I'm17. What do you come up with of my writing?
" If you could watch him, then you could understand." That's adjectives i remember from his last words to me. I trembled,rushed into the bathroom and cried for hours, sitting on the edge of the paneo.
Deep down inside of me i felt so guilty for wish him to be dead, i felt guilty for the images on which my heart bounded briskly whenever they ran in my head. His high-ceilinged, masculine body descending inside a squared hole, his face blue and cold, his eyes shut and his lashes crumpled like fall leaves, his moustache taken away. All reminded me of him.
I squatted at the bare, wooden ground. The T.V hummed with someone shouting on a table infront of me. My eyes were shut and my manager wresting on my crossed fingers. I felt as if this moment would determine my future, as if it was the turning point that would label the biggest difference in my life.
Whenever i heard the nouns of approaching footsteps, i'd jump to my feet, tip toe to the door of the living room and poke my head, but instead of the doctor i'd find my mother walking to the kitchen, frowning beside her head drooping forward and murmuring some words to herself " just die"
I sat put a bet on in my position, but this time i gave my back to the tv and looked at the undressed, white wall infront of me. There once had been a portrait of father on this wall. It was a pretty nice portrait drawn by one of father's friend. I be astonished at the detail in which he drew father's green eyes that arched up wards and his thick brows that met resembling the sides of a triangle then went down in right angle, aiming at his cheekbones. Even his moustache that he grew with the sole purpose at the middle of lips, right under the middle of his nose. It feel as if he counted the moustache's hairs and even the twirly eye lashes that curved upwards.
That night When the doctor came out of father's room, beside the sides of his lips arching down, i knew that it was over. He smiled briefly at my mother, later pulled her from her elbow to one corner, away from father's room.
" he has bone cancer," he said, " it will very painful contained by the coming stages. It's late; we can do nothing."
Mother's face took a brief frown after she smiled at the doctor. " Thank you Madison," she said, opening the main door for the doctor, " if we need anything i'll make a contribution you a call."
I couldn't believe my ears. " it's late; we can do nothing." I smiled to myself and run to the wall where father's portrait used to be. I tore the portrait of the wall, spat twice at it, and dashed to the window at the reception.
The yellow oil lamp of the lamp that hung from the low ceiling of the reception, fell in straight lines over the two, pink chairs that flanked the fireplace.
I pushed the window plain and bowed forward over the fence. I closed my eyes and smiled, feeling that my lips would crack up, and my cheekbones would jump out. Slowly, i turned the portrait twice from it's rope, then i let it shift.
I opened my eyes and watched with the broad smile still on my face as the portrait floated downwards. I opened my arms so wildly at the world infront of me, and afterwards hugged myself. Dad will soon be history. I watched till the portrait fell in the middle of the road and the cars trudging mercilessly over it, as if they were sharing me contained by my vengance.
Answers:
Um... I didn't get why she was so positive that her father was going to die, I feel like that should be made clear and enjoy a pretty standstill reason for the hatred.
Even people who detest their parents would feel at least some grief upon finding out they were going to die. Maybe include a tidbit going on for that? Even if it's a little it makes her feel more TRUE, easier to relate too.
And with the portrait, think about the mother, what would her response be if she saw her daughter ripping up her soon to be deceased husband? Wouldn't she try and stop her? Maybe you could also add as a last paragraph- "Madison..." A chocked voice said from astern me, I turned and came face to face beside my white faced mother, new tears flowing from her eyes. I turned away again and stared at the cars, a smile still spread across my lips.
Or something similar to that, to be honest she seems a little psychotic so those last sentences I wrote be going on that....
Hope that helped some.
Mind looking at mine? http://answers.yahoo.com/question/index;_ylt=As_fI1_krrcOMsuJi35WG43sy6IX;_ylv=3?qid=20091010115211AAqZ0WN Source(s): opinion
Kinda weird, actually. Like the personage before me put, it's really amatuerish.
Cumbersome, a little amateurish.
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Deep down inside of me i felt so guilty for wish him to be dead, i felt guilty for the images on which my heart bounded briskly whenever they ran in my head. His high-ceilinged, masculine body descending inside a squared hole, his face blue and cold, his eyes shut and his lashes crumpled like fall leaves, his moustache taken away. All reminded me of him.
I squatted at the bare, wooden ground. The T.V hummed with someone shouting on a table infront of me. My eyes were shut and my manager wresting on my crossed fingers. I felt as if this moment would determine my future, as if it was the turning point that would label the biggest difference in my life.
Whenever i heard the nouns of approaching footsteps, i'd jump to my feet, tip toe to the door of the living room and poke my head, but instead of the doctor i'd find my mother walking to the kitchen, frowning beside her head drooping forward and murmuring some words to herself " just die"
I sat put a bet on in my position, but this time i gave my back to the tv and looked at the undressed, white wall infront of me. There once had been a portrait of father on this wall. It was a pretty nice portrait drawn by one of father's friend. I be astonished at the detail in which he drew father's green eyes that arched up wards and his thick brows that met resembling the sides of a triangle then went down in right angle, aiming at his cheekbones. Even his moustache that he grew with the sole purpose at the middle of lips, right under the middle of his nose. It feel as if he counted the moustache's hairs and even the twirly eye lashes that curved upwards.
That night When the doctor came out of father's room, beside the sides of his lips arching down, i knew that it was over. He smiled briefly at my mother, later pulled her from her elbow to one corner, away from father's room.
" he has bone cancer," he said, " it will very painful contained by the coming stages. It's late; we can do nothing."
Mother's face took a brief frown after she smiled at the doctor. " Thank you Madison," she said, opening the main door for the doctor, " if we need anything i'll make a contribution you a call."
I couldn't believe my ears. " it's late; we can do nothing." I smiled to myself and run to the wall where father's portrait used to be. I tore the portrait of the wall, spat twice at it, and dashed to the window at the reception.
The yellow oil lamp of the lamp that hung from the low ceiling of the reception, fell in straight lines over the two, pink chairs that flanked the fireplace.
I pushed the window plain and bowed forward over the fence. I closed my eyes and smiled, feeling that my lips would crack up, and my cheekbones would jump out. Slowly, i turned the portrait twice from it's rope, then i let it shift.
I opened my eyes and watched with the broad smile still on my face as the portrait floated downwards. I opened my arms so wildly at the world infront of me, and afterwards hugged myself. Dad will soon be history. I watched till the portrait fell in the middle of the road and the cars trudging mercilessly over it, as if they were sharing me contained by my vengance.
Answers:
Um... I didn't get why she was so positive that her father was going to die, I feel like that should be made clear and enjoy a pretty standstill reason for the hatred.
Even people who detest their parents would feel at least some grief upon finding out they were going to die. Maybe include a tidbit going on for that? Even if it's a little it makes her feel more TRUE, easier to relate too.
And with the portrait, think about the mother, what would her response be if she saw her daughter ripping up her soon to be deceased husband? Wouldn't she try and stop her? Maybe you could also add as a last paragraph- "Madison..." A chocked voice said from astern me, I turned and came face to face beside my white faced mother, new tears flowing from her eyes. I turned away again and stared at the cars, a smile still spread across my lips.
Or something similar to that, to be honest she seems a little psychotic so those last sentences I wrote be going on that....
Hope that helped some.
Mind looking at mine? http://answers.yahoo.com/question/index;_ylt=As_fI1_krrcOMsuJi35WG43sy6IX;_ylv=3?qid=20091010115211AAqZ0WN Source(s): opinion
Kinda weird, actually. Like the personage before me put, it's really amatuerish.
Cumbersome, a little amateurish.
Related Questions:
Do u ruminate the book Generation Dead by Daniel Waters is to girly for a guy to read?
Do u think it's too girly for guys to read? idn the book bt nah read wat u wanna read No. Just because the main characters are women doesn't close-fisted that it's girly. It's still a great book. Not really. Its really good thought.
Guns, Germs, and Steel book review assistance?
I have an eight page book review due this friday. I didnt read the book, and its to late now. I know I can find stuff on my own stale the internet, but since it has to be so long Im going to need some help. It wishes to cover a general summary on what its...