomething about me.He do want to meet me. And of course me too, but im a lil girl that overprotected by my parents. they wont let me meet some one that we dunno. im sure 100% that he wont do anything bad. besides he wanna meet me on Mall,I think he like me. and of course i like him too. i love him so much. We keep this feeling. No one from us tell our true feeling.....
But then.. times get passed..He never call me anymore.
He always use short word when he send me message.He never ask me. Im the one who ask him..
Untill oneday, he never reply my message.
I never heard his condition like the first we meet, even when he's online, he never greet me..
He, not 'he' that i know 1st time. he must be forgot me..
He found the 'new' one and leave the 'old' one
Im just stil stand here for no hopeNow, im the one who forgoted by no one. Im the one who wait for nothing. And im the one who hurted by my first crush..
Confuse day
I have long waited for this day, the day when everything changed, but not everything that is in me. seconds were ticking, the clock seemed to smile at me and I responded with a smile full of questions. I was confused where the arrival of this fun, if when I got a souvenir from my friend? whether the mother welcomed home from school with a loving kiss? It turns out all the spinning in my brain, made me wince, laugh for no reason because I was stupid at that time .. I finally found something that is familiar has long bothered me, when I was dumped by my best friend as a man who had approached the two of us alive, I'm really sad. but I'm just an ordinary man who can not turn back time, I gave in and tried to distract me on my guitar lessons, it still thought it bothers me, like I felt they were far away from my mind, but I was helpless with all this. whether I can force anything, so I am strong. whereas many proverb says that a friend is true love. woow, of course I agree that, but I think that there is a genuine mother bore me, why my soul continued volatile? I keep stirring all the contents in my brain to find something that seemed impossible are, at best cast in my sadness, still, I can happily. turns out, I heard the news that the man was destroying my friendship, which proved his brash, rude and cruel. I was lucky my friend was not affected, and although until now it was my best friend did not give the news to me, I still believe that everything is back to what becomes of our belief.
Essay_My Best Friends
Close friendships are hard to come by these days. In an ever-changing world with people striving to achieve their interpretation of preordained success, it is hard to know who your true friends are. Fortunately, I found my best pal early at the tender age of seven. We were both enrolled at the same school and were at wits’ ends as we searched tirelessly for our designated classes.Samantha and I got acquainted as both of us were in the same class and sat next to each other. Samantha was a happy-go-lucky girl who always managed to breathe fresh air into the sometimes arid classroom. She always knew what to say and would voice them at the best possible moments. Both pupils and teachers alike enjoyed her company and liveliness. There was hardly ever a dull moment when she was around with her funny quips and expressions.
Samantha was born with a silver spoon. Her father was a businessman and her mother owned and ran a boutique. Both her parents were very caring towards her as she, just like I, was the only child of the family. Samantha came to school each day with a perpetual smile. She was a very nice person to be around with. She and I used to go everywhere together and both of us were rarely seen apart. We used to talk about so many things as we walked, thoroughly enjoying our time together.
One day, I went to school and forgot to ask my parents for lunch money. At first, I was not hungry and thought I could bear going without a meal but soon, my stomach began to growl. Without asking, Samantha generously paid for my meal and drinks during recess. The incident revealed to me how lucky I was to have such a caring and compassionate friend.As time went on, people started teasing us as we were spending more and more time together. We seemed to know what each other thought and we cared for each other deeply. Was I in love with her? I did not know then and we both knew we were too young for all that emotional roller coaster.
Currently, Samantha and I are studying at different schools. It was hard to be apart at first, but technology in the form of instant messaging and e-mails have helped to bridge the gap in our friendship. I sincerely wish our friendship will never end as it would be equivalent to waking up from a beautiful dream.
Short stories: Death of a loved one
There is never an easy time for losing a parent; whether you're 5 or 50 years old, when a parent dies, innocence dies with them.
My father had been sick for many years, but was too stubborn to give in fully to the pain that was wracking his body. He refused to be tended to, saying that he didn't want to "burden" his family. He had also tired of the experimental drugs his doctors kept trying to force on him that never worked as intended and always threw him to one extreme or the other. He was diabetic, allergic to insulin, with several heart and other physical maladies that doctors could neither diagnose nor treat.
So, he fought 15-plus years for his health, his independence, and his pride, self medicating where he could, and simply "dealing with" the rest.He suffered a heart attack the day before Thanksgiving in 2003, staying conscious barely long enough to place an emergency phone call to the police. An ambulance arrived and took him to the hospital, where he recovered well enough to be sent home after about a week. He told me then that he was dying - he knew it and wasn't scared, so I shouldn't be either. Our family gathered at that time, to check up, to tell him he was loved, and to say goodbye. He wasn't gone from us yet - that was our miracle.
The weeks passed and his health improved, and we all started to speculate - he'd pulled through some crazy things before, maybe he'd pull through this, too.
He was with us about a month before his health started to decline again, this time drastically. He was bed-bound, unable to walk, unable to eat, barely able to hold a coherent conversation most times. I remember trying to talk to him and being very angry - not at him, or God, or my mother, or really anyone in particular - just angry. Where was the man who used to chase me around the yard, scoop me up, and shower kisses on my forehead? Where was the man who always knew the answers and had a witty comeback to every smart-alecked dig? He was supposed to be strong and infallible; at least, stronger than me. He was my father, and that made him invincible - didn't it?
February 17, 2004, my mother told me he was exactly the way he'd always been. She'd gotten up, started getting dressed for work, and he had called her back to bed. He told her he just wanted to lay and hold her for a while. They laid there for quite a while, silent, together. He died with her in his arms.
It's been almost five years since we lost him, and it isn't much easier now than it was then. Life goes on, but there's always an empty place, a sorrow even on the happiest occasions, that he isn't here to share it with us. I miss him every day, but I am thankful that there is no more pain for him, and I cherish the good memories we made while he was here. Above all else, I thank God for granting us the time to say goodbye, and for giving my mother and father those last moments together.
Short stories: Death of a loved one
The Pearl Necklace
It was 1935 and Canada was in the midst of a depression. The unpainted, wooden, two-story house stood in rustic grandeur surrounded by banks of fresh fallen snow that glistened in the prairie winter sun giving the farm a crisp, clean serenity. Still, as rugged and rough as its appearance was it brought to life a scene that artists would attempt to capture on canvas for years to come, and few would succeed to master. The trees naked of their foliage and encumbered with the weight of the snow bent low to meet the earth from where their roots had stood firm for the last hundred years or more. They did not notice the child that looked lovingly at them from the frosted window. Her long dark hair pulled back from her delicate face, the thin glass pane shielding her almost porcelain skin as she clouded the glass with her breath and tried to draw the outline of the scene with her fingers.The house was a well built, simple home, fashioned by the hands and sweat of the brow of her father, family and surrounding neighbors that lived within a few miles of one another in the town of Rosthern, Saskatchewan. It was not unusual for neighbors to lend hand to another if not only for the sake of being charitable, but with the realization that one day they may need the favor returned. It was not uncommon during the second world war that there was rationing of provisions under law by the government so that the main supply could be sent to the troops and there would be enough to go around for everyone. Katherine the woman of the house and June's mother, in secrecy wrapped and threw their extra butter into her neighbor's field as it was against the law to sell it, but not against the law to throw it away. The family next to them had been blessed or burdened with an extremely large family and not as fortunate as John and Katherine, at least that is how Katherine felt.In fact if they took into account their ancestry, they may come to learn that a good portion of their descents went back to the sixteenth century and many were sure that their roots as a family went as deep if not deeper than the aged maple trees. Making them if nothing more, distant cousins, from far off lands. Together this Mennonite community had to withstand misfortune and together they would rebuild and help one another to achieve a vision. Yet Katherine knew as she stood on Canadian soil that many of her ancestors were being held behind Stalin's Gulag and many of her family members had been abducted
esei
The old man's gaze dragged along in front of his shoes. He walked slowly; partly from the physical pain; partly from the emotional.
He'd tied the shoe's laces, but it was not done well. The knots were weak and in between moving from house to car and car to street they had become untied. He hadn't tied his laces himself for ten years. Ten years ago his wife would tie them every day. Then six years ago his daughter would tie them. Today he'd done it.
He'd tied the shoe's laces, but it was not done well. The knots were weak and in between moving from house to car and car to street they had become untied. He hadn't tied his laces himself for ten years. Ten years ago his wife would tie them every day. Then six years ago his daughter would tie them. Today he'd done it.
He wore black shoes that went with his suit. They were incredibly reflective, like rounded, black mirrors. Yesterday he'd brought out his shoe polish and a rag to rub against them. Back and forth, back and forth,he'd gone. He'd shined them mechanically, not really looking at them. He had rubbed the cloth against the leather desperately, staring at the knob on his cabinet, trying not to think. Now the sun reflected off of them.
His suit was all black, with a white shirt and a black tie. He had a black handkerchief, that blended in to the point of invisibility; only just slightly darker than the rest of his chest. It was an old suit; at least fifty years old he had thought as he had put it on. He had cleaned it well, despite his difficulties. The knees were dirty now though, from falling to the ground. He'd broken down, on the way to the car. He gathered himself quickly but still the others had given him pitying looks. Those looks followed him; watching him stare out the window. He watched - not seeing - the people in business suits walking and driving home to their families. He stared at the tall buildings there windows made opaque by the bright sun. Then he watched the trees, and the odd rusty mailbox, pass by his window with the morning light shining in his horn rimmed spectacles.
But all that was done with. Now he was walking across the grass with his dark suit, his dark kerchief, his polished shoes, and his dirty knees. The grass rubbed against his shoes and left imperceptible green streaks on the sides. The wind pushed through his thin, gelled back hair. His tears rolled down the mountains of his deep wrinkles and tasted salty in his mouth. The tails of his suit blew high in the wind, the bottom button of the suit forgetfully left undone.
When he stopped walking the wind felt less harsh, the sun shone less brightly and the priest started talking. The man raised his eyes, his tears cascading from his face and landing, discoloured, on his polished shoes. He looked at the end of the dark, wooden coffin. He pushed his eyes higher and stared in into the eyes of the girl in the picture. The photo was surrounded by a wreath and a few flowers. She was his daughter.
His suit was all black, with a white shirt and a black tie. He had a black handkerchief, that blended in to the point of invisibility; only just slightly darker than the rest of his chest. It was an old suit; at least fifty years old he had thought as he had put it on. He had cleaned it well, despite his difficulties. The knees were dirty now though, from falling to the ground. He'd broken down, on the way to the car. He gathered himself quickly but still the others had given him pitying looks. Those looks followed him; watching him stare out the window. He watched - not seeing - the people in business suits walking and driving home to their families. He stared at the tall buildings there windows made opaque by the bright sun. Then he watched the trees, and the odd rusty mailbox, pass by his window with the morning light shining in his horn rimmed spectacles.
But all that was done with. Now he was walking across the grass with his dark suit, his dark kerchief, his polished shoes, and his dirty knees. The grass rubbed against his shoes and left imperceptible green streaks on the sides. The wind pushed through his thin, gelled back hair. His tears rolled down the mountains of his deep wrinkles and tasted salty in his mouth. The tails of his suit blew high in the wind, the bottom button of the suit forgetfully left undone.
When he stopped walking the wind felt less harsh, the sun shone less brightly and the priest started talking. The man raised his eyes, his tears cascading from his face and landing, discoloured, on his polished shoes. He looked at the end of the dark, wooden coffin. He pushed his eyes higher and stared in into the eyes of the girl in the picture. The photo was surrounded by a wreath and a few flowers. She was his daughter.
Short stories: Death of a child
She had such an impact on so many people lives. You could tell just by the number of people that had attended her funeral services on that Monday morning. She loved everyone. She even had a nickname. "Big Cheese!" I guess it was because of that great big smile that she wore upon her face.
When children get killed it is just as painful as if they had died of an illness. They are all so dear and will me missed by their family and friends.
We often ask God why does these things happen to the young because we don't have the understanding of a death of a child. The best way to deal with it would be to receive some sort of counseling from victims services to ease some of the pain. Stay close to your family and friends and always keep the child in your prayers and you heart and truly ask God to forgive the murderers " for they know not what they have done".
Briona Porter was an inspired author, she loved to write books at an early age. She loved school. There has been a scholarship built in honor of her name so that kids who are less fortunate can go to college. That is what she would have really wanted.
There is no doubt in my mind that when each student walks across the stage off of the scholarship that Briona's smile would be shining through the clouds because out of her death became life.
Death of a child : With Love There Is Always A Way
Timmy didn't really understand what was wrong with him, although I did try to explain it. It's hard to tell your son that he is dying. Timmy was only five when he was first diagnosed with leukemia. I was told by doctors that his prognosis wasn't good because the leukemia was already so advanced. A bone marrow transplant would not be helpful at this stage according to his doctor. I sought out every available avenue to obtaining the best medical care I could get for him. The health insurance that I had, proved to be insufficient and the bills were mounting. I kept trying, mailing letters and consulting with attorneys, but to no avail.
I didn't have much income being a single parent and almost every treatment that Timmy's doctors recommended was dubbed as experimental by the insurance company. I was exhausted and so was my son. The emotional toll of dealing with the impending death of my son was being extracted from my health. The stress was wearing me down. Through out the whole ordeal, I kept wishing, hoping and praying that one day Timmy would find a painless, peaceful place on the other side. I wanted to go there with him. I knew in my heart that where there was love, there's a way.
Timmy took a turn for the worst an hour later. He was not going to be resuscitated as the doctors had given him a DNR order. I waited with all the worry, pain and grief a mother could be burdened with when her only son was dying. Timmy's vital signs indicated that he was on the homeward journey to God and I longed to go with him. I walked over to his bed where he lay semi-conscious from the sedatives and painkillers they injected him with to make his passing from this world to the next easier. I held his hand and whispered in his ear," Mommy's here Timmy." I was both surprised and shocked when he opened his eyes briefly and looked at me in the most loving way. His eyes seemed to say, it's alright mommy, love will find a way.
Timmy began his inevitable journey to the other side. He convulsed and began bleeding out from his organs. The sight was heartbreaking and horrific. I continued to hold his hand as his breathing became labored and blood poured out of his eye sockets. "I continued to hold his hand and say,"I love you Timmy." Timmy continued to struggle to breathe and as he took his last breath I felt a sense of peace come over me. His horrible ordeal was over and he was with Jesus now.
Minutes later, after he was given a time of death by the doctor on duty, I felt a powerful presence place a hand on my shoulder. I was swept over by a strong emotional charge of love which electrified my entire body. I heard Timmy's voice in my ear say,"Where there's love mommy. there's always a way. Ever since that day I have felt Timmy's presence nearby, as if he were waiting for me to come and join him in heaven with Jesus.
