Tokumoto Okata had just lost his mother. His father died when he was 15. Now at the age of 17, still in school and no job, Tokumoto thought that he was not yet ready to live on his own. He decided it was time to live with his grandfather, Kitato, who lives in Gotemba, a city located on the southeastern flank of Mt. Fuji in Shizuoka, Japan.
Growing up Chad was denied love in lieu of fear and terrorism. His life was severely affected by the way his parents treated him while growing up. He is over 40 now, but to this day he still has problems that relate back to his childhood. Subjected to emotional abuse in many different forms he lived through criticism, belittlement and being picked on. Chad was treated like an outcast in his own family. Differently from how his parents treated his siblings, they always letting him know, often in subtle ways, that he was not wanted in the family. Sometimes his father would gang up his siblings against him and they would all make fun of him. Emotions towards Chad were cold and disinterested. Growing up he was never hugged by his parents, or told that he was loved.
People think that a heart is an organ that is responsible for pumping blood repeatedly through the blood vessels in your body, to others it is an entirely different thing. Things such as an inner soul that produces emotions, personality, feelings, or contributes a form of happiness into a human being; many people really do have different answers on how they would describe a heart.
My name is Ekong Kubiateno Michael. I obtained my secondary education at Access High School Calabar, Cross River State. I aspire to study Economics at one of the prestigious universities in the United States of America.
Generations of superstition have bred the thought that there exists a house inhabited by more than mere mortal flesh – one that possesses spirits of sorts, an unseen force capable of imposing independent will upon human dwellers. Such spirits, as they tend to develop over years, are sagging faces of previous tenants, whose dolourific lives are absorbed into the heart of the very home that bore them. The ghastly umbrae emerge with the sole desire to establish reigning presence over the psyche of the living. They are but a malicious stagecoach driver who holds both bullwhip and blunderbuss to unwittingly subservient horses, horses that know no other treatment. It follows, therefore, that an atmosphere depends on the collective mind of living residents, who are affected by and in turn contribute to this harrowingly irrevocable cycle. But ho! Maintain sanity, for such a place exists only as the setting in a mystic’s tale. Such a setting is imagined, such a place I have known.
It was the middle of summer and very hot. The drive back from Arizona is a long drive, even more so when driven alone. I was in the middle of nowhere when my car started to make a noise. At first thought, I had imagined it, then I saw smoke billow out from under my hood and I knew I had better pull off the road. Immediately I turned off my car and I got out lifting the hood . It looked to be steaming from a hose. All I could do was sit there I was stranded.
One warm, dark, summer night, my friends and I were hanging out looking, laughing, and making fun of stupid peoples’ myspace pages. All of a sudden, we were all alramed by a blood curdling scream coming from the next room. We all sat, motionless as we awaited what would happen next.
There is a short story called “A Worn Path” written by Eudora Welty that shows how far the body can be pushed, what the spirit must endure and the limits of our minds. It gives a very descriptive opening that helps paint a detailed mental image of the main character Phoenix Jackson. We find that given situations no matter how impossible they seem people can overcome great odds for people they care about.
My first car was a 2000 Toyota Corolla and still is my car. I have been driving for the past seven months and would say that I am a decently safe driver. The day I received my car was the most wonderful day of my high school life. I drove around town and saw the “sights”, that is, with my mother.
It was the Friday before winter break. Tommy was counting the eraser shavings on the edge of his beat up wooden desk. Suddenly he remembered that he needed to make up his English final after school, but he had planned on going to smoke with his