Across The Sky Chapter 3.6 Summary

Staring at the screen, the young author sighed in frustration, her fingers once again failing her as she was distracted by the din of the news on TV. Resigned, she shut it off and turned back to her blank document wishing for the ability to channel her emotions towards the high expectations placed before her, as well as the stigmas. She was growing tired of the starkness of the world around her.

In The Other Side of the Sky by Farah Ahmedi, Farah’s life is as devastating as a tsunami. A tsunami represents Farah's life because the waves of the tsunami are big, and scary, overflowing her with trauma but in the end, the waves settle down and so does Farah's life. Through her experiences, we learn how Farah’s life changes as she experiences important events, such as what life was like in Afghanistan, and how she managed to escape to Pakistan. Throughout her memoir, three significant influences that shape Farah’s experience are her culture, family, and her interaction with Ghulam Ali. One reason why Farah’s influences and interactions shaped her life is because of her culture.

She daydreamed in the only empty space available she could find with no sense of motivation or depth within her thoughts. Her chin rested on her knees and her lengthy, ashen, locks spilled over her shoulders. To her it wasn't trash, it was memories she held on to. It reminded her of the good ol' times. She knew she was hoarding but, she didn't care. She needed something to let her know her life wasn't completely meaningless, even though she believed otherwise. Her small hands reached for any and every item in sight, she held on to them as if they were what kept her alive. They were all she had left. It got to the point where if there wasn't an item the event didn't happen. It was out of control, but she was okay with that. She could live with

The beginning the narrator has nervous depression(Gilman 437). She’s husband John is a physician of high standing. He brings her to a house that is far from village. In narrator’s eye this place is very beautiful. John planned out everything for her. He doesn’t want her to write; he just want her to rest. Writing is very important to the narrator, and she thinks if she is not writing she will never heal(Gilman 437).

She stood in front of stores and admired the things in them, spending about ten minutes viewing sofas through a glass and playing back what she has been wishing for. The opportunity she has been waiting for, the reason she woke up at dawn in Tepoztlan to go up North with Candido, the comfort she wished for and everything Candido promised her was right in Canoga Park. She feels right at

" Thanks, grandma!" exclaimed Haley cheerfully, " I'm looking forward to a book full of adventure and pirates!" She skipped outside with a big smile on her face. the book wasn't really that appealing. It had been torn and had patches of grey. It smelt like old grandmas too and was extremely dusty. Haley didn't mind, she liked the book. Haley turned the first page of the book, it was gold like parchment and had black ink writing. She had finiShed reading the book until she fell into a deep sleep with her book open to the page of the Daisy Meadows.

Her enthusiasm lasted till lunchtime, fading only when no one came forward to talk to her, to tell her how beautiful she looked that day, to apologize, perhaps, for the late-night phone call. She is so desperate to know who it was. For her this is one in a billion of amazing things that happen to her. Today would be no different at all, she realized. It was just as if nothing had ever happened. What if it never happens again? Thinking to herself she thought that maybe she was sick and this was all just a dream. No one could ever like someone like her, I mean she wasn’t the prettiest and she didn’t have the “perfect

It did not exactly hurt her in the way it might for another, it made curiosity coarse through her veins. She looked between Mr. Linden, moving toward her with cautious movements as one might do with a frightened animal and back down to the sleek cover of the book. There was not a speck of dust on the book, a large difference to the others in the room as if it had been cleaned each day. Her thoughts began to roll like thunder in her mind, the loudest screaming a chorus of ‘why?’.

Clary Fairchild stood in front of the full length mirror vanity which was on the right side of her bedroom. The sun was just starting to set over the darkening horizon outside, and the farewell celebration that her parents had planned for her was to begin approximately at sun down. She bit her lip, scowling in frustration at herself in the mirror. The girl staring back in the glass looked miserable and unhappy. Her long red hair was a tangled frizzy mess. It refused to behave.

The only thing Prim was sure of was the world she’d once lived in was very different to the world she was living in now. Primrose Everdeen lay on her bed staring at the pale grey of the ceiling in complete darkness. Since the reaping, her daily life had felt so surreal, to the point where she was certain this was all a dream. Prim’s balance of reality had toppled over and everything she was once certain of has been cast into doubt. Prim sat up slowly, carefully getting to her feet, worried the ground may not be as solid as she once thought. She floated down the hallway, catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror on the wall. Her blonde hair hung lifelessly over her narrow shoulders, her skin was pale and colourless. She paced down the narrow

In the glossy glass pane arises an image that although is right side is not virtual; the image is a flawless depiction of reality. The vivid reflection in the innocent mirror is not of a girl with streaky brown hair, hazel brown eyes, smudged mascara and a crippled knee. Behind the mask of physical beauty are emotions of fear, confusion, thoughts of distress, expressions of uncertainty: an image of weakness. The fears, failures, anxieties, and flaws hidden inside my disoriented mind overwhelm the identity of the girl I thought was me, but is revealed as someone I cannot

The next minute, she was writing with all her might. Or rather, the pen was writing through her. It scribbled as if it had waited so long to let its stories out that it couldn’t afford to wait another minute. Penny’s breath came in gasps and sweat beaded on her brow as she scribbled down words. At last, the pen relaxed, and she could lay it back in its box.

Emily hears faint sirens getting louder as every second passes. She opens her eyes for the first time, unaware of what is going on. She focuses her eyes on the freshly

The clock read 9:24 and a timer began to beep. As April slipped on her shoe, she turned off the alarm and shoved the stack of letters into her bag. Her fingers yanked at the charger to her phone before sliding the phone into her pocket. Her heart was racing similar to the way any girl’s heart would race if the boy she liked ever took notice at her. She scurried away to the bathroom to calm herself down.

Maybe to some her days seemed perfect, but to her it was never enough. She wanted to escape the prison that was her life, and for once she felt ready to take a small step out into the world. She was ready to walk into the bright LA sun. She hoped for a time when she could finally escape the fear and the shining lights of fame to a normal life, a life she had been waiting for all these years. Many young doctors were willing to take her position in an instant and take over the long conference calls, and the experimentation that went on behind the heavy metal doors. The fear was no longer a heavy weight on her shoulders, only a moment in the grand scheme of her life. It was evident now, she knew what she was meant to do. Falling in an out of waves of thought she dreamed of a life she could soon live, with nothing but her own will holding her back.