NOTE: phrases highlighted are being modified to the phrases shown in brackets. (I’ve always found something fascinating about seeing an old dilapidated house along a winding road, they spark my curiosity.) Something about the fascination of dilapidated houses along winding roads sparks my curiosity but most of all give me shivers. (I stare; captivated by the sight) looking at the sight of the crippled abandoned house wondering what kind of monstrous human being would enable that to happen. The sight of overgrown weeds, rotten window sills and newly established spider webs makes my spine tingle. It makes me nauseous when walking along trails that back off to (that lead to deserted houses) loathsome houses. Questioning myself, the thought of how someone could be so neglectful towards their living environment. A house is like an infant it must be pampered and cared for with great responsibility or else it will become derelict and decrepit. I guess I could say that my fears of abandoned houses began on my trip to France when I had just turned eight: during one late afternoon in Paris, the sun was shining and the temperature was at its peak. I could see the steam rising up from the black tarred streets as the sun relentlessly shone down.
As I looked around, all I could see was a mass of people pushing, shoving, babies crying and kids shouting. I could smell the musky aroma of body odour that was lingering through the hot summer air, this combined with the fish heads I saw sitting in cold ice, which was making my stomach turn. With crowds beginning to pile up around the busy downtown street market my dad decided to bring my older sister and me somewhere less overwhelming. Eager to get out, (escape the crowd) I immediately grabbed the container of wild red berries, and placed it in my tattered but beloved knapsack. We elbowed our way through the tiny gaps of open space, as my father protectively clinched my hand, dragging me through the overwhelming crowds. About an hour later, we were walking along a winding old road in the French countryside. The fresh breeze had just picked up, making the tall grass and colourful flowers (aligning the road) that aligned the road, move as if waving to some invisible viewer. There were many potholes scattered along the deserted road, filled with medium sized muddy brown puddles that were begging for a child to splash in them. (The darkening sky overpowered the sunny weather, as little streams of light peeked out and reflected on the ground and country side houses).
The Term Paper on Electronic Road Pricing for traffic congestion
Introduction One of the most problems today is the traffic congestion that we experience in the large city. We feel that it is a headache during our journey and it gave us a lot of negative effects. Traffic congestion is a condition on road networks that occurs as use increases, and is characterized by slower speeds, longer trip times, and increased vehicular queuing. The most common example is ...
The darkened sky overpowered the sunny weather, as little streams of light peeked out and reflected on the ground and country side houses.
Falling maple leafs began to dance around in the wind, creating beautiful harmony. In the distance I could see a decapitated house, as I approached the unkempt house it seemed to me that (it looked as though) there were overgrown weeds along the side of the house that pushed high above the door, almost touching the windowsills. Along the side of the house, there were bits and pieces of peeled white paint; and dust lay on the surface walls like dirty snow. The shingles on the roof were curled and cracked, leaving behind sediments of stone washed out on the ground below. Between the flaked shingles, bright green moss was starting to grow, leaving the roof resembling a forest floor. I looked up to see a rat race across the ridge of the rooftop and in seconds I screamed. My dad and sisters were equally appalled at the site of this terrifying lopsided house (rat infested home).
The muddy soil had dried untouched after the last rain while fallen pine cones and a thick layer of pine needles appeared equally undisturbed. The wooden deck was missing screws making the wooden floor rather unsafe. The (sight of this) neglected house was heartbreaking and drew tears to my face (eyes).
The Essay on The Light And Dark Side Of Dna Technology
The Light and Dark Side of DNA Technology As with most modern advances, DNA technology has opened the door to a vast new world of discovery. On the positive side, DNA aids us in the fight against disease, such as cancer, and many genetic disorders, such as muscular dystrophy. Yet many in society are concerned with the ethical issue of using DNA in matters such as cloning, genetic tampering, and ...
I (momentarily stopped and) laid my hands on the cool glass and placed my face on it. (The dim light from outside made the inside appear ominous as it cast shadows on the deep red painted walls).
The light from outside made the inside of the house light up, casting its shadow on the deep red painted walls. On the kitchen table there was beer bottles, with a blood red sticky substance scattered in a small puddles. I imagined it was wine, considering there were smashed up wine bottles in the dusty corners of the knotty oak floor. The white kitchen cupboards had claw markings on them leaving flaking speckles of paint on the counter top. Further in, I could vaguely see a rotten rocking chair, it was wooden but looked as if a human where to sit down, it would break into a million pieces and transform itself into dust, making it blend in with the rest of the oak floors. Before I could see anything else my father took me by the hand and quickly walked towards the black tarred (brown rutted) road and started heading us home. I was quite confused why my father was in a hurry (to depart) get home but as I tuned my head, letting the light and shadow dance across my skin, (squinting through the now breaking sunshine) I saw an elderly man pull in the drive way of the lopsided (ramshackle) home with grocery’s in his hands. I guess you can say that it’s quiet surprising; knowing that the house I thought was abandoned actually belonged to someone. This isn’t the first time I encountered situations similar to the ones in France, in fact, every day I encounter at least one dilapidated house on my way to school. I feel like when someone purchases a property they are responsible for that land and should treat it with respect. (To this day, I am deeply saddened when someone purchases a home then allow it to fall into a state of disrepair.)
Final Copy:
I’ve always found something fascinating about seeing an old dilapidated house along the side of a winding road, they spark my curiosity but most of all give me the shivers. I stare; captivated by the sight of an abandoned house wondering what kind of monstrous human being would allow that to happen. The sight of overgrown weeds, rotten window sills and newly established spider webs makes my spine tingle. I can’t help but feel nauseous when walking along trails that lead to deserted loathsome houses. Questioning myself, the thought of how someone could be so neglectful towards their living space makes me wonder what type of person they are. A house is like a child it must be nurtured and cared for with great responsibility or eventually it will become run down and rotten. I guess I could say that my fear of abandoned houses began on my summer trip to France when I had just turned eight, during a hot and humid afternoon in Paris when the temperature was at its peak. I could see the steam rising up from the black tarred streets as the sun relentlessly shone down. Looking around all I could see was a mass of people pushing and shoving; babies crying and kids shouting. I could smell the musky aroma of body odour lingering through the hot summer air and this, combined with the fish heads I saw sitting on cold ice, was making my stomach queasy.
This Essay Is About The Connotations Of The Words "house" And "home"
What would you call the structure you live in? Would it be a house, or a home? While the words “house” and “home” possess similar definitions and can be used interchangeably– after all both do provide some sort of shelter or protection- they embody very different connotations, and their usage evokes different emotional responses. A home does not have to be a building, ...
With crowds beginning to pile up around the busy street market my dad abruptly decided to bring my older sister and me somewhere less overwhelming. Eager to escape, I immediately grabbed the container of wild red berries we had purchased and carefully placed it in my tattered but beloved knapsack. We elbowed our way through tiny gaps of open space, as my father protectively clinched my hand dragging me through the swelling crowds. An hour later, we were walking along a winding old road in the French countryside. The fresh breeze had just picked up, making the tall grass and colourful flowers lining the road move as if waving to some invisible viewer. There were many potholes scattered along the deserted road, filled with medium sized muddy brown puddles that were begging for a child to splash in them. The darkening sky overpowered the sunny weather, as little streams of light peeked out and reflected on the ground and countryside houses. In the distance I could see a decapitated house, as I approached the unkempt house it seemed to me that there were overgrown weeds along the side of the house that pushed high above the door steps, almost touching the window sills. Along the side of the house, there were bits and pieces of peeled white paint and dust lay on the surface walls like dirty snow.
The Essay on Began Eyes Hand Floor
He shut the Absent Absent He shut the car door behind her using his side for force. The night air was calm, yet it snapped with a cold bitter bite. The luminescent moon gave an undiluted vision from the tinted glass. They walked slow footed towards her front door; they were hand in hand, with matching beats, created by the slow sequenced steps they each took. Their glazed eyes which peered at one ...
The shingles on the roof were curled and cracked, leaving behind sediments of stone washed out on the ground below. Between the flaked shingles, bright green moss was starting to grow, leaving the roof resembling a forest floor. I looked up to see a rat scramble across the ridge of the rooftop and immediately I screamed. My dad and sisters were equally appalled at the sight of this terrifying rat infested house. The muddy soil had dried untouched after the last rain while fallen pine cones and a thick layer of pine needles appeared equally undisturbed. The wooden deck was missing many nails making the wooden floor rather unsafe. The sight of this neglected house was heartbreaking and drew tears to my eyes. I momentarily stopped and laid my hands on the cool glass and placed my face on it. The dim light from outside made the inside appear ominous as it casts shadows on the deep red painted walls. On the kitchen table there was beer bottles with a blood red sticky substance scattered in small puddles. I imagined it was wine considering there were smashed up wine bottles in the dusty corners of the knotty oak floor. The white kitchen cupboards had claw markings on them leaving flaking speckles of paint on the countertop.
Looking further in I could vaguely see a well-worn wooden rocking chair looking fragile as if a human were to sit down it would break into a million pieces and transform itself into dust blending in with the rest of the oak floors. Before I could see anything else my father took me by the hand and quickly walked towards the brown rutted road and started heading away from the house. I was confused why my father was in a hurry to depart and as I turned my head squinting through the now breaking sunshine I saw an elderly man pull into the driveway of the ramshackle home with grocery bags in his hands. I guess you can say that it’s all very surprising knowing that the house I thought to be abandoned actually belonged to someone. This isn’t the first time I encountered situations similar to the ones in France, in fact, every day I encounter at least one dilapidated house on my way to school. I was struck by the amount of dilapidated houses that I saw across the United States borders as a result of the housing crisis in 2008. To this day, I am deeply saddened when someone purchases a home then allow it to fall into a state of disrepair. Not to mention the amount of rodents that hide in the crevices and cracks of abandoned homes. Purchasing a piece of land is a huge responsibility that needs to be nurtured and cared for with great responsibility or eventually it will become rotten and run down. The thought of this makes my stomach turn and fills my eyes with tears knowing that a perfectly capable human being could be so neglectful towards their living space. Therefore, a house should be considered part of your family like your child and grandparents it needs to be loved.
The Essay on On Henrik Ibsen’s Nora in a “Doll’s House”
Henrik Ibsen displays the effect of society’s standard on an ideal family through the interesting characters in his play. Its story lingers on the loveless marriage of Nora and Torvald, and the lives of the supporting characters of the play as they portray society’s take on sexual prejudice and the role it plays on the family unit. Moreover, the story brings out a message that people are not ...