The Bear-Jons Creative Writing

I ran, my feet bloodied and aching, my ankle unsteady and shrieking in pain. I ignored it, gasping

From when I was two years old until I was ten, my parents routinely shuttled my brother and I to the local Sears store every few months to get our pictures taken. My brother and I would sit patiently, smiling, in front of the background my parents chose while the photographer snapped away. After, all the pictures would be analyzed, the best ones selected and picture sizes determined. About an hour after arriving in the mall, my family and I would leave with multiple printed pictures in hand, ready for distribution to relatives or a photo album. Yet, after I turned ten, my mother increasingly opted to take pictures of my brother in I at home with her own camera and printer. This shift from going to Sears to get

Turning off the TV, Andrew grabbed his keys and rushed to the garage, angry for not being more cautious. Driving down the street as fast as he could to get to the cleaners, he said, “I wonder if Margaret has her phone. I will call it,” he said, pushing the buttons, he waited, and said, “Oh, no; it went directly to voice mail. She must have turned it off, but why would she do that?”

Mr. Oleander owned the candy shop, Sugar Rush, not far from the park. Reid was His favourite customer. He had an peculiar appetite for sweets.

Sunshine was pouring out from in between the buildings, casting shadows all around Ponyboy and the gang as they walked to Pony’s school. They were taking their time walking down the streets and for the first time they all were really seeing what was all around them. Memories were surfacing in their minds showing them what it all meant to them. With every step they took on the sidewalk they remembered a different memory as if they were walking down memory lane. Ponyboy didn’t think it was possible for him to be walking down this street for the last time as a high school student, but he had gone through the years with great grades that earned him many scholarships.

I wrap my scarf around my neck and reach down to lace up my boots. Careful not to drop my cross body bag as it swings down, I stand up straight and walk out the door. As I lock the front door behind me, I inhale a deep breath. This is my favorite time of year. The air is brisk, yet the sun is warm on my skin. I begin my walk to work since my car officially died yesterday. This is the third time this month, but I don’t really mind. I love walking when the weather is like this. The sounds of leaves crunching beneath my feet sounds like music.

There was a sense of impeding doom that turned my stomach. Although I couldn't bear to look at the mask I held outreach to you, my eyes were tempted to look to you. I side-swiped a glance at you before you took the mask. My eyebrow arched as you looked at me, visibly distraught. My eyes did a double take, and my gaze fell curiously back on you. I sensed a feeling of unease from you, and became immediately confused. “Your master never teach you Torture 101, Mr. Ren?” Although I was mocking you, there was a sense of concern in my voice, as I looked over to the Dug and then back at you. “You look like you've seen a ghos-” Holding out the mask in front of you, I watched you intently as your eyes fixated on the item. My eyes narrowed at that reaction, and suddenly, it made sense to me. Perhaps you had seen a ghost. Fully educated in the many various connections within the Force, I wondered if in this moment you had seen anything. If in this moment, his darkness had fallen on you. I pondered the horrors you had witnessed... and if any one of those horrors was my own. I wondered if it was pain you experienced, and even... if that pain was my own.

Throughout her high school career, Eugenia Yi has excelled. She is making the most of her four years and is a role model for others. She holds a myriad of interests and has successfully mastered how to keep them all in balance. A leader by example in and out of the classroom, she has the skills and maturity that are a recipe for success.

It would also make sense for him to taste like coffee and powdered sugar. The coffee was the drink of choice when it was just a bit too early to drink something stronger and the powdered sugar was from that last donut that he ate. He was constantly joking with Sam that coffee came from a bean, therefore it was a vegetable, and therefore healthy. And didn’t donut have the word ‘nut’ in it and therefore also healthy? It would have been fitting for him to taste that way, given his personality. Something biter and strong

I stood next to a wooden bear statue admiring it from top to bottom as I slid my hands across it, feeling all the bumps, curves, and crevices. These statues all surrounded the Black Bear Diner like a statue graveyard scattered every here and there. I think I'm just about done here, oh wait one more, I thought. I started towards the last bear carving, “Yusef, Come on in our tables ready”. Rania said.

He now has a different appetite and he realizes it when his sister brings him rotten cheese, vegetables and sauce. “Quickly one after another, his eyes watering with pleasure, he consumed the cheese, the vegetables and the sauce; the fresh foods, on the other hand, he didn't like at all, and even dragged the things he did want to eat a little way away from them because he couldn't stand the smell.” He no longer craves human food, separating him from his family and humans, causing him to become alienated. He not only goes through a physical change, but his communication skills do as well, like a bug. He believed that what he was saying made sense, “the words he uttered were no longer understandable, apparently, although they seemed clear enough to him, even clearer than before, perhaps because his ear had grown accustomed to the sound of them.” He is frustrated because he now feels as if he has really lost connection with his family and has no way of communicating with them. Due to these circumstances, the family thinks that the answer to his behavior is, locking him up. They now

Food is the most tedious task of the day, and it often occupies your mind at all times, especially in your sleep. Waking up in the dark, cold corner of Herman Ave, I find myself lying down under a tree confused by my surroundings. In a panic, my feet jump to touch the ground trying to search for a familiar sight. Once all the memories from the night before immerge, I recall not eating for the past two days and that has brought short -term memory loss every time I awake. I feel my body eating itself from the inside, and I muster the strength to walk to the corner of a 711 gas station to beg for change. Dozens of people walk pass me and give me a smug face and stare at me as if I were a foreign animal in a cage—out on display for their amusement. Two hours pass before I collect enough money to purchase a ninety-nine cent doughnut. After satisfying my hunger, I go to my favorite location where I search for food—a subway shop on Vasco Road. Thinking back to two hours ago, I wondered why I didn’t initially come to this location instead of showcasing myself at 711; my brain must have lacked oxygen. The walk from 711 to Subway is minimal; it took (takes) me one minute to arrive. I look inside the sandwich shop to reassure myself that there is only one employee working, and I dash to

My eyes bolt open as I recall the images replaying in my mind. Sweat drips slowly from my forehead down to my chin leaving my shirt damp to the touch. I am shaking uncontrollably as I wrap my arm around myself in a protective hug. The feeling of being alone creeps in, the image won’t leave my mind, my body won’t stop shaking. I hear a muffled scream desperately escape my lips as I cover my mouth with my dark purple sheets. This was the third consecutive night I have woke up screaming and being unable to speak. I had the dream again. The thing that scares me the most is it wasn’t just a dream; it was a memory.

Plato and Augustine both great philosophers in the time of the Greeks. Though both philosophers, they both have different ideas and thoughts about the world. Plato and Augustine taught through different stories and tales.

Geoffrey Chaucer’s work The Canterbury Tales: The General Prologue gives not only a realistic portrayal of life during the fourteenth century but it also presents a critique of the Church. Chaucer creates characters, or portraits, that show the different personalities associated with the Church and religion. While some characters are truly pious, Chaucer uses many of these portraits to comment on the corruption and greed of the Catholic Church. A character who is an exemplum for this is The Pardoner. He is a Church Official who preaches the word of God yet does not follow the advice of his own sermons. During a period where Officials abused their power, Chaucer uses characters like The Pardoner to show his disgust at the hypocrisy of the Church.