Narrative Essay On Cypress City

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As he neared the tree, a terrible stench of rotting flesh swept under his nose. He staggered back as his stomach rolled, and wondered what was causing such a smell. Then he saw it, a glowing corpse hanging from one of the tree’s branches. And beneath the corpse, stood a huge white dog staring at him with glowing red eyes. The dog growled darkly, and the man started to run.

In summary, on 09/21/15 at 0418 hours I was patrolling the area of 1600 S. Laramie Ave., at which time I observed a male subject with a youthful appearance walking northbound 16th Street. I made contact with the subject, at which time he identified himself as (Rosas, Alexis DOB 04/21/97). While speaking with Rosas, I detected a strong odor of fresh cannabis emanating from his person. Rosas related he had some cannabis in his sweater pocket. I recovered a silver box containing a green leafy substance from Rosas ' right sweater pocket.

But I don't see anything wrong." "Wait a moment, you'll see," said his wife. Now the hidden odorophonics were beginning to blow a wind of odor at the two people in the middle of the baked veldtland. The hot straw smell of lion grass, the cool green smell of the hidden water hole, the great rusty smell of animals, the smell of dust like a red paprika in the hot air. And now the sounds: the thump of distant antelope feet on grassy sod, the papery rustling of vultures.

”(127) In the red convertible, Henry and Lyman are not afraid of visiting unfamiliar places, like Alaska, or meeting strangers, like Susy. Just as if the willow trees’ “branches bend down all around [Lyman] like a tend or a stable,” the red convertible provided this protection to both Henry and Lyman. Inside the car, Henry and Lyman feels as if the world is peaceful and quiet no matter what is going on outside the car.

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I have lived in East Oakland my whole life. To the majority of people, the mention of East Oakland evokes thoughts of violence, shootings, and gangs. I was one of the people who believed in these stereotypes, and for a particularly long time. I was one of the people who saw Oakland as a wasteland, a place with nothing to offer me, and a place I had nothing to offer to.

A year and a half ago, God brought me kicking and screaming to Ocala from my 47-year home in Orlando. The second Sunday I was here, I came to Church @The Springs. The first person I met when I walked in the front door was Jacob Sylvia. I told him I was new and that I missed Orlando and I missed working at church each week.

The article, “A Letter to My City” written by Troy Wiggins for the Memphis Flyer in July of 2017 expands on the issue of the increasing number of deaths of black people in the city of Memphis. Wiggins is a life-long Memphian who is not only concerned with the issue, but also lives in fear of the issue himself. Because Wiggins lives within the city, he is exposed to the white supremacy and police brutality that is taking place in Memphis every day and uses his writing to share his opinions on the matter. Over seventy five percent of the deaths within Memphis (which already has a higher than average death rate) every year are black men. Wiggins writing in “A Letter to My City” effectively uses repetition, compares the issue at hand to millennial trends, and expresses his ideas by using everyday sights for Memphians.

Our house was an old building at the end of a street in a dense wooded area. I still remembered the smell that permeated in the air that evening: a combination of gingery sweetness of wild flowers, hazelnut pie crust and ripe raspberries. The smell of a hot summer evening, when the sun had already hidden its rays for the night, but the Earth was breathing out the steam of the day fever. That July, two years ago, was particularly hot, humid and promising to be boring. Having finished his second year in Highschool and planning to spend the summer working in the local amusement park, I was not anticipating any glory.

"Two live oaks stood at the end of the Radley lot; their roots reached into the side road and made it bumpy. Something about one of the trees attracted my attention. Some tin foil was sticking out of a knot-hole just above my eye level, winking at

He rested upon the dumpster while the unbearable smell outrageously and unbearably came across his nose. Hours later, the hungry and soaking wet dog drifted into a faint sleep. Rufus awoke to gleaming lights burning his eyes as he heard a loud screech of a van coming to a halt in the dark alley. The van

Thought Sammy. Content with his loneliness, Sammy didn’t mind that he blended into the rocks he grew among. This camouflage kept Sammy from being attacked or eaten by desert animals that were after the water Sammy stored in his bulbous leaves. ”My water isn’t going anywhere, neither to animals, or escaping from the heat” Sammy thought to himself, thankful for his leaves being so sealed to keep in the life-giving water inside.