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Reid N. Weep
Ms. Whitesides
English: Period One (Make sure you put yours.)
31 September 2017
Breaking Molds
A ceiling fan swirling at massive spin exhibits the same quality as one life from the beginning of the turn to the end. No matter where it starts or ends, it winds up in about the same place. Living in Chicago, Illinois, the smart and sophisticated teacher walked vicariously into her class room early one morning to see a the small student laying on the floor in the corner of her classroom. The air was thick was pollutions outside the windows, and the smell of tar was upon the student, as the instructor approached her. It wasn’t as if this was new. Black skies were filling the air bound metropolises for years. The difference lay though in the position of the body on the floor and the meek voice that rang the repeated words in a calm spasmodic command over and over again…“It is coming! It is coming! Don’t let it take me!”the massed heap on the floor exploded. It made the green eyed mother of desks take notice for she remember when it all began.
Younger youth flooded back to her. She was amidst the mountains. in a small town, in a unique village that encroached the hills of the mid; a place she lived as a young seven year old It was a calm day with blue skies and a rash neighborhood that extended into peculiar farms and very peculiar people. Jane walked the path to the obliging little town. Once there, she saw her grandfather in all his wisdom and glory coming toward her.
“Janey, you better get inside fast,” exclaimed Grandpa breathlessly.
“Why, Grandpa?” replied, the young temperamental progeny.
“Don’t ask why, just do,” yelled the older vicarious elder, “or you won’t be standing here tomorrow!”
“Grandpa, get yourself inside with me now!” fretfully Jane howled above the wind. “I love you, and I don’t want to lose you too!”
Reid N. Weep
Ms. Whitesides
English: Period Three
25 September 2017
Breaking Molds
A ceiling fan swirling at massive spin exhibits the same quality as one life from the beginning of the turn to the end. No matter where it starts or ends, it winds up in about the same place. Living in Chicago, Illinois, the smart and sophisticated teacher walked vicariously into her class room early one morning to see a the small student laying on the floor in the corner of her classroom. The air was thick was pollutions outside the windows, and the smell of tar was upon the student, as the instructor approached her. It wasn’t as if this was new. Black skies were filling the air bound metropolises for years. The difference lay though in the position of the body on the floor and the meek voice that rang the repeated words in a calm spasmodic command over and over again…“It is coming! It is coming! Don’t let it take me!” the massed heap on the floor exploded. It made the green eyed mother of desks take notice for she remember when it all began.
Younger youth flooded back to her. She was amidst the hills in a small town, in a unique village that encroached the hills of the mid-west. It was a calm day with blue skies and a rash neighborhood that extended into peculiar farms and very peculiar people…