Set-Up: Every week you will be given a series of random images and 10 new vocabulary words (to prepare you for an upcoming quiz) that will require you be able to use the words ‘in context’ or to use them to write a short story.

Vocab for the Week of September 15 (Spirit Week) quiz:

  • adversary- opponent
  • audacious – daring; bold
  • ebullient – showing excitement; overflowing with enthusiasm
  • embellish – to ornament; enhance; to beauty
  • fervor – extreme intensity of emotion
  • levity – lack of seriousness; frivolity; behavior intended to be amusing
  • paragon – model of perfection
  • profusion – a large quantity of something
  • sage – celebrated for wisdom
  • zealot – fanatic, person who shows excessive enthusiasm


  • pick (1) of the (3) images found below
  • write a paragraph+ description (or story) based on it using all 10 of the words on the list
  • add the part of speech in parenthesis [note: you have to look this up based on the definition]
  • make sure all words are used so that the definition is understood/implied

Length: There is no set length, but make sure that you use all 10 words. You are free to write sentences that do not include any of the word to help you develop the overall description/story.

Hint: Go with the image that a) either grabbed your eyes first or b) seems to have a hidden story in it.

Note: Please review words from last week; they will also show up on the next vocab quiz (on Tues). All vocab words (once studied) may be used in future quizzes.

Image 1 (link: http://tinyurl.com/57f4w2)

Image 2 (link: http://tinyurl.com/62bkqw):

Image 3 (link: http://tinyurl.com/68gyq8):


20 responses to “W4, #1: VISUAL VOCAB STORY

  1. Image 1

    I had to get away.

    How could he come back after hurting me so badly? After breaking my heart and leaving me to pick up the pieces he thinks he can just walk back into my life with no problem. He’s an audacious (adj.) adversary (noun) coming back not knowing what he was coming back to. I guess I was poorly prepared though. I thought I was over him, all the great times and all the heartache, but I guess that’s not true. How could I be so stupid, thinking I would never run into him again? He had to come back sometime.

    I guess a year later is the time to do it. He was my whole world, the paragon (noun) of what I was looking for. He was smart, funny, and kind. But he left. I came home one day and realized he wasn’t coming back. See he was a basketball zealot (noun) and he had taken all his memorabilia. I was overcome with fervor (noun) and fell into a pit of depression. My entire life had been taken away from me. He was the whole reason I had done anything anymore. He had wanted to move here to go to New York University so I came with. I made sure I got into NYU also. I couldn’t bear to be separated from him.

    When we first came here he was so ebullient (adj.), I thought this was perfect, that we could live our entire lives like this. I couldn’t picture anything else. But the excitement started to wear off and that original levity (noun) went with it. Soon he only seemed to get angry, instead of our old love where he only wanted us to be happy. I wanted to alleviate the anger, so I decided to embellish (verb) our small apartment, thinking that maybe a change would do us good.

    Boy, was I wrong. That only sent him into rage about how I needed to ask him before I changed things. He said if I liked change so much why was I still with him. We had been together so long that he said it was about time for me to be changing my mind about loving him. I assured him that it wasn’t true, that I loved him and only wanted to share my life with him, but it was no good. He said that I changed my mind so much that he should ask again in the morning. I couldn’t understand where this was coming from. I was usually really firm in my decisions, but a new set of curtains makes me unreliable.

    Anyway, that night he didn’t come home. The next day after class, he apologized, but things just weren’t the same. There was a profusion (noun) of tension between us, but we ignored it and went on living our lives. I look back now and realized that it wouldn’t take a zealot (noun) to figure out he was going to leave. I just didn’t see the signs. I slowly got better after he left, but there was always a tiny hole.

    Now that he came back, that tiny hole has become a gash that keeps getting torn open. I just can’t put myself through this again, so I had to run away. I guess I have to face him sometime, but I don’t think I can. The pain of the past would be overbearing. But if we could make it work, it would be amazing. But that’s enough of why I’m here. What’s your story?


    Mr. Long: Compelling last line, my friend. Love how you leave your story’s conclusion (in this case) open to interpretation and future shifts, as well as how you invite the reader inside (literally). Well done.

    This is a very mature (as in life experience level) story, something that I would not typically expect to read from a 10th grader. As someone who moved across country and went to a graduate school partly because of a woman I was falling in love with (who is now my wife, 9 years later), I can nod with empathy at the delicate nature of that risk which you handle quite nicely in this story.

    Finally, the ‘layers’ of the narrator’s experience are quite sophisticated.

  2. Image numbah two.

    The whole world can witness its glory
    Dark adversary (n.) vanquished
    It begins a new story
    The sternest of stages, the wisest of wise
    Let forth a great levity
    that breaks their disguise
    Taken with a fervor (n.), a zealot (n. ) paints
    Hoping to immortalize
    What nothing taints
    Promoter of goodwill, an air of ebullience (n.)
    An audacious (adj.) strength
    A child’s innocence
    An embellishment (n.) of God’s creation
    A paragon (n.) of beauty
    A profusion (n.) of emotion.


    Mr. Long:

    I was kinda wonderin’
    to myself
    when one of y’all was gonna
    ride dat poetry wagon
    into town,
    so to speak.

    Giddey up.
    Up, Giddey, giddey.

    Love the ending of your piece, by the way, from the child to God to the parallel structurin’ you pulled off in the last 2 lines.

  3. Life is a subway.

    I came to this conclusion after a ride on a subway itself, in London, meeting an unexpected paragon (noun) of philosophical metaphors.

    One cool April morning, I was sitting on the subway (‘the Tube’), listening to my iPod. Scarlett Johansson’s new CD was humming in my ears, and I was in the mood for contemplation. I glanced at the other occupants of my car. There was a middle-aged man, snobbish-looking and austere, with a profusion (noun) of chins. A toothbrush mustache sat on his upper lip. A sweet woman, who seemed barely older than the man, sat beside him. Nearby sat an sage (adjective) old black man with white hair, and an ancient woman with an embellished (adjective) bonnet over her thinning hair. A few young men with the beards of laziness sat hunched together, talking every once in a while. A Spanish couple sat close to each other, discussing things I couldn’t understand at a rapid pace. And one more–a young woman, no older than 25, with shockingly red-orange hair and a tattoo under her arm–barely visible because her tank top covered it. She wore large headphones and was obviously a zealot (noun) for the Beatles–she clasped a bag that was covered in some of their phrases, like ‘all you need is love’, ‘you say you want a revolution’, ‘ob-la-di, ob-la-da, life goes on’, and others I didn’t know.

    “Who are you?”
    The question was directed at me. The young woman was the questioner.
    “My name’s–”
    “No.” She cut me off. “That’s not what I meant. I mean, WHO ARE YOU?”
    “Who are you? What’s your life story?” When I merely looked at her blankly, she looked around. “Who are all of you? Don’t you ever wonder?”
    “I’m Mr. Mustard,” said the toothbrush-mustached man, “and this is my sister Pam–”
    “No, no, no. Who ARE you?”
    “Well, um, I don’t do much, I just like to conserve stuff, like, saving paper and all, and my sister sells plastics–”
    “No! Don’t you people get it? Don’t you ever think about it? About life?”
    Silence filled the car. It seemed expansive, apprehensive, afraid of what this woman would say next.
    “Life. Life is like a subway.”
    Everyone’s eyebrows shot up.
    “I mean, look at it. You aren’t exactly sure where you’re going, or when you’ll get there. You don’t know who you’ll see, or when you’ll see them. You could be talking to someone for a long time, but they have to get off before you do. Don’t you understand? Life is like a subway.”
    “I think I get it.” The black man straightened up in his seat, somewhat ebullient (adjective) in his discovery. “We don’t know, uh, what we want to do in life?” He looked hopefully at the woman.
    “Sort of.” She looked searchingly at the rest of us, longingly almost. “My name’s Bobbi.”
    One of the young men scoffed quietly. An audacious (adjective) action.
    “What?” Her question came sharply. He was marked as an adversary (noun).
    “Nothing. It’s just…I’ve never heard of a girl named Bobbi before.”

    She obviously didn’t care enough to respond to his comment, because she merely raised her eyebrows and continued. “A subway, like life, can be many things. One ride it may be incredibly austere and serious;even grim. Other days your ride may be completely enveloped by levity (noun)–simple, happy, and free. Subways can be dirty, so they must be cleaned. So must your soul be cleansed, when the filth of evil actions builds up, intentionally or from sheer indolence.

    “Also, think about it. We are in our own little car right now.” Bobbi began walking around the car, her arms spread out, gazing audaciously (adverb) into the eyes of the other occupants. “Do we care what goes on out there? Do we sincerely care? If a war was going on out there, would we care? We might feel sorry for the people involved, but secretly we rejoice that it wasn’t us–that we live on. Once in a while, tragedy occurs inside our own car, and we want others to feel that pain. How weird is that? I mean, Jeez! We’re so incredibly self-centered. Only the things that happen in our car do we care about.” She said this with fervor (noun), passionately looking each person in the eyes.

    “Have you noticed that people come and go from your car, just as they do in your life? Some people are your best friends while in your car–but when they leave, you aren’t that sad. Has that ever happened to you? You realize that you were basically friends with them because they were on your car. But some people–they leave your car, and you miss them. You call them, you get together with them. Now, keep in mind, this is a select few. Friends of the road versus friends of the heart. People may come and go, but a few of them will remain in your life through sheer effort. So you decide. Who do you sincerely care about, and who are you willing to let go?”

    The subway stopped. She winked at us and walked out the door.


    Mr. Long:

    Scarlett J. does have a compelling voice, which makes her an even more intriguing actress, IMHO.

    Clever: ” A toothbrush mustache sat on his upper lip.” Love this unique spin that creates a funky vision in my mind’s eye.

    Cool philosophical word play (esp. re: the opening Q about her ‘name’).

    A rock-star line: “Friends of the road versus friends of the heart.”

  4. The Tube was embellished(v), receiving technology allowing for a smooth ride and high speeds. Everyone was ebullient(adj) and had fervor(n), waiting happily at the station with excitement to ride it. It was already a good subway before and this project was supposed to make it the paragon(n), the model for all subways.

    The manager of the project had told the people it wasn’t fully completed and that there was a profusion(n) of bugs in the Tube, containing many errors. Protests arose, chanting “We want the Tube.” Everyone had frivolity(n) in his statement, thinking the manager was kidding around. Everyone had heard the manager was a sage(n), acknowleged for his intellectual mind, knowing if something had problems. The fanatics and zealots(n) however, refused the statement and demanded to go in the Tube. The manager told them they would be death’s adversary(n), being death’s enemy. The crowd was audacious(adj), being brave and accepting the challenge. The manager had no option but to let them go. The passengers went in the Tube, waiting for the awesome moment.

    The subway left the station, reaching speeds of 250mph. The crowd was excited. The train kept increaing its speed, reaching 400mph.

    Suddenly, the train, going to fast, slid of the track, the carts disconnecting, everyone flying, and the subway hitting the concrete walls. They had lost to death.


    Mr. Long: While the ending was a dramatic crash, I found it very effective because the audience does not see it coming. Well done, esp. given that this is ‘just’ a vocab response. (wink)

  5. Being a runaway is hard enough as it is, but being a runaway creature is even worse. Imagine that you just woke up one day and you suddenly had wings on your back. You never showed signs of magic, never believed in magic, never even enjoyed books about the subject, and yet here you are, with wings. Yep that is my current situation and just so you folks can understand me a little better I’m going to start at the beginning.

    My name is Adriana I’m seventeen and I am generally a pretty audacious (adj) person. I’m willing to do and try anything. Just to prove that point I died my hair an orangeish red color. It’s pretty awesome if I do say so my self. I also play the drums and am a little bit of a loner. I am also extremely logical. So now with my general description out of the way I will now take you back to April 13, 2008.

    I woke up just like any other day. I relished the fact that I was sleeping in when others I knew were at school. I felt kind of weird but I wrote it off to the odd sushi I had tried last night. I walked into the kitchen to find my paragon (noun) of a little sister. Everywhere that I was lacking she had strengths and even where I had strengths she seemed to somehow out shine me. My parents pretty much thought she was the perfect human specimen. She almost seems a zealot (noun) in her fanatic search for perfection. I despise her.

    When I walked into the kitchen I expected to be greeted with the usual silence or string of complaints. Instead when I walked in I heard a collective gasp.

    “What is something wrong?” I asked, just a little bit nervous. All three of their faces were masks of shock and disbelief.

    “You have wings!” my sister cried.

    “O come on! You now that’s not logically possible. Fairies aren’t real. Maybe all your ‘perfectness’ is starting 2 wear on you.”I said in a slightly condescending tone.

    “Now Adriana don’t insult your sister.” My father responded.

    “Whatever.” With that I started to walk back to my room. On the way I passed a rather large mirror that hangs in our hallway and caught a glimpse of my reflection. I turned back and instead of seeing my self in the mirror I saw an extremely thin winged creature staring back at me. It seamed all amounts of levity (noun) from the past conversation gone. All frivolity now replaced with seriousness and shock. My sister wasn’t joking there really were wings sprouting from my back.

    I stared at the strange creature before me. Once I got over the shock of seeing my wings I realized that they were beautiful. They were translucent, capturing the light and colors and reflecting on the walls around me. I would never need to try to embellish (verb) them in any way for they were breathtaking by them selves and some how I knew they would stay that way forever.

    My parents walked towards me slowly and looked at me with fear shining in their eyes.
    “What? Why are you looking at me like that?” my voice shook on the verge of tears.

    “Well we don’t know what your are or what you could do to us.” Responded my father.

    “I would never hurt you!” I screamed with fervor (noun.) With that scream I felt something deep within my body awaken and rise to the surface. I felt power pour out of my body and I knew I had done some damage. I realized that I had closed my eyes to the profusion (noun) of power; I reopened them and examined the scene around me.

    The bodies lay still on the ground except for some very shallow breathing. I was filed with such guilt at having done this to them. I mean I hadn’t killed them, which is good, but I knew I could of and that thought filled me with horror.

    I ran upstairs to my room and blasted the door from its hinges. I cringed, and then gathered anything and everything I thought important, shoved it in my backpack and crawled out my window.

    With all the strength I had used I now felt the weight of iron pressing around me, and my favorite iron was now painful. When I removed it I saw the deep burn that resulted from where the iron had touched my skin.

    I thought of the quickest way to get out of this cage of a city. It only took me a few seconds but I knew that if I wanted out then I would have to take the subway. I wasn’t sure if I could handle it but I knew it was the fastest so I decided to take on the iron adversary (noun.)

    I tucked in and hid my wings, found the nearest entrance, bought a ticket, and boarded the train.

    I was standing up when a camera flashed in my face. In my immense annoyance I felt my power slip again. The man was on the ground in seconds and I felt even more exhausted.

    “You need to learn to control your gift young one.” I heard a deep voice say. I turned around and saw a young looking man staring back at me. It was his eyes that told me he was not as he seemed. They looked as if they held centuries of knowledge and I knew he was older than he appeared and that he was one of the Fair Folk.

    “Who are you?” I asked.

    “I am the fairy sage (adj) and destined to be your teacher. They foretold of your coming long ago and I am hear to guide you to your correct path, for if I don’t you could destroy us all.”

    I was now ebullient (adj), excited to begin on the journey he spoke of and yet nervous that I would chose the wrong path. With that thought the door opened showing that we had arrived at our destination. He walked out swiftly, knowing I would follow.


    Mr. Long: Can I tell you how envious I am of your opening paragraph? That I wish I had written it…or could steal it? Seriously. Love the premise: the “runaway” and wings concept co-joined.

    And the “control your gift” concept is a great link to myths from around the world. Nicely done at the end.

    Makes me anxious for the new season of Heroes>, BTW.

  6. “I don’t know him, but I have to baby-sit him anyways. The fact is that my parents were divorced a year after he was born. He stayed with my mom while I went with my dad to live here in New York. I’m nineteen years old, and just when I got out of high school, I have to go back to take care of my brother. I haven’t even seen him in ten years,” She said to the middle-aged man who stood beside her. He looked at her, as if to ask for an explanation.
    “My mom is sick. No, she is really sick. She was admitted into the Intensive Care Unit yesterday. I don’t know what she’s got. It’s probably some viral disease from cows or something. She’s a farmer. Always has been. She was born and raised on that farm, and she is living there now with my brother and grandpa. Papa Jay was a paragon (noun) when it came to farming, or so my father says. Dad admired Papa Jay, but he was never close to his own father. They were both each other’s adversaries (noun). They hardly ever got along. Grandpa Douglas, my dad’s father, was sage (adj) and wise in all that he did. My dad didn’t see that, though. He just thought he was a crazy man who was overly zealous (adj) about books and learning.

    When I was little, Grandpa Douglas used to wake me up in the middle of the night, whenever my parents were sound asleep. We would get milk and cookies, and go into his library. He left every light off except the small lights that guided us through to the Great Chair. I would pick out books that I wanted him to read to me. I always brought a stack of books so high that I couldn’t see over them. He would always say, ‘you have quite a profusion (noun) of books there. Lets just read this one.” So he picked out a book as I got situated on his lap. I loved adventuring to all of the places in those books. I loved knowing I would always have his solace in those heartbreaking moments. I loved him.”

    She suddenly stopped talking as she was overcome with fervor(noun). Then she noticed her audience. Everyone was staring at her, including the man who she had originally been talking to. The young nineteen-year-old quickly took a seat and put her headphones. She wished profusely that she hadn’t have told him anything. Her heart ached with embarrassment. She turned up the volume of her CD player, trying to wash away her regret. After a while, she drifted off into sleep.
    “Hi, mom… Mom… It’s me… Mom…?” She said as she closed the hospital door behind her. The mother arose finally, disoriented.
    “Mom, hi. It’s me.”
    The daughter reached down and gave her mom an awkward, welcoming hug.
    “Oh! Hi. You look so pretty.”
    Her mother’s delusion turned into ebullience (noun) when she realized who was standing by her side.
    “Your eyes. They are so beautiful!”
    “Thanks mom. How are you?”
    The daughter hid her horror when she realized how her once lively mother was now shriveled and frail. As hours passed, the daughter listened intently to her mom, and waited patiently when she drifted in and out of sleep.
    “Visiting hours are over now, Ma’am,” a nurse said through the door after her subtle knock.
    “Mom, I have to go now.”
    “Yes. I love you. Tell Benjamin I love him, too.”
    “Yes, Mom.”
    The daughter grabbed the keys off of the table, and turned off the light. The nineteen-year-old walked out to her mother’s red pickup, got in the car, and looked at the directions written on a Shirley Hospital napkin. Then, she audaciously started to drive into the dark sheet of night that lay over the town.
    When she arrived at her grandfather’s farm, she remembered glimpses of the property. The mailbox that was a mile from the actual house, and the dirt road, which slipped under the truck as she drove on. She knocked on the door, glancing at the familiar door handle embellished (verb) with the letters JT in rusted iron. Her grandpa answered the door. They greeted and she was shown to her room. She remembered it looked how had been set it up for her when she was little. She unpacked her bags and thought about her secret childhood haven, closed her eyes, made a subtle smile, and was captured away into the land of dreams.
    The nineteen-year-old woke up to the sound of a young voice. Her brother, Benjamin, was singing, “Its time to get up” with intentional levity. Although she did not find this funny, she tried to make him happy, and so she gave a smile.
    “How are you?” she asked.
    “Good. But I’m hungry!”
    “Okay, did Papa Jay make you breakfast?”
    “No. He’s out in the fields.”
    “Oh,” she said, remembering that she was on a farm.
    “What’s your favorite food?”
    “I like chocolate chip pancakes.”
    And so the sister took her unknown nine-year-old brother by the hand to the kitchen. They did not speak at all through breakfast until he said, “Sister, how old are you?”
    “Nine-teen. Your nine, right?” She said as her brother gleamed at her.
    “How did you know?” He asked. She knew because two weeks after his first birthday, their parents got divorced.
    “How could I forget? You’re my brother.” She responded.

    After he got himself ready, the sister drove him down the mile-long road to the mailbox where they waited for the bus. She attempted to make descent small talk, but what was there to talk about to a nine-year-old brother who didn’t even know her? She wasted hours by watching old movies on the television, but didn’t really pay any attention to them. She ate lunch, and then resumed to her movies. Later, the nineteen-year-old decided to visit the one place she actually liked on the old farm.

    When she got there, she paused for a moment before opening the wooden doors of her haven. The doors opens and to her surprise, her once lonely but peaceful swing was now in the middle of chaos. It looked like a pirate ship made out of old fence posts, old rope and tires. On an old shed door, words were written with green paint. She read, ‘Ben and Jay’s Place.’ She looked at her swing, and then sat down. How could they do this? She wandered. After clearing some tears, she reached for her cell phone.

    “Hello? Dad. Did you know that Ben had made the barn into a playground! This was my barn. This was where I used to swing there, before dinner. This was my barn.”
    There was silence on the phone until she spoke again.
    “Why didn’t you tell me?”
    “It never came up.”
    “Okay. Your mother told me. She said that Papa Jay helped him make it. That’s where Papa Jay and Ben play together.”
    She cried as she remembered Grandpa Douglas and their secret story times.
    “Are you okay? I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about it.”
    She explained the secret she shared with her Grandpa Douglas to her father as the sadness lifted like fog lifts from open fields.
    “Dad, I loved him. I loved him. I still love him. And you didn’t. You don’t now.”
    “I did love him.”
    “No Dad, you didn’t.” Another long pause came as the daughter started to swing as she dreamed of her memories.
    “I was jealous of him. You loved him more.”
    “No I didn’t. You’re my dad, he’s my grandpa. I love you both. Why would you think that?”
    “I saw every night when we visited, him walking with you to the library. I saw how you loved him and you loved how he read books to you. So I started getting you books. You never liked me reading to you. I thought you upset because I disliked my father, so I tried so hard to agree with him and visit him often for you.”

    She was taken back by the strong fervor that her dad seemed to have.
    “Dad, reading books was special to me and him. Reading was his love and mine, not yours. That’s how we played. You and I would play hide-and-seek or went exploring in the park for bugs. Grandpa Douglas took me on adventures, too. Just different kinds.”
    And then it hit her. She had the same relationship with Grandpa Douglas as Ben had with Papa Jay.
    “Dad, I guess this is his way of exploring, his way of imagining, just as I did with Grandpa Douglas.”
    “Yeah, hun, your right… Listen, I’m glad you figured it out. I hate to go, but I have to get ready for a meeting.”
    “Yeah, Dad. Bye.”
    She hung up and looked at the mound of chaos with new eyes. She climbed up the ramp made of another old door shed, and took her place at the bow of the ship. She thought of the book Grandpa Douglas read to her and she threw her arms out. She imagined the wind in her face, and her lover right behind her, the beautiful site of the ocean, and the adventures that took place on that glorious boat. From the outside of the barn, on the ground peeping through the crack in the door, was her brother, admiring his sister. He was so glad to have some one to explore the world with him. To take adventures through the worst storms and battles at port, and to relish the brilliantly bright days at sea. He had found his life-long friend and life long sister. He had found Hope.


    Mr. Long: There is just something wonderful about this section:

    “She suddenly stopped talking as she was overcome with fervor(noun). Then she noticed her audience. Everyone was staring at her, including the man who she had originally been talking to. The young nineteen-year-old quickly took a seat and put her headphones. She wished profusely that she hadn’t have told him anything. Her heart ached with embarrassment. She turned up the volume of her CD player, trying to wash away her regret. After a while, she drifted off into sleep.”

    Intriguing, emotional, heart-breaking, real.

    Also love the ending:

    “He was so glad to have some one to explore the world with him. To take adventures through the worst storms and battles at port, and to relish the brilliantly bright days at sea. He had found his life-long friend and life long sister. He had found Hope.”

    You definitely should have some wonderful material to submit to Calliope later this year, something that will showcase your work well beyond this entry.

  7. Student #6 (one final thing)

    oops. sorry. I forgot the parts of speech for these:

    audaciously (adverb)
    levity (noun)

  8. Picture 2:
    She had left me.

    Nanny had gone, and she was not coming back. It took me many years to realize that Nanny had gone because she had to- she was heartsick, and not because I had eaten too many chocolates before dinner. She had never belonged in our house; she was as out of place as our refrigerator was with the rest of our expensive décor. I knew something was different when Nanny came in my room one night in her traditional African tribal dress. I always loved her African dresses, how the color, which contrasted with her night-black skin, only embellished (verb) her skin’s purity. As a child, I would dress in this fabric, which always ran well onto the floor, and would dance around her room as my own levity (adj) made me dance even faster until I tripped and fell.

    Even if I had not seen her worn, tattered suitcase framed in the door, I would have known- children always do. That night, when Nanny came to tuck me in bed, she had transformed. She was no longer an ebuillent (adj) playmate with boundless energy, but a wise sage (noun) to be listened to. She sat on my bed, her dress crinkling under her like a candy wrapper, and covered my white hand with her large black one. She tried to speak several times, but a profusion (noun) of emotion overcame her, and she could not speak for a moment. When she did, she spoke in her sing-song, rich voice which used to sing me African lullabies to sleep, “You remember my stories about Zululand, about the country, the rivers, the towns, the people?” I nodded. “Well, your Nanny is going back there to see her family.”

    “I thought we were your family!” I cried, the audacious six-year old, daring her to say we were not.
    “No, honey, you know that you are. I have to see my real family. Here,” she took my hand, and put it over her heart, “feel right here. My heart is sad,” and I would have sworn to the President of any country that I could feel her heart cry.
    “I have not seen my family in many summers, and they need me just as I need them. You can travel over many oceans and fields, but you can never escape from the strings of family. It is time for me to return to them.”

    I think this is all that she would have said, except, I, in a fervor (noun), was not prepared to lose, much less let, my greatest friend, my worst adversary, my rocking horse, my sister, my mother leave; so I did what all children who want something do- I cried. Instead of taking me in her large arms, Nanny spoke, “You are too young to read it, but there is a book- The Power of One. It is a good book, and it is about a good boy. However, when he is about the same age as you are now, this boy’s nanny leaves him too, to return to her family. It was very hard for this boy, but it did not stop him. This character grows up to become the welterweight champion of the world. Now I want you to realize that you do not need me, a little ol’ African maid to become a boxer. You can do so much without me- and you will. I was only here to put you to bed, and dress you, and teach you all the lessons you need to know.”

    Nanny rose from the bed, a paragon (noun) in my small life. She walked to the door, and picked up her suitcase, and glanced over her shoulder to see me on my knees in bed, crying. It was only when she began to take her first steps out of my life that I ran out of bed, a braided little zealot (noun), calling behind her, “But I don’t wanna box!” Those were the last words I ever spoke to the greatest woman that I ever knew. It was the next day that I realized I didn’t even know that Nanny knew how to read. There was so much to this woman who practically raised me that I had never even known, and now it was too late- she had gone, and I was alone.


    Mr. Long: While a tiny detail, I adore this line: “She had never belonged in our house; she was as out of place as our refrigerator was with the rest of our expensive décor.”

    Compelling layer of the inner lives of these characters: ““I have not seen my family in many summers, and they need me just as I need them. You can travel over many oceans and fields, but you can never escape from the strings of family. It is time for me to return to them.”” Reminds me of one of my favorite ‘novels’ by Sandra Cisneros called House on Mango Street which I think you’d really respect. As much poetry as it is a full story, the young female narrator comes to realize precisely this concept throughout her life. If you have a free weekend, I think you’d enjoy entering her world. Chapters are hyper-short, but the story is extraordinary.

    Great response, especially given that you more than handled the vocab and made them your own. Thanks.

  9. “Oxford sucks.” I thought as I left the campus on my way to lunch. Stupid preps irritate me, I had to work ten times harder than them to get into this school and the ‘sage’ (adjective) teachers still obviously love them. My bright red hair and red apple tattoo weren’t exactly the paragon (adjective) of the Harvard student, but I was deeper than all of those idiots combined. Whatever, I still majorly dominated in the areas of moral fiber and the ability to think for myself, and still scored higher than every person who cheated on that final.

    It was raining, raining wasn’t the word. It was drizzling, a perfect blend of gentle calming sounds and a soft sprinkle. Unfortunately, my temporary haven was short-lived. I made my way down to the subway. My appearance may suggest otherwise, but I am actually the epiphany of a chicken. I’m frightened by dark places, overcrowded spaces, and filth. Obviously the tube was not the place for me. Walking into the car, with a falsely intrepid facial expression, I paid no attention to anything except my thoughts and held on to the overhead bar (the very thought of sitting in one of those chairs made queasy). I casually glanced to my right. Seeing him caused an unexpected fervor (noun) through my body.

    Charles Wellington III. He was in Shakespearean Lit with me. He seemed just like another extremely wealthy slacker of the profusion (noun) that inhabited the class. But he was beautiful, no sarcasm whatsoever. His piercing sky blue eyes were so intense and only embellished (verb) his already gorgeous face. His jet black hair fell perfectly right at his eyes. We stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity, and then I came to my senses. Damn Clarisse, he’s the adversary (adjective), the enemy, the sole flaw in the Ivy League institution I thought to myself, but it was too late. I couldn’t pass that off as a curious glance. He was walking in my direction.

    “Um, hi. It’s Clarisse, right?” he asked, seeming genuinely interested.

    “Yeah, it’s Clarisse.” That was my entire reply. I was trying to end this conversation as soon as possible. He waited, probably expecting me to elicit the conversation. After realizing that was all he tried again.

    “So, Clarisse, why do you look so tense?”

    “I’m not tense”

    “Really? Because you seem unusually reticent. In class you look like a pretty zealous(adjective) person.“ I had no response to this. I was tense, extremely tense. His eyes were so DISTRACTING. So much that I’d had completely forgotten about the tube. Why was he talking to me?

    “O.K., I get the point, I’ll leave-“

    “Wait!” What the hell is wrong with me? Why did I call him BACK. “Sorry, I’m just…distracted. I’m tense because the tube scares me.” I lied.

    “Me too, the congestion along with the loud noises doesn’t exactly make it an ideal place for relaxation”


    My God, I’m acting like I’m in third grade. You are talking to a girl, not performing brain surgery. It had taken a massive amount of audacity (adjective) to talk to her. She was so sure of herself and little bit intimidating. But her boldness wasn’t a negative quality. I was ebullient(adjective) that she actually was having this conversation. The subway tram stopped and she walked away. Where is she going? Is it stalker-like to follow her? We were right in the middle of a conversation.
    “Hey, where are you going? We were leading into a very interesting conversation about public transportation.”

    “I thought that I told that I DON’T like the tube.” If she was trying to be dismissive, her tone wasn’t showing it. She seemed to be thinking about something very hard.

    “You did but-”

    “Why are you suddenly talking to me” she snapped.

    This is exactly why i should never speak, ever. That’s it, I’m becoming a monk. Never again will this happen.

    “I’m sorry” she said with a very confused look on her face. What did I do? “It’s just strange, that’s all.”

    “Why is it strange? We’ve seen each other before and so I’d thought I’d say ‘Hi’.”

    “So that’s why you talked to-”

    “Wait, no, not really.” Great, now I’ve trapped myself. She’s still staring at me. What do i say? Uh…crap.

    “If this is your idea of a levity(adjective) joke then you are a sick, twisted, arrogant-”

    “I love you.”


    After standing in shock, I responded. “I love you, too.” My brain did NOT need this. Too many complex emotions. I love HIM, but not what he represents. AAAH. Why don’t I think before I speak? “Come with me.” I grabbed his hand and took him to a corner. “Charles-”

    Charlie, I already call you that, my God that sounds really creepy.

    “Charlie” I smiled uncontrollably after saying his name. “You do realize-”

    He was kissing me? Wow, this wasn’t kissing it was, I don’t know what it was. But it was amazing. My head was flushed of any previous thoughts or beliefs and I only felt his lips caress mine. Then he stopped. Why did he stop?

    “I’m sorry, that was inappropriate” He seemed embarrassed, much to my surprise. That was NOT inappropriate.

    “No, um, it’s fine. I was just a little surprised”

    “Yeah, me too.”

    It took me a while to remember my train of thought. “You do know that I won’t exactly fit in your ‘crowd’.”

    “My ‘crowd’ is going to have to deal, I’ve waited too long NOT to have you.”

    This time I kissed him.


    I was actually kind of ashamed after I read this story over when I got to the end of the subway scene. I never INTEND on writing love stories. They become to easy to get trapped into a ‘boy meets girl’ moment, which is exactly what I did. After AIMing my ‘consultant’ we agreed that since I had already trapped myself, I should run with it and make this the most cliché story EVER written. I changed some aspects of the beginning of the story and REALLY changed what happens at the end. Everything was purposefully over-dramatized. I recognize that you will probably not post this story, but I ask you with the utmost respect, please don’t be angry with me for writing this because it’s not very good.


    Mr. Long: You have nothing to worry about; in fact, quite the opposite. While I can’t speak for you in terms of what type of story to write (love or otherwise), I can say that there is tremendous power in this response…and that you clearly have enormous potential if you’ll continue to trust your voice.

    As for whether or not it is the most cliched ever, I think there are others well ahead of you out there in the world. The topic is not the issue, actually. What matters is that everything feels logical inside the context of its own world. And that definitely happens.

    BTW, clever choice to switch points of view mid-way through. Intriguing to be in Charlie’s head after being in hers earlier.

    P.S. I edited out a few words that I felt would ‘distract’ considering this is a school assignment. I’m sure you’ll understand what I mean.

    P.P.S. Again, striking work. Consider submitting a piece or two later in the year to Calliope.

  10. Picture #3

    Like all Saturdays, the little boy was left to himself. His mother has gone to work, and trusted her “little man” to look after himself. Although just seven years old, he was considered by his young mother to be a wise soul, a sage (noun). She did not think leaving such a little boy all by himself was a daring, audacious (adj.) act. Rather, she thought her only son was the most intelligent boy in the world and a perfect example, a paragon (noun) of prodigy. He had taught himself how to write, and kept several notebooks on things he discovered. And sure enough, the boy got up, ate some cereal, and dressed himself. The dresser was full and contained a huge quantity, a profusion (noun) of various seasonal clothing. He just picked some shorts and a shirt, but remembered that it was cold outside. So he put on a fleece jacket, and went out to his backyard to play. He relished his chance to explore his new house all by himself.

    He knew exactly what he wanted to do. He had seen a hole by the fence before, and wanted to explore it. He had to lie flat on his stomach to look. Even before he saw anything, he heard it. It was a murmur at first, but when he put his ear to the hole, he could hear the little guys talk with great fun and levity (noun). “Have another drink!” “We won!” “Ha, ha, they will not rise again!”

    Apparently, the boy had discovered the hobbit’s hole. There they were, diminutive little men, drinking and laughing in such excited, ebullient (adj.) manner, after an impossible victory over their ever-lasting opponent, the hated adversary (noun). The boy could hear them telling each other in extreme intensity of emotion, in fervor (noun) the exaggerated and embellished (adj.) tales of their victory. Like a fanatic, or a zealot (noun), the boy took his notepad out and recorded all he saw. The rest is what we know now. They are in the books about the Holbytlans, the hole-dwellers.

  11. I had a levity (n.) about myself today i just knew today was going to awesome i was finally going to get to go in the big boy clubhouse. A profusion (n.) of my friends were aloud in but for some reason i was never aloud. So today was my 12 birthday and the boys always said when i turn 12 i will be welcome in the clubhouse.

    So i got up so early this morning and got dressed to go eat breakfast before I head out for my big welcoming. I couldnt help but to be a zealot (n.), within that very hour i am going to be known as a “Club Kid.” So I left quickly to head out to the club house. While walking I made sure that i had embellished (adj.) everything about me so that i would stand out more than normal. I was now going to be apart of the adversary (n.)against the other clubs. When i showed up to the door of the club house i had a audacious (adj.) sound in my voice ot show them that know that i am 12 i am plenty old enough to be in there group.

    My best friends ran to the door with ebullient (adj.) attitudes about me joining the club. When the club leader, paragon (n.) of the club, came to me he said that today might not be the day bc he said he feels i am not ready. All my sage (n.) died quickly and within a matter of seconds the fervor (n.) within me vanished and i turned around and walked away slowly. And as usual i went to the little hole in the side of the clubhouse and just listened like i had done for the past three years every single day.

    I was not honestly mad by no means i was just disappointed to know that sometimes the one thing in your life you look forward to can back fire and thats when you have to learn that if someone wont accept you for you then they weren’t worth it in the first place.

  12. Her attitude towards college was filled with levity (n). She had only one reason for attending. Her parents threatened to cut off her trust fund if she didn’t complete her education. Nevertheless Audrey decided to flee college. She had always been careless, unconcerned about her exams. She never could understand the zealous (adj) scholars who studied every day. She didn’t like her professors, who were sages (n) in their respective specialties. Every day she fretted about the profusion (n) of homework she would receive. Many other students were ebullient (adj) to learn. There were many other paragons (n) of scholars in her class to compete with. She was not interested in the competition. It was not that she held any grudges against anyone, or that she had any adversaries (n) there, but simply that the work was too much. She was fervid (adj) about her decision to leave and start a new life. She didn’t think she needed to embellish (v) her education any more, but she knew that she must be audacious (adj) to find a vocation. As Audrey looked back about her decision, she delighted. She had won the lottery a mere three weeks after abandoning college. She thoroughly enjoyed watching the tide roll in on her third story balcony, on the isle of Nice.

  13. Clink, clink, clink.

    The sound of metal wheels against track reverberated around me, filling the compartment with soft whooshing noises. Even with my headphones blaring heavy metal into my ears, I could still hear (or rather feel) the comforting sounds of the train.

    My mind strayed only for a second, and I lost my composure. I closed my eyes as a fervor (noun) of emotion wreaked havoc inside me. Breathe, I told myself, tightening the square of my jaw. My tongue was pressed to the roof of my mouth; I was determined not to emotionally crack in front of all these… people. These intruders… they stared at me as I struggled to maintain a level of apathy. Why were they here? Why did they have to disturb me? Couldn’t they see I was upset? Why couldn’t they all just disappear?!

    No. I gripped the overhead bar tighter, smashing my palm into the smooth curve of its design. I must NOT lose rationality. I must not lose my head… just because he decided to come back after all these years.

    My brother. He had left London sixteen years ago for America. “Only for college!” he said as he strode away from us. I remember that I had been crying, pleading with him, asking him not to go. Telling him that mama and papa would miss him, and most importantly, I would miss him. At that time, he had stopped and turned around for only a moment. I remember his blue eyes were full of chagrin and an audacious (adjective) clouding that I could not understand. He had knelt down next to me, ruffling my hair with his big hand. Putting his cheek next to my tear-soaked one, he whispered in my ear. “Don’t worry, little Anna. I will be back. I promise.”

    He was the brother that everyone wished they could have had. Always the ebullient (adjective) child, Caleb had an optimistic, carefree way of life. His lovely personality was embellished (verb) by his intelligence and cunning: to me, he was the sage (noun) of the world. He knew everything. Caleb never had had any enemies or adversaries (noun) — everyone loved him. He would run and play with me after school, even if he was busy. He sacrificed his time for me… it seemed as if I was his first priority. He always wiped tears away from my eyes when I had fallen down and hurt myself. He had been my paragon (noun), my hero, and my friend. He always had been there for me.

    Then he left, and didn’t come back.

    A trip for college, huh? The years had stretched and gone by… soon sixteen long, lonely years had passed, and he was no more than a painful memory for me.

    We didn’t have his phone number, or an email, or an address to write to. It was as if he had disappeared off the face of the planet. We were separated by an ocean… curse the country of America. It took away my brother. And curse him, too, for breaking the promise he had whispered into my ear so long ago.

    And then, just this morning, I received a letter. Scrawled on the top of the manilla envelope read “To my dear little sister, Anna. I am sorry.” At first I thought it was a joke. I tore the envelope open to read a letter only three lines long. “I’m back and in England. Please forgive me for leaving you hanging so long — I am truly sorry, Anna. I missed you dearly. This afternoon, I’ll meet you at Elm station just off the Tube. I’ll explain everything there.” This response had been so inadequate for the situation I had turned the paper over twice and checked the envelope again to make sure there was a hidden part of the letter. I stood there, in shock and disbelief and rage; if emotions were visible, you would have seen a profusion (noun) of intense and flashing color all around me. My mental state was in turmoil. I was so confused and hurt and angry I could not stop the flow of questions that rampaged my brain. Caleb had left my parents and me for so many years. Then he sent a short letter, announcing he was back? He believed that he could so easily walk out of our lives, disappear with no means of contact for sixteen years, and then walk right back in with the sending of one letter? That compensated for all those years of silence from him? What the hell? He had no idea how much pain he had put me through, and how many nights I had cried because of his absence! How could he do this to me? Had Caleb really become that oblivious, passing off this occurrence with such terrible levity (noun)?

    But Caleb (or at least the Caleb I remember) had never been the kind of person to purposely hurt someone… Caleb, the caring, philanthropic zealot (noun) that I looked up to. Had he really changed that much over these years? Did he really not care about me anymore?

    No, that wasn’t it. He wouldn’t have sent the letter if he truly didn’t care. He still cared about me.

    This one fact alleviated nearly all the turmoil that plagued my mind. If Caleb still loved me, I could live with the absence he left in my life.

    I continued to argue with myself, though with less vigor; the two frames of mind I had battled each other for an appropriate answer.

    Sooner than I would have liked, the train slowed and smoothly halted. “Elm station,” a robotic voice overhead announced. I tentatively let go of the red overhead bar, which was now warm and dampened from my perspiring hands. The automatic door opened, sliding away from the compartment.

    Siblings… siblings separated for so many years by millions of miles of ocean. Now the only thing between us was a couple of yards. My heart leapt, aching and yearning for him… for Caleb.

    I took a deep breath, and stepped out onto the platform.

  14. Picture Two 🙂

    There she was, ebullient (adj), excited, as ever for today was her wedding day! Her only adversary (n) was her little ring bearer who was running towards her after playing in the mud! A audacious (adj) move, for she was in her dress and very stressed out! The poor little levity (n), only trying to be amusing and entertain was seen as a zealot (n) by the bride, who thought he was way to hyper. There I was looking at her, a paragon (n), so perfect and happy when suddenly I had a fervor (n) and began to cry, for she was my big sister and I didn’t want to lose her to her soon to be husband. She comforted me and gave me a profusion (n) of kisses and hugs, continuously telling me I would never lose her and she loved me. She is such a sage (n), so smart and intelligent..my role model.

  15. *This is a bit of a spinoff of Student #3’s idea of an epiphany on a subway. Also, I know ‘and’ shouldn’t go at the beginning of a sentence, but it seemed more alluring than just ‘Livvy chose’*


    And Livvy chose. The train stopped and everyone got out, leaving her with the choice to either stay safe or take a leap into the Great Perhaps, equipped only with a fervor(n) of adventure and an insatiable hunger for the unknown. Standing in the crowded car, Livvy watched time speed up again and the figure fade like an old television being turned off, creating a small flash of light as it disappeared. “If you choose the Great Perhaps, you will be immersed in a world of questions without answers, and the possibilities will be endless, as will the danger.” “The world is yours now, and you have to choose. Will you accept that this was a hallucination and continue with your life the way it was? If so, you won’t remember anything of this subway ride.” The figure seemed to be a paragon(n) of thought as it displayed what life would be like for one who was perfect in philosophy, taking a whole new perspective on life. “This is what you came to tell me? You stopped time to tell me to see differently?” Livvy asked, thinking of the levity(n) of the figure, hoping it was kidding. “You can be a new person, gain sight that will embellish (v) the world for you, making it special and exciting and scary,” the figure stated, a zealot(n) of the idea, very excited at the mere notion of sight. “You have unlocked it simply by imagining, and now you can be a part of the Great Perhaps.” “Your life will be wholly changed, a profusion(n) of experiences that would never have crossed your mind will be available for you to find, a Great Perhaps full of the unimaginable.” “You are a being who thinks of things in a way most don’t even know exists, and I have come to offer you an existence worthy of your thoughts.””I know this must be frightening and strange and a whole plethora of other things for you, but this is important,” and by the figure’s sage(adj) tone, Livvy knew there was wisdom to be gained from listening. The figure opened its mouth, reaching Livvy with inhuman speed despite time having completely stopped. Livvy wondered who this adversary(n) was, this opponent approaching her, looking audacious(adj). At the moment the thought crossed her mind everything slowed and a brave figure walked through the people to her. Livvy stood in the subway car, pondering the idea of hindsight being 20/20, and how everything would change if she could see that way, if everything was seen backwards.

  16. Image Number 2

    Johnny was a sage (n, adj) person, or rather he was at least in baseball. He knew more than most kids and probably more than the pro’s. For this he was celebrated by his peers. He was such a baseball guru. He had a profusion (n) or large amount of baseball cards. So much he could have opened a store. Johnny was a very zealot (n) person when the topic of baseball came up, he always had excessive enthusiasm for the subject. Finally Baseball season had rolled around, which not only meant Johnny’s favorite subject but his birthday too! In the following weeks Johnny was ebullient (adj) or showed excitement when his birthday date was nearing. Johnny had asked for one thing and one thing only and that was tickets to the Boston Red Socks opening day. A 10 year old boy he had never been to a baseball game even though it was his passion. Finally it was opening day and Johnny’s birthday. Johnny was filled with fervor (n) or extreme happiness. Johnny wanted to go so bad. The field was so amazing there was no need to embellish (v) or enhance it. Today was also a big day for the Boston Red Sox because they were playing biggest adversary (n) or opponent the New York Yankees! The game was promised to be a great one! Johnny’s mom walked in in the middle of his daydream. She had a solemn look on her face. She told Johnny that the game had been sold out weeks ago and try as she might she just couldn’t get tickets. Johnny thought his mother had levity (n) or had intended to be amusing. Alas his mother was not joking with Johnny she really hadn’t gotten tickets. Filled with sorrow Johnny walked down to the stadium. He was feeling audacious (adj) or bold and had decided to try and watch the game from between the fence planks. As Johnny lay down and peered into the fence his heart filled with joy. The field was just as he had imagined it, a paragon (n) of all baseball fields. Soon the game started and Johnny was having the best birthday of his life watching the Boston Red Sox from between fence planks. The best day of his life, his 10th birthday.

  17. Once upon a time there was a young boy who lived in a house embellished (v.) with beautiful, lively paintings. When his friends from school were invited to stay the night at the grand house they were ebullient (adj.) like it was christmas morning. Next door there was a dreadful house and in this house lived a mean old lady. She hadn’t left the house in 25 years. There was a long and tall brown fence surrounding the house. The kids in the neighborhood were zealot baseball fans. They pretended to be their favorite players as they played the other neighborhood. The other neighborhood had been their adversary(n.) for as long as the kids could remember.

    It was a saturday, the kids from both of the rival neighborhoods were playing their annual championship game. The young boy who lived in the grand house was up to bat. He wasn’t known to be a very audacious (adj.) player. But on this september morning he was ready to win. He stepped up to the plate and swung. All of the kids looked up to the sky and watched the ball fly over their heads. The hit was a paragon(n.) example of amazing. A fervor(n.) of happiness swept threw the kids in the neighbor hood until suddenly they realized the ball was in the evil old lady’s yard. The young boy who hit the ball was acting very levity(n.) and hadn’t processed what had happened. One of the boys walked over to the fence and got on his knees. He peered through a hole in the bottom the ball was close enough to grab. He reached through and grabbed it. From then on he was known to be quite sage(n.). The day had been saved by an unlikely character and they all ran back to the beautiful house and drank sodas.

  18. Mother was strong. She was everything a woman should be strong, confident, kind, caring, beautiful inside and out. She never cared for fashion or looks. Only for my well being. We didn’t have much, but somehow there was always enough to grant me one wish. The wish for one present on my birthday. I was the apple of my parents’ eyes.

    Father was always out working to bring food home. We had a great life but honestly, I just wanted to grow up and be like my mother. Cooking at home and making my daughter go outside and bring water from the well.

    Every birthday was an ebullient (adj) moment in my life. I would wake up earlier and watch my darling mother, at dawn, embellishing (v) the one package on the table. And I turned into a child with fervor (n). I was happy for the present, thankful, angry that my mother would do this, guilty for father’s extra work hours, curious, and even though, I was at peace because I knew that my birthday was the one day, that nothing could hurt the me or my family.

    Even though life was mostly harsh, father was had levity (n). To him I was a paragon (n). Back when he was young and even know, he never had anything in profusion (n). At work, he was celebrated for his sage (n). He had saved the company many times, but he never moved up on the ladder of success, but he was content and I know, he only would move up for me. But I didn’t need it, nor did he.
    Young, I was an audacious (adj) child, I saw every child larger than me as an adversary (n).
    And now was my turn to give back. I had climbed the ladder of career and success. I am now on top. I have zealot (n) in everything. I now could buy my parents a home with running water. But they never accepted. Never anything. I never got mad, because I know why. If there was nothing broken, why try and fix it? But I may have been a pain at times, and I am still now. I now send my daughter to fetch water, even though the tap works. My husband brings home the food and I am the one cooking. And every night before I go to sleep, I see my mother’s silhouette against the rising sun, embellishing the one present every year.

  19. Her time has come. This was her only chance.

    Mary has always hated her little sister. Ever since little Adelina was born, Mary felt inferior to her in every way. Adelina was seen as a paragon (n.); at school, she was a zealot (n.) who loved to study, and everybody thought she was an amazingly sage (adj.) woman. At home, her parents believed everything she said, and never took Mary with levity (n.) anymore. That is why Adelina has become her number one adversary (n.).

    As Mary hid behind the refrigerator, she spotted her sister looking out the door, ebullient (adj.) towards the profusion (n.) of golden sunlight pouring in, which embellished (v.) the otherwise boring kitchen. By now, with years and years of wear and usage, the tiled floor has lost its scarlet red color. ‘But today, it’s going to be repainted red,’ Mary thought. In her hand, she held a kitchen knife, the extra-sharp kind that was stored in a slot in a block of wood. She has waited virtually her whole life for this moment, and without hesitation, she made the audacious (adj.) move. She ran forward with fervor (n.), filled completely with hatred and anger. She clutched the knife in hand, and ran straight towards her sister.

    But it seemed like fate favored Adelina, too. Mary was too concentrated on destroying her sister that she lost her coordination, causing her to trip over herself. She fell, the knife precisely gashing her own heart, killing her instantly. Adelina turned around astonished, just in time to see blood seeping on the tiled floor, forever staining it scarlet red.

  20. For too long I have been pushed around. Now it’s my turn to do the pushing. My name is Cari, and I’m a junior in college. For all of my life I’ve been doing everything people have been telling me to do. But, that all changed when I was invited to a party. Of course I should have been suspicious when the girl who’s been my adversary (n) since 5th grade invited me. But, I just wanted to belong so badly.

    My mom, who is sort of sage (n) like, told me that it was a bad idea. I didn’t listen to her though; I was to ebullient (v) to listen. I looked into the mirror to check my audacious (adj), but highly embellished (adj) look. After deciding that it was a complete ‘chef d’oeuvre’ I booked it out the door to the subway station. As soon as I got to my stop I walk the three blocks to the party. Right when I got there the girl who I always thought was evil greeted me with a zealot (n) look in her eye. After she had left I went to get a drink. As soon as I had gotten my drink, I saw the paragon (adj) of nicest, most handsome guy at the party. But, lucky me, he was already taken by the girl I didn’t like.

    I went over to go talk to him. I had fervor (v) of emotions going inside me at the moment, but I contained them. However, when I was close enough to talk to him, the girl that I didn’t like came right over and told me to scram. Well as humiliated as I was I didn’t leave the party.

    Good thing to, because I saw the evil girl walk over to a profusion (n) of itching powder she had hidden behind one of her closets. As she left, I went over and took a bunch of the packages of itching powder. I went over to where she had put her drink down and poured a bunch of the itching powder in her drink. I then walked over to the snack table and waited for her to take a drink. About 2 min. after I had poured the powder in her drink, she came to the cup and drank the toxic drink. She was acting really happy one second, and the next all of the levity (v) had gone from her. Needless to say, she never bothered anyone again.

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