Dusty Hill

Why doesn't Frank Beard have a beard?
The winter’s sun shot me in the eyes with its desolate glare, my skin finding no redemption to being eaten by my own salty tears. Everything seemed so slow… there was no wind, yet I could still hear a hussle of the leaves in the chestnut tree besides me. The air was well below freezing, still, I felt no urge to grasp my arms and huddle up like a penguin fighting arctic gales- but even if I wanted to, I couldn’t. I urged my self up, and finally perceived my surroundings, instinctively attempting to keep a sharp eye for any danger. To my left there were hand built stone walls opening up to lush rolling hills, peering off to the distance like a child’s TV show, and to the right, was a single row of industrial terraced housing, built with stone, contrasting from light to dark in a peculiar way and each with a small five foot garden with a plastic-potted plant balancing precariously on either gate post. In between was the perennial road. White lines were distanced apart in the centre until they halted at a zebra crossing- and strangely enough, that lead directly to the front door of one of the terraced houses. Baffled by this, I found my self taking steps miraculously towards the mystery house. Steps became feet, feet became paces, and paces became hugs strides, but even though I expected to increase in speed, it felt like I was inching steps all over again. I halted at the house with the zebra stripes leading up to it, which seemed to strangle me in its pernicious aura. My heart thumped with rebellion as it jerked my legs towards the house’s coat of mystery, perusing I had no means of escape. I could hear a faint tap. The tapping was so scarce I had to kneel in front of the stained wooden door to hear it; the cold patio clawing at my knees gave me a sudden urge to fling my arms around my thighs and fight the bitterly cold chains which were grasping me. The tap was so lacking rhythmic value; it was a couple of dire seconds before it tapped again. Images appeared in my head, of a soul confronted by its mortal foe, perhaps using the last of its strength to signal some help-blood draining into the carpet-with this pathetic tap. I opened my eyes, and saw a narrow line between the house and the ground I hadn’t noticed before, entering into the basement. I guessed no-one was home, as there were no lights on. But then again, a ‘mortal foe’ wouldn’t want to gain suspicion. I shuddered, bringing my numb waist up to the height of the window ledge, avoiding the mould which had smothered itself around the window pane. Two dusty trampled chairs strangely enough surrounded a wide-screen plasma TV, followed by last centuries’ trinkets, ornaments and bush-baby dolls. The walls were covered in pernickety tulip wallpaper, dripping condensation in all corners leaving a green mark on the blood-red carpet. *tap* I swiftly jolted my head at the corner of the TV, in which during the tap a red light bleeped. *Tap* Again and again it bleeped at the same time of the tap. I couldn’t help but wait to guess for the next tap- a feeling of notability washed over me- but I was too focused on the tapping. I felt like a small child again. Everything was suddenly so exciting. I waited for another red light to draw me into its splendid glow, but my eyes were weary and unfocused. The warmth biding my feet burned like a sharp branding iron had hammered into my bone. Quenching my reconnaissance. A deformed man smirked behind the pitiful glass, watching me shed tears, his blue eyes sunk into the fatigue that overwhelmed my drowning conscience.
What do you think of my descriptive story?
“Hill creates Hilliard’s thoughts about his imminent meeting with Barton in detail on pages 39 to 41 and 46 to 50, but we learn very little of Barton’s thoughts, except for one line of dialogue: “I saw your things. I knew you’d arrived.” He hesitated. “To tell you the truth, I was frightened to death of you!” Using pages 40-41 as a model and also of what you have learnt of Barton’s character and Hilliard’s background, create the episode where Barton enters the apple loft and first sees Hilliard belongings.” Barton slowly made his way up the splintered, wooden staircase, clutching on to the sides he heaved himself up, stretched and struck his head on the rafter. He looked up slightly whilst vigorously massaging his head, and muttered, “I’ll have to remember that one.” As he stepped up on to the noticeably uneven floor boards, they creaked, a sour scent of cider reached Barton’s nostrils and he creased his forehead. His eyes swept the room and rested momentarily on a trunk. Neatly put to one corner, the tarnished leather trunk sat. A firm lock buckled it tightly shut. The name “John Hilliard” was engraved on the side of the trunk in faded black ink. A pale cane walking stick with a rounded silver knob was propped up against the murky white- washed wall. Barton walked over to the belongings. He stretched out a hand to touch the walking stick, but hesitantly withdrew. Maybe he was soon to encounter the presence of a more mature man thought Barton. Strict. He hadn’t actually had the chance to reflect upon whom he would have to share the room with. Barton began to feel perceptibly nervous. Barton knew inside that he was not a shy person, yet the lack of belongings of the other had created a barrier of reluctance to meet him. He inched away from them. A candle was rested upon a stained, upturned cardboard box throwing a shaft of light around the room. A dusty armchair was placed in the other corner of the narrow loft. Barton walked across to it and seated himself down. He took out a double folded photograph wallet, with a family picture on one side and just Miriam Barton on the other side. They were all smiling at him. He beamed back at them. He clutched the leather wallet close to his chest. He unstrapped his own case and began to unpack, taking his shaving things out. Coulter had brought up a white, enamel bowl filled with water earlier on. The bowl itself was as big as his own hands when he cupped them together. Barton dipped a finger into the water. It was cold. He began lathering his face with his shaving brush, whilst humming to himself. He could hear the distant booming of rifle grenades, so he stopped and listened intently, rather intrigued. He wiped his face clean on a rough towel and walked over to the elongated window. He reached out a hand to open it and fresh air greeted him carrying with it an aroma of crisp, burning leaves. He looked down upon a fringe of trees studded with rich- coloured berries brimming with juice. A filthy- looking dog was slouched across some cobbles chewing on a bone enthusiastically. Conkers were littered on the ground like pearls of polished mahogany. Autumn. A stone pathway had embedded itself in the thick, long grass. The canvas of a sky was beginning to dim turning into grey slate. The silhouette of the village of Percelle could be outlined distinctly in the distance. Barton had been standing there, perched on the rusty hinges of the window for a while now soaking in the atmosphere, whilst nibbling on a slab of Chocolate Menier, devouring the enriching flavour. The strong perfume of the burning leaves curling with the heat was making him feel rather hazy. He went back over to the armchair, and opened his copy of The Turn of the Screw. For a while he was absorbed by the contents of this novel, but kept getting distracted thinking about his family. His mother would probably be in the kitchen right now. Cooking. Barton’s sister alongside her, sitting on the stool, beside the sink, keeping her mother company. He missed their presence already. He could the hear sound of voices directly below him. He stopped to listen. There were two men. One had quite a deep, rasping voice and the other had a much softer, gentle voice. He felt he was back at school again. He began to drift slowly off to sleep, and started to think about this “John Hilliard” who he was soon to be acquainting himself with. He felt tense. He swivelled around to take once last glance at the blemished, leather trunk and the walking stick, carefully propped up against the wall, in a very upright manner. Why were there very little belongings, he thought? Even the trunk itself was rather small. No family pictures lovingly placed on the side of his camp bed, or magazines, or newspapers thrown carelessly on to the camp bed. At once Barton heard the ruffled sound of footsteps beneath him. He opened his eyeIn answer to the first answer..I copied and pasted it from word doc :P and thank you for taking the time to read..much appreciated
Hey, could you read through this? I was wondering whether i could make any changes.?
I see the previews for Marley and Me and think....Marley is nothing compared to Dusty. Dusty is my mom's "puppy". He is about 7 months old and you would not believe me if I told you some of the things he has done. The thing is he is NOT BAD just overly smart. He was afraid of the dark and whined when she would turn off the light on the back porch, finally he went and somehow opened the lock on the door to the tool shed then actually opened the tool box, got out a flashlight, took it to his bed and turned it on(this is after trying to plug a lamp in and acidently biting through the cord). Not to mention he heard my mom tell her husband he wanted the living room painted and he told her and he was not dragging all of that out that day, so Dusty pushed open the sliding doors to the shed and pulled out the drop clothe, paint brushes, and paint buckets through the doggie door onto the porch. He also has learned how to remove the cover from my mother's pride and joy, her boat and disasembled the radio(with a screwdriver) and ate the seat. I thought it could not get worse except now he has figured out how to jump onto the trash cans then jump over the fence which is 11-12 feet tall. They moved the cans and now he runs and jumps from a hill in the back yard to the roof and jumps over that way! Did I mention he also knows how to pull the tabs on the screens on the windows to remove them when the window is open and come in the house? I know this sounds like a story and would not believe it if I had not seen it but I have and he is just too smart! He passed his obediance classes with flying colors, he behaves and understands what he is told to do but does not understand boundaries. He did not try to get out last night because I went over yesterday and told him that "this is your yard, I am not playing your games, you get out one more time and you will be sleeping in that crate(then pointed at it), you understand what I am saying and I am done playing the games!" He got on his knees and acted like he was crying. Mom said she caught him going in the crate for 30 seconds or so several times after I told him and then came out whining. She said she thinks he was trying how bad it would be. But he did not get out last night but I know it is not a permanent solution. Any ideas how to keep him in, that fence is high enough he should not be able to get out but he is out of control, he really does not get he is not a human! We had a smart Australian Shepard before but he had wonderful manners and would not do anything to displease anyone if you tried to get him to! My mom is not in great health this not sleeping night after night is bad on her blood pressure. You can't help but love Dusty but he is just a baby if he can do all of this now I hate to see what he will be as an adult. Anyway, I am looking for a way to at least keep him in the fence, any ideas?The question is does anyone have an idea how to keep him in the fence. It can not get any higher and since he has figured out how to get onto the roof increasing the height wouldn't help anyway.
Dog too smart for everyone's good, how to keep in?
T-Virus Prelude: Out Late It was silent. In the dark hours of the morning, only the wing beats of an owl could be heard against the valley’s now still ghost town and the forest that surrounded it. The splendor of the naturally encroached town was indeed a sight to behold. The evergreens, weeping willows, and flowers had moved in as neighbors with the long since dusty houses. The streets were vacant and the grass of the lawns had grown to several feet, extending out to envelop cars and street lights their firm clutches. Tall trees that grew in a seemly random fashion, cast their long, deep silhouettes against abandoned dwellings. It would be easily possible to walk through the length of the town and never notice it for what it was. Morgan Hill had without a doubt, fallen under the power of Mother Nature. If one were to hold his gaze over an area for long enough, the slightest movement could be seen in between the tall, ominous trees. Four humanoid figures, dressed in a black that complimented the shadowy sky and earth, could just be viewed through the morning fog rolling in over the hills. Once they reached their destination, a house just off of what was once Main Street; they halted and moved close together. The shortest individual of the group stated, “Hey, Jesse, there is a house across the way. You should be able to get up on the roof. We can flush them out if you take them down. You can take Andrew with you as back up.” A tall, lean figure returned, “Yeah that’s a good idea. Ok, Brady is this the right address? Everything seems to be quiet.” The shortest guy replied back, “Yeah, 4267 Green Oak Court, this is the place she said.” An emoish outline nervously whispered, “This isn’t right. Something is wrong. Shouldn’t we be hearing screams or cries of help from this woman?” “Andrew’s right. There is a certain tenseness about the air,” murmured a figure with a rather stocky build. Jesse said in an undertone, “Yeah, we should have heard something by now, but we are still going in anyway. If there is a chance she is alive, we have no choice but to take it. Jt, how does the front door look?” The stocky figure nosily crept over to the door. He tapped on it and shook the handle several times. “Crap,” he muttered. He glanced right and left, and then sneaked back to the group. He shook his head and said, “It’s no good, the door has to be solid oak. There is no way we can get through it. Unless someone brought the picklocks?” Brady hissed out, “Shit. I forgot them. Ah well looks like its windows again. I’ll get right on it.” Jesse thought for a few seconds and said, “This house looks like it has a basement, so maybe the roof idea isn’t so good,” at this decision, Jesse shouldered a .22 CZ 452 sniper rifle and unhooked the strap over his , “We’ll have to all go in. Ok I want two teams of two. Brady and I will take basement. And Andrew and Jt will take the upstairs. Ok?” Three oks sounded off. “Now Brady, how quietly can you get the window open?” Brady’s reply was a half smirk and slithered over to the front window. The frame was four by five with two panes. The glass looked as though it hadn’t been touched in a year. This is actually probably a pretty accurate description. Most of the houses looked like they had missed some major upkeep. Brady moved to the right pane and reached for his back pocket. He pulled out a pocket knife and proceeded to quietly unscrew and pop the window out. “Jt, Andrew, come over here and help me catch the window.” They stirred and sneaked to the window. They stood behind Brady, making a triangular shape. Brady pulled the window out and down and then ducked. The pane fell neatly into the outstretched arms of Jt and Andrew. They took three steps back and laid the glass over the four foot tall lawn. Jesse motioned for all four of them to step over the wall, through the window and into the house. Once inside, all four slid out their .45 pistols with the gracefulness of professionals and performed a routine search of the front room. “All clear,” said Andrew. Jesse put a vertical finger across his mouth with a pointed look at Andrew and motioned for everyone to check the first floor. Jesse and Brady crept through the hallway to the left, while Jt and Andrew took the right. After a quick search, nothing of importance was found. It was clear that whoever had owned the house had left in a hurry. Canned foods were piled on the table, along with other nonperishable items. The cupboards were all wide open and things were thrown askew across the floor. Pictures hung sideways on the walls and half packed suitcases were laid over the carpet in the family room. We circled the downstairs and met back near the front door, where the entrance to the basement and the stairs were. Jesse motioned over to me and pointed to the only door we hadn’t opened yet, the basement door, and held up a hand for me to wait. He then turned around and with a nod of his head, notified Jt and Andre
Story- Good? Bad? Some feedback please.?
I've been working on a story that's been sitting around on my computer and I was wondering if anyone would give me some insight that I need to improve on? Vampire Angel Chapter 1 Far away in a land that lay high up in the clouds, lived a small girl and her mother. The village that they both lived in was lined up row by row, leading up the hill into the town square. In the center of the town square was a marble colored water fountain. A small girl about the age of eight, was always seen in the square doing community service. Like helping with the bakery by delivery bread to the villagers, or picking up trash around the village. The night sky glowed a dark blue by twinkling stars. The air was cold and smelled like the rain. The girl headed up the cobblestone hill and into a blue two-story house. The house had a garden covering the front porch, and a huge oak tree on the side of the house. In the backyard was a white floral swinging bench, and a dusty trail that leads into the forest. Inside the house, the girl’s mother was tucking in her daughter. The room was colored lemon yellow, with the bed across from the door. The window was across from the bed next to a oak-colored cabinet; it was covered with pink curtains. The room had a welcoming and warm feeling when you walk inside. “There. Nice and snug.“ said the girl’s mother, as she finished tucking in her daughter. Her chestnut hair fell over her shoulder as she sat on the red-and-white polka-dotted bed covers. “Mommy, can you sing me a lullaby?” asked the girl, her blue eyes glowing hopefully. “Okay, Kaori.” replied the mother as she looked out the window with a content look. The little girl hugged her stuffed cat toy closely as she started to sleep. Her mother sang, her voice warm and heavenly. ♪Who are those little girls in pain Just trapped in castle of dark side of moon Twelve of them shining bright in vain Like flowers that blossom just once in years They're dancing in the shadow Like whispers of love Just dreaming of a place Where they're free as dove They've never been allowed To love in this cursed cage It's only the fairy tale they believe♪ Kaori's mother walked over to the window, pulled away the curtains, and opened the window a creak. She looked up toward the sky and whispered, “It won't be long until they arrive.” She then walked over to the cabinet and opened the top drawer. She dug through it until she pulled out a silver necklace with a matching silver ring pendant attached. Engraved on the ring in small print was, 'I will always and forever love you, my beautiful Anika. Love Teshiro.' “I know you're always watching over us.” said Anika as she raked a hand through her hair; her glimmering sapphire eyes started to tear up. She wiped them away with the back of her free hand, and went back to the window. There something had caught her attention, three figures walking up the path. Each one emitting their own dark aura. Anika watched them carefully, and suddenly noticed that one of them in particular had chestnut brown hair and red eyes. He was the 2nd tallest compared to the other guy next to him. On the other hand, the one on his left was kinda short by about an inch or so. Her eyes widened as she stumbled back away from the window as quickly as possible. The brown haired person caught onto the sound and looked up toward the window. Anika's breath grew shallow and quick as she backed up against the closet, and huddled into a small ball. Sweat formed on her face as she hoped they didn't spotted her. Her blue eyes darted over to her daughter's sleeping form. The older man nugded the boy next to him, “Is there something wrong, Kuri?” The boy now known as Kuri, shifted his gaze from the window to his comrade and shrugged, “It was nothing, I guess.” The smaller one lifted up his hand to adjust his hood. An evil smile crept on his face, revealing two white fangs. “Well, we could go check it out, just to be sure.” he said. The small one next to Kuri pulled back his hood, leaving some strands of blonde hair sticking upward. His green eyes went over to the largest member and he said, “It would be best if we just keep going. Master Shiro wouldn't be happy with us if we caused trouble, and if we decide to do so would result in Vampire hunters coming after us.” He scanned the area, sniffed the air, and added, “I can smell some of them just a few miles away.” “You're just imagining things. There's no way that a Vampire hunter can get all the way up here!” the taller one snapped, his red eyes glaring at the younger boy. He then added, “And even if one of them got up here, I'll just tear them to shreds and maybe suck their blood while I'm at it.” He licked his lips and brushed a few strands of black hair from his face. Meanwhile, in the Kaori household, Anika had called out her Heaven Staff and had Kaori in her arms. She went down the stairs and toward the door, stopped midway, turned around a
Can someone rate my story?
Alone in the Dark The limousine glided through the mist like a ship in a harbour. If it had been daytime, people would have pointed and maybe even waved, but 5 am was too early to recognize a small town celebrity. The passenger of the long black car was glad that no one was up; he had made the early trip on purpose. No one would see him drive off, without a goodbye or even a tear. No one would see his tears. The woman beside him adjusted the strap of one of her red sandals. A sash was missing from her obviously designer dress, or had it even been there? He could not remember. She opened her sequined purse and pulled out a lipstick, applied it, and carefully replaced it. She sighed. He was being too quiet, she thought. But she knew why. They had gone to school together their whole lives. Though they had not always been friends, they always seemed to find each other, and last night had been no different. She hated seeing him this way, but it was the way he had been for many years. Two years ago she had gone to Los Angeles to visit him. He seemed happy, almost as if he had forgotten the whole thing altogether, but she should have known better. Three months after her visit, his attempted suicide was all over the news. His maid had walked in on him on the floor, pill bottles and blood all over the carpet. She had called 911, and he lived to see another pain filled two years, with scars on his wrists to prove it. And now his ten year class reunion. She had half expected him not to show up. But he came, a model on each arm and obviously drunk. Years of alcoholism and heartbreak showed on his face. "Dan." she said “Go see her.". He looked into her eyes and she thought she saw tears, but he turned away. "Stop the car." he said. He got out, lit up a cigarette, and stood there for a while, smoking in silence. She peered out of the car at the man who was only half of himself, feeling sorry for him. He got back into the car, spoke to the driver, and then sat back down next to her. "I'm sorry for the inconvenience, Margaret." The car started to move again, but it didn't drive towards the highway. Instead it took a dusty old road, up a hill, to a church overlooking the ocean below. A rusty iron fence bordered a cemetery filled with crooked white crosses, and leaning tombstones. He got out of the car and walked to the far corner of the cemetery. It was a beautiful cemetery, unlike most. It was high up on a cliff and overlooked the ocean for miles. He walked up to a headstone. It looked as if it had been taken care of very well. A bouquet of wilted flowers lay across it. He moved them, and read the name. He hadn’t been there for the birth of his daughter. He didn’t even know that Eliza had been pregnant until he got a phone call from his mother late one night. Every time he thought about that phone call, he would feel the same pain and guilt he had felt that night. He was so shattered that he couldn’t speak for days; he just stayed in his room, alone in the dark for weeks. After that, he pretended that nothing had happened. He never went to the funeral or to see his daughter. He knew that if he saw her he would break down again. He had been told that she was exactly like her mother. Her name was Audrey, and she would be almost 10 now. Of course he sent money every month, and she would send the odd father’s day or birthday card. But they stayed unopened and unread. Dan started to cry and fell on to his knees. He loved her now just as much as he had loved her in the past, but he missed her more now. He could still remember her face, her lips, her hair, how she smelled, and felt. But she wasn’t coming back, and he needed to realize that, even after all the years of pretending not to. So he wiped his face, got up, and walked back to the car. They drove in silence back down the dusty road, through town, and to a white house on the outskirts of town. Dan walked up the stairs, his heart breaking though he didn’t know how it could break anymore. He knocked on the door and a small child opened it. She was dainty and fragile. Black curls framed her face and blue-green eyes danced behind them. She was every bit her mother, and for once in a very long time, Dan felt whole.
I changed my story, do you like it better this way? What needs to be changed? ( I need to perfect it)?
I stand for peace, honor, truth and justice. I stand for freedom. I am confident. I am arrogant. I am proud. When I am flown with my fellow banners, My head is a little higher, My colors a little truer. I bow to no one! I am recognized all over the world. I am worshipped - I am saluted. I am loved - I am revered. I am respected - and I am feared. I have fought in every battle of every war for more then 200 years. I was at Valley Forge, Gettysburg, Shiloh and Appomattox. I was there at San Juan Hill, the trenches of France, in the Argonne Forest, Anzio, Rome and the beaches of Normandy. Guam, Okinawa, Korea and KheSan, Saigon, Vietnam know me. I'm presently in the mountains of Afganistan and the hot and dusty deserts of Iraq and wherever freedom is needed. I led my troops, I was dirty, battleworn and tired, But my soldiers cheered me and I was proud. I have been burned, torn and trampled in many countries I have helped set free. It does not hurt for I am invincible. And when it's done by those Whom I've served in battle - it hurts. But I shall overcome - for I am strong. I have slipped the bonds of Earth and stood watch over the uncharted frontiers of space from my vantage point on the moon. I have borne silent witness to all of America's finest hours. But my finest hours are yet to come. When I am torn into strips and used as bandages for my wounded comrades on the battlefield, When I am honor my soldiers, Or when I lie in the trembling arms of a grieving parent at the grave of their fallen son or daughter, DO YOU KNOW WHAT I AM? ANSWER ME
GUESS WHAT I AM?
The limousine glided through the mist like a ship in a harbour. If it had been daytime, people would have pointed and maybe even waved, but 5 am was too early to recognize a small town celebrity. The passenger of the long black car was glad that no one was up; he had made the early trip on purpose. No one would see him drive off, without a goodbye or even a tear. No one would see his tears. The woman beside him adjusted the strap of one of her red sandals. A sash was missing from her obviously designer dress, or had it even been there? He could not remember. She opened her sequined purse and pulled out a lipstick, applied it, and carefully replaced it. She sighed. He was being too quiet, she thought. But she knew why. They had gone to school together their whole lives. Though they had not always been friends, they always seemed to find each other, and last night had been no different. She hated seeing him this way, but it was the way he had been for many years. Two years ago she had gone to Los Angeles to visit him. He seemed happy, almost as if he had forgotten the whole thing altogether, but she should have known better. Three months after her visit, his attempted suicide was all over the news. His maid had walked in on him on the floor, pill bottles and blood all over the carpet. She had called 911, and he lived to see another pain filled two years, with scars on his wrists to prove it. And now his ten year class reunion. She had half expected him not to show up. But he came, a model on each arm and obviously drunk. Years of alcoholism and heartbreak showed on his face. "Dan." she said “Go see her.". He looked into her eyes and she thought she saw tears, but he turned away. "Stop the car." he said. He got out, lit up a cigarette, and stood there for a while, smoking in silence. She peered out of the car at the man who was only half of himself, feeling sorry for him. He got back into the car, spoke to the driver, and then sat back down next to her. "I'm sorry for the inconvenience, Margaret." The car started to move again, but it didn't drive towards the highway. Instead it took a dusty old road, up a hill, to a church overlooking the ocean below. A rusty iron fence bordered a cemetery filled with crooked white crosses, and leaning tombstones. He got out of the car and walked to the far corner of the cemetery. It was a beautiful cemetery, unlike most. It was high up on a cliff and overlooked the ocean for miles. The sun had started to peek through the mist. It looked as if it would be a sunny day after all. He walked up to a headstone. It looked as if it had been taken care of very well. A bouquet of wilted flowers lay across it. He moved them, and read the name. He said it over and over in his mind before finally closing his eyes and whispering it out loud "Eliza". A wind swept over his face. "Dan.” He turned around. A woman stood there. She was more beautiful than he remembered. Her black hair fell on her shoulders in curls, and her blue-green eyes stared at him lovingly. One hand was on her stomach. She was 7 months pregnant. He walked over to her and caressed her face. He didn't want to believe it was her, just encase he had to lose her again. He took her face in his hands and kissed her, but she pulled away. “I’m sorry I left, I never should have gone. I should have realized that you were more important than anything. I should never have listened to that man. I...the crash...the baby...” She started to walk towards the ocean, but stopped at the edge of the cliff. "None of that matters." she said. She smiled into his face. A truck driver was the first to the scene of the accident. Right away he called 911 on his cell phone. He went up to the car. It was too late for the driver. He was pinned against the steering wheel, his head rested on a picture of his late wife. He went around the side of the car and opened the door. A woman in a red dress turned to him. Her head was bleeding, but other than that she seemed fine. It was the man she was next to who needed the most help. He was laid out on the seat, and the woman had his head cradled in her lap. He was mumbling and his breath was shallow, he was obviously dying. “Have you called for help?" she asked, and the truck driver nodded. She leaned closer to his face, trying to hear what he was saying. "Margaret" he whispered "I'm going to see her."
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A few days ago I went to the library looking for a book. I thought to myself it can’t be just any book. So I asked for the librarian’s help. She handed me a large stack of books. Now, by large I mean a stack about 20 books high. My arms were about to break, but don’t worry it didn’t affect the librarian one bit. I tried to set the books down, but just as I was about to she hurried off to the non fiction section where a man and a woman were fighting over the last copy of Twilight . As I looked at the gracious load of books the librarian had given me, I thought too big, too bare, too…foreign? If people would look deeper than the cover, then many would find that even though the cover is dusty the pages are full of knowledge. Everyone in life is looking for that perfect book but too often forget to look deeper than the cover so lets flip through those old, dusty pages to see what is really at the core of the story. Let’s face it, everyone in today’s society is driven on the idea of having the perfect self image. Media is the culprit of the problem. With shows like The Real World, and The Hills that are shown on MTV it is showing self image as a number one priority. So even though these shows may be an indulgence for some, for others it is merely a stressful reminder of what they are striving to be. Music also is playing a big part in our cultural troubles. Children as young as 8 are listening to songs like LolliPop by Lil Wayne, instead of age appropriate music because they are shown through advertisements, commercials, and television shows that you’re seen as cool if you listen to that kind of music. This stress is not just effecting youth, but adults too. Adults are trying to figure out why kids are in such a hurry to grow up so fast. So why the need to be voted most popular? In a struggle to be so perfect these people go to drastic measures. According to www.disordered-eating.com, Eating Disorders Not Otherwise Specified (EDNOS) develop in 4 to 6 percent of the general population. Our youth are even feeling the stress of the strive to be perfect. Many grade school and middle school children have one goal. To fit in. With so many cliques in our society youth are feeling the need to be in the perfect group where they won’t get singled out, but in reality any group they choose to be in will get judged by another in a vicious cycle of judgment. In everyday life people change they way the look, interests, and even morals just to fit in. The fact is that due to the media’s need for outside appearance influences more and more people to have low self esteem. How do we stop the epidemic for our future generations?its just the intro and also 2 main pionts.
iS THIS A GOOD SPEECH?
**Here it is. I am having a HEEEUGE writer's block at the moment. I only have the first small part done, but i don't know... What do you think? Finish it (putting my own spin on it), or start fresh? Waiting across the street for Demetris to arrive, Aniela sat in the shadows of the dark alley, unseen by any passers-by. She crouched low as a large delivery truck drove past, splashing mud on her light jacket. She, being now frustrated by the lateness of Demetris, brushed off the mud, eyes narrowing. The man with the brief case strolled down the alley, looking not afraid, but very aware of his surroundings. Aniela stole out of her crouch and slowly tip-toed towards the man, her eyes on nothing but the case he now held against his chest. “Is that the file?” Her cold voice rung throughout the street, echoing off of the empty trash bins nearby. “Y-Yes,” the man stuttered. His eyes now shined with fear, greatly exempting their dark brown color. Aniela held out her pale, long-fingered hand. “Give it here.” “I-” The man swallowed, making strange gulping noise. “I want to be sure of our deal. I-I need to know nothing happened to my son.” “Trust me,” Aniela said, snatching the solid case from his enclosed hands. “You will know soon enough.” She turned and stalked down the dark alley, seeming to disappear into its depths. * Aniela arrived in Switzerland at exactly 12:01. Late, she thought. Again. She marched through the busy streets of a small town, covered in a light snow, glaring in a straight haze. Many tourists, laden with shopping bags and fudge, were pushed lazily aside. Demetris was perched against a telephone pole, his back towards the bustling crowd, talking fluently in what sounded like French on a tiny cell phone. Aniela, feeling her anger returning, launched herself at the unaware man’s back, knocking him upside the head. “You idiot! You imbecile! You didn’t show!” Aniela pounded her fists furiously into the tall man’s back, struggling to keep her voice low. “I know. I had to take care of some personal business.” Aniela glared. What sort of ravage fool would leave his partner? “Doing what?” She asked, her voice smitten with rage. “Never you mind. Now, please follow me. Master is waiting, and might I add he is not pleased with you.” Demetris kept his face expressionless, though clear joy was etched into his deep blue eyes. The pair quickly rounded the corner, still miles from their destination. Miles they could make up easily, of course, once the grubbiness of this low-class town was left behind. Demetris led the way, only glancing over his shoulder when a pretty girl passed. “Oh, please!” Aniela whispered, still following the mysterious man that was her partner. The last building on the road was nestled near the silent woods. The building was shabby, obviously not used in a few years, and in need of some major repair. Few people lingered here, nor were many on this particular block. Demetris pulled a tiny key from his breast pocket, and slid it into the door. The inside of the deserted building was exactly how Aniela pictured it. Small, dusty, and cramped, with covered antique furniture hidden in the shadows. The only item that appeared to be left untouched was a small wood desk in the middle of the room. The chair behind the desk slowly turned, showing the face of their Master. Aniela and Demetris both cringed, seeing the mangled face. “Enter.” The harsh voice called. “Both of you. Quickly.” Aniela pushed Demetris further into the room, slamming the old door behind her. She glanced at Demetris, whose smug expression was entirely gone from his topaz eyes. Aniela stood slightly behind him, keeping herself slightly distanced from the chair. “Aniela, you’re late. Again. Is this becoming too hard for you?” The chair swiveled again, to the right this time. It moved forward, towards to two standing motionless near the door. “Because, if it is, I can easily fix that.” The man in the chair pulled out a long stick, seemingly flicking it through his fingers. “No. No I can handle it. But, sir, I need more time, the nuisance of a boy knows we’re after him. He’s running, and he is quick. He’s got the two others with him, both experienced and ready. Its unlikely I’ll be able to capture him while he is being guarded by them.” Aniela’s fear made her voice quiver. “We.” Demetris glared forward. “We will catch him.” Aniela disregarded this comment, not letting his stupidity cost both of their lives. The man in the chair flicked his wand at the creaky door, making it fly open. Taking it as her cue to leave, she pulled Demetris by the back of his long cloak. “Yes, Master. It will be done.” * 6,000 miles away, the group of three made their way down the steep hill, moving slow to prevent falling. “How much longer?” The smallest asked, though clearly in his early teens. The man in front of him turned, stopping in his tracks. “If you ask that one more time, I will obliterat

• Joe Michael "Dusty" Hill (born May 19, 1949) is the bassist and vocalist with the Rock group ZZ Top. Hill is noted for his solid, unadorned bass playing, "leather-lung" vocal stylings and his love of Elvis Presley.
• Hill was born in Dallas, Texas and grew up in the Lakewood neighborhood of East Dallas. He attended Woodrow Wilson High School.
• Hill formed ZZ Top in late 1969 with drummer Frank Beard (with whom Hill had played in the bands American Blues, the Warlocks, and the Cellar Dwellers) and Moving Sidewalks' guitarist/vocalist Billy Gibbons. After honing their trademark Texas Boogie-Blues-Rock style, they released the aptly titled ZZ Top's First Album on London Records in 1971.
• The band rolled on, intensively touring and recording/releasing albums until 1977, when they took a hiatus. Their long-time manager/producer/image maker Bill Ham used this time to negotiate a deal that allowed the band to keep control of their previous recordings, which would be distributed by their new label, Warner Brothers Records. They reunited two and a half years later in order to start recording under a new Warner Brothers contract. Unbeknownst to the other, both Dusty Hill and Billy Gibbons had grown the chest-length beards that quickly became a part of their "wildman" image. Drummer Frank Beard, ironically, does not wear a beard.
• The band hit international prominence and their commercial peak with the release of 1983's platinum-selling disc Eliminator. Named after Gibbon's customized 1933 Ford Coupe (which, along with leggy party girls, was featured in several music videos), Eliminator featured the hits "Legs", "Gimme All Your Lovin'", "Sharp Dressed Man" and "TV Dinners".
• In 1994, the band signed a five-disc deal with RCA Record. Many fans feel that the recordings of this era are as artistically strong as the earlier London and Warner Brothers recordings, but have expressed disappointment with RCA's promotion of these releases.
• In July 2000, while on tour in Europe, Hill was diagnosed with Hepatitis C, the treatment of which cancelled several dates in that tour. Hill has since made a remarkable recovery, joking, "You just can't keep down ZZ Top!"
• In 2003, a comprehensive collection of recordings from the London and Warner Brother years entitled Chrome, Smoke & BBQ was released. Also in 2003, ZZ Top was inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. They have the distinction of being the only band with a 35 year plus history with all of the original members.
• As of 2006, it is reported that ZZ Top is recording their 15th studio album.
• Dusty Hill has appeared as himself in the 11th season episode of King of the Hill, "Hank Gets Dusted", in which Hank Hill is said to be a cousin of Dusty's. He can also be glimpsed among the mourners attending a funeral in the 1998 film A Simple Plan.
• On May 16, 2007, a press release from ZZ Top announced they were cancelling their European tour because Dusty Hill needed to undergo treatment for a benign growth (acoustic neuroma) in his inner ear which is affecting his hearing.
• Throughout his career Hill has used many different basses and amplifiers in different combos, and has a large collection of vintage and custom basses. However, he claims he prefers simple and non complicated basses with a single pickup with a single volume knob and sometimes with an additional knob for tone control.