Torch Lake: A Short Story

It was a warm, breezy summer morning in Tennessee, 1838. Under the cool shade of the trees was a village of a tribe called the Cherokees. Their houses had wooden walls made of cut up logs, their roofs were made of wood bark. Chea Sequa. Chief of the Wolf Clan village, stood tall and strong with long hair as dark as the middle of a sunflower (where the seeds are held through the long summers). His eyes were brown like the rich brown earth (that was used for farming). Amadahy (the Chiefs’ wife) stood confident, she had hair as dark as the midnight sky, and she had the powerful eyes that belonged to a wife and a mother of a young daughter. Adsila the chiefs daughter who is now 8 summers (years) old stood confident like her mother, but had the

In a short story of “Greasy Lake” by T. Coraghessan Boyle points out the characters from going “Good to be Bad” where everything happened in Greasy Lake. It all started with the main characters, The Narrator, Digby, and Jeff, being bad characters and drinking underage. One night they all went up to Greasy Lake, and they did any terrible act that was possible. Later that night, they were driving and Digby spotted Tony Lovett’s car. The story gets worse when the narrator loses his keys, and realized it was not Tony’s car. Digby and Jeff were involved to fight off the bad character and the narrator had no choice but to use a tire iron he kept under the driver’s seat and smash the bad character head. Another car shows up to scene and everyone ran away, once the narrator ended up in the lake and found the dead body floating. Right where

My hand swung to my side, feeling the sharp stone puncture layers of skin and muscle. Wailing in agony as blood spurted out of the wound, I run towards nearby shelter. The shrill screams of dying men rip through the air, accompanied by the sounds of arrows whizzing through the air and the Indians whoop when they hit a target. Dizzy from pain and hunger, I lay in a more comfortable position, just hoping to survive this wretched attack. ”Why did I ever come here?” the thought pounded through my head. “Oh yeah, I remember why. Land. Money.” That irritating know-it-all voice answered. I hear feet pounding around me and realize that the Indians have gone inside the town. One enters the door and maliciously grins when he sees me. He runs toward me and my eyes widen with shock as the spear plunges down, and becomes closer and closer….

It was a hot summer day on Lake Logan Martin, perfect for taking out the jet skis with my best friend Jake. We were showing off and trying to impress some hot girls on a pontoon when all the sudden, Jakes jet ski went flying upside down through the air like a drunk pelican. Before I knew it, all I could see was the bright orange and yellow colors of his jet ski zooming by my head, and Jake hit the water head first causing water to splash all over my face. I rushed over to where his jet ski landed and I was sure he was dead. I dove into the lake and grabbed him, he felt lifeless as I drug him to the surface. A patrol boat sped up to us and helped pull him on the boat. Thankfully he just suffered from a broken clavicle and a broken arm but it

Thunder growled in the near distance, rain pelting the tower as thick, drab mist swirled through the forest. The bright sun struggled against the cloudy blanket that spread across the dark sky. Through the dense trees, there could be seen a tower. It stood proudly, it's imposing presence known to it's vast surroundings. Stone upon stone had been covered by ivy and vines covering an expanse of the dank tower. Decorative bands of Caen stone could be beheld peeking out from underneath the moss. A single entrance was seen near the top of the tower, just below the pointed roof. It was large enough that a person, such as a rescuer, might easily fit through it. At the open window, stood a woman, dressed in burgundy with gold lining her sleeves and neckline. Her long, flaxen hair swayed behind her in the strong breeze, splashes of rain touching her blushing cheeks. Beneath elongated lashes sat dark cobalt eyes, wondering and curious. They rested on a man in front of her, clinging onto the window as they conversed. At almost six foot and a half, the man was typically heroic. His many sparkling embellishments showed his royalty as he waited for the damsel to take his offer of marriage.

It was the spring of mid may traveling to Mauch Chunk Lake Park. Rolling down my window to get a hint of fresh air, the smell of trees,leafs and grass filling up my nose and filling up the car. Hearing the birds chirp and the cars passed while looking out the window to see miles and miles of trees weirdly calmed me.

The community issue that I have chosen is our lake here in Edinboro, PA. The problem with the

The author shows great adventure, nobility, and fulfillment. He uses a lot of imagery and description in order to help the reader to better understand what is going on. While the author seems to have always known about his ancestry, the death of his grandmother encourages a deeper and more personal exploration of his family background. The author returns to his Grandmother's house where the spirit of the Kiowa tribe is very strong. He does this to get closer to his roots. Each story is followed by a short account of the factual events. Together the stories and the facts work to create a complete picture of the Kiowa way of life. The stories explain the world as the Kiowa saw it. The author historic journey is a process of self-discovery, integration, and finding harmony in life. His nobility in his journey is expressed when he follows his vision to better understand his people. Throughout the story he endures many things with nobility in his heart and mind.

I was walking to the 16th hole at the regionals tournament at Lake Forest in Ann Arbor. I was walking with a small group of girls listening to them give pep talks to their less confident team member.

It was going to be an exciting and thrilling weekend in the Miracle Village. The Miracle village also known as Lake Placid is where the 1980 Winter Olympics were held. Eight times in history the United States have hosted the Olympics. Lake Placid had a deep history in American Sports. My family and I were in Lake Placid to watch Madeline, my sister, play for the girls U18 National Hockey team. They were going to play 3 games against Canada. Every hockey player in America knows that the 1980 Winter Olympics are not just any ordinary Olympics. The men’s USA hockey team won the gold medal. Just like Rudy in the movie Rudy, they were the underdogs. It was the experience of a life time being in the same ice arena where the underdogs won their gold medal. My sister was representing our country.

Stories never told. Songs never sung. Dances never performed. Such was the crippling reality N. Scott Momaday faced with his grandmother’s death. Her culture, her customs, her traditions, were gone and lost to the world. Yet the memories were still alive. In The Way to Rainy Mountain, Momaday writes about his grandmother’s past, the Kiowa tribe and his experience with its tradition, and his journey to the Rainy Mountain. Through the use of strong sensory detail, figurative language, and unique word choice, Momaday both displays the nuances of the Kiowa tribe and culture, and reconnects back to his ancestry.

The primary goal of this my analysis is to estimate long-term mass loss of nitrate in Saylorville Lake and compare my analysis with those of Schoch et al. (2009) and Okereke et al. (1988) to determine if Saylorville Lake is a nitrogen sink. Approximate annual percent mass loss of nitrate and hydraulic loading rate (HLR) in the reservoir, and compare my finding with those of David et al (2006) and Garnier et al.(1999); to determine nitrate reduction Saylorville Lake. Recent studies done by David et al. (2006), Schoch et al (2009) and Okereke et al. (1988) from 1981 through the period of 2006, on Shelbyville lake indicate high to low nitrate inputs. Similar observations were also indicated by Garnier et al.(1999) in three reservoirs in France.

Leo shook off a flood of rippling goose flesh as his left foot touched the doorway of the ancient manor. The 150-year-old lintel didn't even sigh, much less creak, as he had expected. He was there for his best friend's birthday party at the Auburn Manor, on the shores of Dead Man's Lake, a two hour drive from the city.

However you cannot have the good without the evil and in this religion Hell as it is called isn’t a pretty place. As stated by the same book in the Bible there is a river of burning sulfur. Revelations 20 verses 10-15 explain this in better detail. “And the devil, who deceived them, was thrown into the lake of burning sulfur, where the beast and the false prophet had been thrown. They will be tormented day and night for ever and ever. Then I saw a great white throne and him who was seated on it. The earth and the heavens fled from his presence, and there was no place for them. And I saw the dead, great and small, standing before the throne, and books were opened. Another book was opened, which is the book of life. The dead were judged according to what they had done as recorded in the books.

There once was a boy named Jonathan (Jonathan Mcslurre, Jonny for short) and his family, ( including his parents, two sisters, and three brothers) every summer would all go rent a lake house. The lake house was secluded, relaxing, and quiet, mostly because it was in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by a forest, but nonetheless everyone enjoyed it…well everyone except for Jonathan.