I look at the glistening gold clock hung onto the station wall. Time is ticking. So slowly I feel that time has frozen. I glance around me, people struggling to pull their trolley due to their 10 suitcases on them. Families excited to go somewhere different. I wonder where all these people are going. Is it to the grand canyon? Is it to the Middle East? Who knows. I look up and see my travel guide. All I have taken with me. We don't need the 10 suitcases or the travel itineraries. We don't need the unneeded stress of expired...
CRASH! the window had shattered after being shoot by a gun. All of us shuddered at the sound what were we going to do. Were we going to die today?
I heard a scream not knowing where it had come from we all blindly ran away. I couldn't here anything, my vision had blurred suddenly I heard a bang. My bestfriend who was like a brother to me was shot. I could feel the tears running like waterfalls down my face but i kept running knowing my life was on the line. Whoever killed my bestfriend was going to die...
What does it mean to go the distance? Does it mean to beat everyone else or to beat yourself? When you grow up, parents, teachers, and coaches tell you to "do your best". But we all know thats bullshit in the capitalist society we live in America. Its dog eat dog. Kill or be killed and everyone is in it for themselves. Maybe you can trust your family and a couple friends but thats it. "Go the distance" cliched. Easier said than done. What does it really mean? Beat everyone else. Be better. No one cares what you're doing unless...
The window was shattered, broken and unfixable, like my heart. Unable to see past the dull bluey-gray of the glass only held together by the thin grid of fencing. My house, my home, my haven, obliterated into millions of pieces, destroyed but no where near to the extent of the spirit of the people of my village. The children, mothers, fathers huddled together grasping on to what little life that remained. the bombs had come without warning. We had planned to flee the only country I knew, Syria the next day, but a day too late. The little hole that...
We have been in the bunker for weeks now sharing a room with me and my five brothers. Its hard to imagine our life before the war, in a nice large house with lots of nice food. Its my birthday tomorrow im the youngest , im turning 5. I learnt to read and write when i was 2, i was an advanced child , my parents used to believe i was a prodigy, they tried to make me learn thing like piano and violin, things that take lots of concentration. I failed at violin but i went well with piano...
My feet ached, but it was well worth it. This is what I said when I completed that trek. The endless days and nights, the rationed food and just the stunning landscape of the mountains. I found it hard but I turned to God and prayed that I could complete this journey. I kept in mind the young children and their families. Raising money and supporting them made me so happy and feel accomplished. I would love to do this again but I wonder, could I do this again?
You know how people always use that metaphor of how an iceberg shows a small portion of the story, but the ice travels much deeper underneath? I was quite literally experiencing that right then. Both externally and internally. My chest was burning for air and my body was thrashing up against the coarse underneath of the ice pool. I didn't care that my eyes were stinging or the water in my mouth was gushing down my throat. What may have been a beautiful glistening lake was now a dark trench of terror. I had never known what snow was like...
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
The droplets of drool fell like stones from the gaping monstrous mouth. Gusts of racid breathes portruded before it. Sckirrrrrrrrrrr. The earsplitting whistle of its call, feeling like nails were being dragged down a chalk board next to my ear.
More were coming. My fearful eyes could see the shadows dragging themselves along the ground.
Useless bloodied limbs, torn apart by the undergrowth hanging uselessly between their ferocious canines. Blood surrounded their snout.
They were coming. For me.
I stood on the old wooden bed I always slept in. There was always a window up high and I would always look up to it at noon and see the clock chime. There were so much out there waiting for me to learn. I wanted to go out there, explore the world, make real friends. But I couldn't. My name is Ginnadi Mistaikov. My anonymous parents dropped me to an orphanage when I was very young because they thought I would make a fool of them because of my skinniness and ugliness.
The matrons in the orphan always called...
SNAP! it was now that Klein realised he was done.
15 minutes earlier
there was a group of young boys running around having fun but little did i know that what they planned to do would leave them all scared. There were just at the beach with their family but sneaked away to go and swim in the forbidden ocean. Not this ocean was forbidden as it was full with sharks but they didn't know that. Klein and his friends all jumped in unaware of the dangers that laid ahead.As they were swimming one of the boys noticed 3 fins...