A reflection of himself flashed in his brunette eyes through the practice room mirror, his sweat and dark circles visible. Ki-bora's body was strained and clearly tired. Exhaustion looming over him like a rain cloud, contrasting to his stage name Cloud that would make you think of the cottony alternative, he walked over to the bench in the corner of the room. The ravenette gave out almost immediately and he fell onto the wooden seat unceremoniously. Moreover, his eyes could hardly be kept open. He pulled his phone out of his floored bag and logged into the Messenger. Letterings were jumbled as he typed his drowsy message: oh my gid xan someone pick me up from the dance studuo i legyt cant walk and yhere are prolly no cabbies ?? i forgot to chekc the time and it ended up being latet tahn i thouggt.. …show more content…
The bit about no cabs being out and about was true, though. The pitch-headed boy usually carpooled with one of his band mates. Ki-bora's hand had a very loose and dangerous grip on his phone; if he fell asleep, it'd probably fall out of his hands and shatter on the floor. He had only stayed so late because his superior, Jumin, had suggested it in the first place. Consequently, his ambition got the better of him and turned him into an incoherent mess of the dreadful grammar he hated so much. Ki-bora forced himself to sit up. Staying awake until he got a response was his ultimate goal at the moment, so he began rocking back and forth to keep his body moving and the energy flowing like a never ending river. Already hooded and ringed with sleep, his eyes began to flutter even more than they already were, so Ki-bora stood and did various stretches while trying to ignore the aching that came from perfecting his
As Booker flicked through the pages of a gossip magazine, he unconsciously fell into a synchronized rhythm with the audible ticking of the wall clock. Each page turned was another second passed, and he had just about exhausted all the reading material in the waiting room of his local doctor. Tom had been in the examination room for nearly an hour and throughout the interminably long wait, the muscles in his neck and shoulders had become increasingly taut until his upper body throbbed painfully from the tension. Closing the magazine, he tossed it onto the table with a weary sigh and maneuvering his head slowly from side to side, he rubbed a hand over the back of his neck and attempted to massage away some of the stiffness in his muscles. The clock continued its cyclic tick, tock, tick, tock and just as he was contemplating jumping to his feet and ripping it from the wall, the exam room door opened.
The subject shuffled in, with his countless wrinkles, his hair peppered white and his threadbare clothes. However, despite his telltale destitute upbringing, unlike many other citizens, his eyes were still full of hope and life. Peculiar. Nevertheless, his value to the regime had diminished, as he could no longer contribute through work thus, he was a suitable candidate. As the drug was administered, the subject began to fade out of consciousness, his bright eyes slowly fading away. Breath in. Breath out. Silence. The whirring of the machinery seemed to dominate the silence, the white and sterile walls reflecting our distorted faces. Then the subject jerked to life.
The five foot brown hair sneaks into the home of Kierstyn Jones . A twenty year old blonde who works full time at the slaughter house . Nakita waits in the corner of the hallway in the dark , holding a syringe in her hand , filled with a small dose of Etorphine . This drug mainly used on large animals , Nakita uses to knock her victims out instantly , so there is no cause of struggle for her strength . Kierstyn comes from the kitchen holding a warm glass of milk , Nakita knocks against the wall , making Kierstyn turn towards the sound. “ Hello?” She walks toward the noise , out of the darkness Nakita grabs her by the mouth , sticking the syringe in her neck , knocking her out in seconds . Nakita drags her sleeping body into the bedroom floor , she strips her naked , taping her arms and ankles together and last placing a piece over her mouth. She begins to undress herself in front of the sleeping body awaiting for her to awake.
An idea was tracing through the back of her mind, and so she thought to try and best and quickly she could manifest how she felt. Several minutes minutes of failure of preforming such mental acrobatics propelled Katie towards the decisive choice of going to her closet. As she opened the mirror door, Katie gazed into her own ocean green eyes, and revealing a bounty of tired clothing nobody really wore. Her slender arm reached a slender hand to grasp an engraved brown leather booklet.
In fact, I was exhausted up to the point that my vision was blurred and my head spun. I tilted my head forward, trying to focus on my lesson but I felt too dazed to continue. Frustrated, I buried my head into my arms, which felt dry from my eczema. I smelled of fresh detergent, as well as the lavender scent of my bed. My breath gave off the scent of potato chips, which I had polished off. Moreover, I sounded low and hoarse. Whenever I spoke, my monotone voice would eventually find its way out of my sore throat like an exhausted bear crawling out of its den. My constant movements were alert and attentive, and both my mind and my body remained restless. The beads of sweat that dribbled down my forehead tasted salty, almost as if I had just taken a dip in the ocean.
Dave was bored out of his damn mind right now. The white haired teen flops dramatically on the bed, sighing in a quite over dramatic fashion. "Someone save me from this eternal chasm of boredom!" He groans, "The fucking dragon of null is here and I don't want to be. He has taken me away in his god damn clutches. " he snorts to himself. "Nice job Dave. Hittin an allll new low. Chatten your self up. " The blonde huffs and pulls out his phone texting...hmm. Who should he bother. Karkat? Nah. John? Mm. Nah. Dave scrolls through his contacts before landing on...Jake. Hmm. Yeah. 'Yo. Bro. Come be my Knight in aluminum foil. Save me from the dragon of boredom. It has me in its clutches.' He waits a moment. 'Up up I go. To who know where. Who knows
Today, my kismet, had other plans. A knock on the door resounded, followed by a heaving breath, the twisting of the doorknob, and a bang as the door shut. My eyes widened when instead of a nurse, an unfamiliar face burst into my room and my reality. Two tantalizing grey eyes peered into my own, a wild mix of fury and contention battling to surface. The latter claimed the victory. Opening a green folder, the boy steered his gaze on a stack of papers. He flipped through them until an aqua colored paper stood out to him, and ripped it from the folder. His eyes scanned the paper until he read something that turned his nonchalant expression,
The bell couldn't have come fast enough and the second it did I was out of there. Zarra pointed me in the right direction for my next class before going to Web Design. I was the first one to Government, which was the best thing that had happened all day. I took the music from my ears and covered them with my hands. I was about ready to cry—something I hadn't done since the last time I went to a new school. I felt a hand on my shoulder.
The sweat was dripping down John’s face as he pushed the weights off his chest. Everyone ran towards their bags after a student said there was a gun in school. Twitter was the first source that everyone checked just to make sure. Boom! The door slammed open as Coach Ben yelled “Hurry up and get out”. John’s heart started beating faster and faster. No one knew what was going on. As students were running to the gym everyone was panicking and pushing each other. John could feel the burn on his elbow but he didn’t know what it was. When everyone got to the gym John’s elbow was covered in blood. Everyone was told to get down and stay quiet. Later on coach told everyone a student brought a gun to school and was planning on committing suicide.
He had just managed to stumble to his feet resting his back against the wall. The only light was in the room was from a small opening where the ceiling and wall met, covered with bars. Bahauddin had reached for his neck and a sense of anxiousness rushed through his body. There was no metal there, no keys, no nothing. He had peeked his head through the cell bars to examine the lock and everything around him. “Hello?” Bahauddin yelled, waiting for a response. Coughing had came from the cell next to him. “Hello,” he repeated, “who’s there?”
In the document titled, In the service of what? The Politics of Service Learning, authors Kahne & Westheimer, discuss “the moral domain, service learning activities and the two different assumptions regarding political socialization”. Particularly what it means to be a citizen (Kahne & Westheimer, 1996). They describe social sustainability projects as being able to meet students’ needs for “personal relevance and a sense of membership in a community”. One way this can be achieved is by encompassing volunteerism and compassion for the less fortunate and vulnerable individuals in our communities. It is with this definition in mind along with the vision of Bronwyn Sheehan founder of The Pyjama Foundation, that allow me to see the robustness of
Chapter 17 covers the first tracking of WWI and how it played out. Before the war even started, Germany had already made a secret plan to knock out France and Russia. One of the biggest events that ignited WWI was in Germany there were many languages that were spoken and most of the people wanted to leave and gain its independence. The war revolved around gaining independence and blame. The Austro-Hungarian Archduke went to Serbia to give it it’s independence meanwhile he got shot by Gavrilo Princip. Austria-Hungary had a feeling that Serbia had planned this ahead of time, which they did. Soon afterward, Austria-Hungary went to war with Serbia and wanted Germany's help, Kaiser William II made the final decision in standing behind and supporting
In The Tale of Kieu a young woman is forced into a lifetime of immorality and subservience to the dominant male culture of her community. The young woman at the heart of the story is not moral. However, her morality or not is really not what the story is about at all. Instead, it is the patriarchal society within Vietnam that is the true central character of the piece. In the history of Vietnam, members of the female gender have had a history of ostracism and oppression by the males of that society. Masculinity itself is found in the poem through the minor male characters of the piece. The character of Kieu is immoral because she is forced into actions against her own set of ethics by the society in which she lives. Morality is judged by the sociology of the surrounding culture. Under the moral rules of Vietnamese society, Kieu is immoral and the men around her who sexualize her and force her into immoral acts are in the moral right.
As with many other skills, empathy is a learned skill that requires an awareness that other people think, feel, and behave in ways that are both similar and different from one’s self, or put simply, being able to relate to and understand what another person is experiencing or feeling (McDonald & Messinger, 2011). One of the first experiences that people have with empathy frequently appears as a baby when we hear another infant cry (Szalavitz, 2010). Other research has shown that infants not only favor adults who appear to be more helpful, but they also tend to offer voluntary help to adults who appear to be having difficulties when reaching for something (Szalavitz, 2010). Therefore, according to this research, it might be suggested that whether
The strings of its muscles that had once contracted and relaxed infinite times are simply now dust floating through a universe that doesn’t care about its existence. This person that once thrived in a vibrant life is simply a sketch by some collegiate art douche attempting to distract himself from a girl. He jolts back to reality cursing himself for getting lost in the backstory of literally no one. The thundering voice of the professor awakens the rest of the sleepers/ dreamers in the back of the lecture hall. “Before you leave, or in some of your cases go back to sleep, write down somewhere that there is indeed a test next Thursday.” As he is writing the reminder next to the skull with only one complete eye, he takes one last peek at her bouncing curls as she rushes out of the hall to go daydream about more random guys. He slides his notebook off of the little platform attached to the chair and tosses the notebook into his always open backpack. After he unzips the side pouch, he stuffs his hand into the small cave and shuffles around until he feels a smooth, hard rectangle in his hand. Ah, there it is. The screen of his phone lights up. He is almost the last person in the lecture hall, but he barely