W6, #1: VISUAL VOCAB STORY

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 28 quiz

  • analogous – comparable
  • burgeon – to grow
  • daunt – to frighten or intimidate
  • disparate – fundamentally different; unrelated
  • equivocate – to lie, to mislead; to attempt to hide the truth
  • exculpate – to clear from blame
  • goad – to urge on
  • impassive – without feeling
  • oblivion – a state of being utterly forgotten
  • rescind – to cancel

Challenge:

  • 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/4rzk4x)

Image 2 (link: http://tinyurl.com/4neonh)

Image 3 (link: http://tinyurl.com/4d3oys)

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20 responses to “W6, #1: VISUAL VOCAB STORY

  1. Well that birthday party didn’t go so well. It was analogous (adj) to being dragged through the streets with my feet tied to the back of a moving vehicle. I done even want to bother trying to equivocate (verb) what happened. I guess I should start at the beginning. I woke up this morning excited for my 15th birthday party. All my friends were coming over that evening to celebrate the momentous occasion. We were planning to all go to the movies and then come back and hang out at my house, where I had a few surprises planned. That morning however excited I was, I ended up feeling ill. I thought “there is no way I am going to rescind (verb) my party, no matter how bad I feel.” Well as the day went on my illness began to burgeon (verb) and I was getting really nervous. I had to goad (verb) myself to keep preparing for the party. By the time the party was going to start, my head was starting to become impassive (adj), which I thought might no be very good. My guests started to arrive so I put on a smile and tried to will myself to feel better. Once everyone had arrived we headed out to go to the movie. However about halfway through, a daunting (adj from daunt-verb) thought ran through my head. In my haze of a day, the piñata I was supposed to pick up had escaped my mind and gone into a state of oblivion (noun). I realized that I couldn’t leave during the movie especially for such a seemingly disparate (adj) task. My guests had no clue that I was having a Spongebob piñata for the second half of the party. So I waited until the movie was over and told my mom who was driving that we had forgotten the piñata. She assured me that it was taken care of. So we went home and there it was hanging in my front yard, but that was a problem. I was planning to save that for later, and to surprise my friends with the candy filled object. So they all piled out of the cars and were shocked to find the object hanging from the tree. See, my friends and I have a history with Spongebob. We always watch it at about 2 in the morning because it’s funnier that way. Well my parents thought it would also be a good time for cake, although I do not know why, so they brought out the cake with all fifteen candles lit up and walked over to where my friends and I were laughing about the silly piñata. Well they weren’t to careful about flame control, and Spongebob caught on fire. We panicked immediately, but my father was quick to find a solution for the problem he helped create. He ran and filled a bucket with water, and doused the piñata. The fire went out but the piñata was ruined, along with all the candy and the cake. My friends and I still laughed about it, but I think my family’s pyromania freaked them out a little bit. When it was time for my friends to go home this evening I was glad. I was still not feeling well, and it seemed that everything that went could have gone wrong did. Anyway I guess that I can’t be completely exculpated (verb) but I’m not the only cause of the evening’s problems. Or maybe that’s just what I will tell myself. Because after all, life doesn’t always go quite like you planned it.

  2. This is one of those scary stories you read in the news–one where you think, “thank God that wasn’t me/my friend/someone I love.” But it happened to someone.

    It could happen to you.

    I was your average American teenager. I went to school, I did my homework, I had friends. One of my friends was different from the rest.

    Her name was Lucie Beverly. She was the most popular girl in school–beautiful, nice, and apparently confident. She had chosen me to be her sidekick (you know how those things are), so I was her confidante, her best bud. Not that I was anything special. But I was clever, and could make her laugh, and cared about her–more than she knew.

    She and I had been friends for, well, ever. Ever since the day in kindergarten when we went on a field trip to the beach and she’d lent me her favorite bucket–the one with the pink handle. I still have it, and we laugh about it sometimes. We often joke that the bucket in question saved her life–as you will soon see.

    It was 10th grade–an awkward year because you weren’t a freshman anymore, but you were by no means top of the school. You still had to look up to the seniors and juniors, who still considered you much much younger than them. Anyways, freshman year had been a rude awakening from eighth grade. In eighth grade your life was carefree. High school was full of worry. Worry about who you are, what you think–and what you look like.

    Lucie, as I said, was beautiful. She had red hair and a heart-shaped face. Though we were at a private school (and accordingly wore uniforms), I always thought she looked better than the rest of us. Everything she wore, she made beautiful–even just a t-shirt and sweats. Everyone loved her for her kind nature. She could sit at any table during lunch. Though our grades were analogous (adjective), she always seemed smarter than me.

    Wow, I sound obsessed. Truth is, I thought she was unbelievably amazing, and I wanted to be just like her. I felt unworthy, almost–sort of like I wasn’t good enough. I was astounded that she chose to spend so much time with me–me, a brown-haired, brown-eyed nothing. I felt like nothing, at least compared to Lucie.

    10th grade started out pretty good–we were all relieved not to be freshman. Lunch was our favorite part of the day. I only had two classes with Lucie (spanish and english), so this was the time in which we could talk and simply socialize. Last year, we had always gone through the lunch line, picking up trays and trays of brownies and hamburgers and chips. We’d laugh at the other’s tray and stuffed our faces with everything–if the food items were disparate (adjective) (like soup and cookies, or pizza and peaches) it was even better.

    But this year, I noticed that Lucie was different. She grabbed less things, which, I assumed, was simply because she was less hungry or something. I’m not really sure what I thought. On the second Monday of school, when things had sort of shifted into less ‘exciting’ and more ‘ho-hum’. Lucie grabbed a tray and layered it in pizza and fries, but when lunch ended I noticed she’d barely touched it. No matter, I thought. Maybe she’s feeling sick or something. I asked her, and Lucie said that she had a stomach ache. I bought it and forgot it. However, the same thing happened Wednesday, and again on Thursday. I began to grow uncomfortable. I wanted to ask, but I was afraid, you see. I didn’t want her to hate me! I craved the attention she gave. But the next week, when again she dumped piles of fries into the trash can, I asked her why she hadn’t been eating much.

    Lucie smiled radiantly. “I eat a lot for breakfast now. I cook pancakes and things for my brother and me every morning! Haha. So I’m not really hungry at lunch. Then I get home and have a BIG dinner. So don’t worry about me!” She gave me a slightly quizzical look.

    “Sorry,” I said hastily. “I just wondered if–”

    “Oh my gosh, I forgot about that English paper! Mrs. Berg is gonna KILL me! I gotta go type it. Talk to you later, babe!” She hurried out the door, leaving me somewhat satisfied, but a little confused. I had thought that the paper in question was rescinded (verb)…in fact…

    I sort of forgot about it. I mean, this is high school–I have problems of my own! Those problems consisted of a C in math and the question of how to approach the cute guy who sits in front of me in chemistry (combined with the issue of my lack of a date for homecoming). So I wasn’t thinking too much about Lucie. Besides, every time I felt uneasy, I assured myself that her story was completely legit. The next time I thought of it seriously was when I went to a sleepover at her house. Terese and Martha were there too. We all crooned over Mrs. Beverly’s amazing five-layered chocolate cake, and helped ourselves to gigantic pieces.

    “Ugh, I’m gonna feel so sick in the morning, but I don’t care,” said Terese, licking her fork.

    “This is really good, Mrs. B,” Martha said thickly, mistakenly trying to talk while eating.

    “Mmmm! My mom’ll want this recipe,” I assured her, savoring each crumb.

    “Can I go to the bathroom?” asked Lucie faintly.

    She left the room.

    We looked at each other, confused, exchanging curious looks.

    Lucie came back when we were rinsing our plates off. I noticed she pulled her beautiful, uneaten piece of cake off the plate, folded it up in a napkin, and threw it furtively away.

    I began to worry.

    We talked about cooking, and Lucie’s brother entered the room. He laughed, saying that Lucie couldn’t ”cook to save her life.”

    What? Hadn’t she told us she made pancakes every morning…?

    I began to really worry.

    Another important thing set the wheels in my mind turning furiously. The four of us were sitting in a circle, examining magazines like VOGUE, COSMOGIRL, and SEVENTEEN. We laughed at the ‘What Was She Thinking?’ section, ogled at the celebrity gossip, and admired the fashions. Terese found a picture and held it up. “Look at how skinny she is! It’s disgusting!” We all agreed, babbling about how no one should be pressured to look like that and how that probably wasn’t even her–that the photo was airbrushed.

    Then Lucie said, “I think she’s beautiful.”

    We all gaped at her. Beautiful? Was she kidding?

    “I wish I looked like her. I bet she gets all the boys.”

    That comment was even more shocking than the first one.

    Martha broke the silence. “You…want to look like THIS?” She said the word ‘this’ distastefully, as someone might say, “barf?”

    “Don’t you think she’s pretty?”

    “But she’s so skinny–”

    “Yeah, but skinny is pretty. I mean, she probably weighs, what, 100 pounds? I wish I could weigh so little!”

    We all paled.

    Terese looked a little indignant. “Listen, girl, only people who are seriously ill in the head look like this! She probably eats like a piece of bread a day!”

    “Oh yeah, like in Miss Congeniality, when she can’t even eat a donut?”

    “I LOVE that movie! Do you have it, Lucie?”

    “Yeah–”

    “Let’s watch it!”

    And so the subject was dropped. I don’t know if the other girls forgot about it, but I didn’t.

    At school on Monday Lucie looked terrible. She had bruises on her arms and rings under her eyes. She was wearing several sweaters.

    “Lucie, what…happened?” I asked nervously.

    “I…fell out of bed. And couldn’t fall asleep,” she explained impassively (adverb), while buttoning yet another sweater. “Ouch!” She sucked her finger. “I broke another nail!”

    A week later, when she passed me some of the food she didn’t want to eat, I looked at her hands. They were extremely dry as were, I noticed, her lips. Her eyes looked even more sunken, and even her makeup couldn’t hide that. She was constantly complaining that she was cold, and barely smiled anymore. One day in gym, someone threw a Nerf ball at her leg, and she bruised up horribly. Nerf balls are soft, I mused fearfully. Her hair began to lose its color. Her grades were slipping, too–I noticed several tests with F’s on them inside her folder for Spanish–her best subject.

    I began to get very worried.

    That night, I looked up Lucie’s symptoms on the “internets”, trying to connect the pieces of the puzzle together and solve the mystery.

    The answer I found was a cold, hard, unavoidable truth.

    Anorexia.

    Brittle nails, thinning hair, constantly feeling cold. Bruising easily, sunken eyes.

    A loss in appetite.

    I started freaking out. Anorexia was an eating disorder, and Lucie had all the symptoms. It was serious, and according to the health site I was on, possibly deadly.

    I didn’t know what to do. At first I thought, “Not Lucie! She’s so confident–” But no. Suddenly I was remembering things I hadn’t even noticed before. The time when she commented on her own face, saying it was ”uglier than Quasimodo’s” (the hunchback of Notre Dame). The time when she pointed to her eyebrows and said she wished she could just rip them out. The time when she tried on hundreds of outfits before homecoming, worrying about each one, “What will my boyfriend think?” “Do I look too fat?” “I have to look good…I hope I can…”

    I started to breathe really hard. Really, really hard.

    Then I suddenly felt a breath of strength flow into me. It filled me up and headed straight for my brain.

    “Lucie needs help.” I relayed this to my mother, then to Martha and Terese. They all paled, gaped, but then started remembering incidents, as I had.

    It was daunting (adjective), like something out of a book. We called the Beverlys. My heart pounded, the fear in my heart growing stronger and stronger as the phone rang once, twice, three times. Finally someone picked up.

    “Hello?”

    My stomach did a backflip.

    “Hey, Lucie. D’you–d’you mind if–if I come over right now? I have–something–something important to talk to you about.”

    “Sure, dear. I’d love to see you and talk to you. What’s it about?”

    My heart thumped. “It’s–about you.”

    And hung up the phone, my heart beating faster than I thought possible.

    “We can go,” I whispered to my mother, and fell to the floor.

    Martha and Terese came too. We all three held hands, gripping each other tightly, for support. My mother was grim and determined.

    Lucie answered the door, a tired smile on her dry lips. “Hey! Come on in, everyone. Wow, I wasn’t expecting everyone. Mrs. Trebor–”

    “Is your mother home?” my mother asked, direct.

    “Yeah, I’ll go get her.” Lucie left, a curious expression on her face.

    That wait was the longest I’d ever had to endure. What I was about to say would possibly ruin my friendship with Lucie. Did I dare?

    Yes.

    I dared because I loved Lucie. I cared so deeply about her that I thought I might burst. I cared about what she thought of me, but I cared more about her well-being and her life.

    I wanted her to live.

    Lucie returned with her mom, who had a confused smile on her face.

    “Yes, dear?” she asked.

    I took a deep breath and began. “Mrs. Beverly, I’m sure you’ve noticed a…change…in Lucie’s behavior in the past three months or so?”

    ‘Lucie’s just stressed about school, hon. I’m sure you all are.”

    “Mrs. Beverly, I think you should know…”–here was the kicker–“Lucie. Lucie is lying to you. Lucie has been equivocating (verb) to you and to me, and to everyone else these past three months.”

    Silence. Lucie gazed at me, too shocked to speak.

    “The truth is…Lucie has an eating disorder. She’s anorexic.”

    Lucie’s eyes widened.

    The rain was falling now–falling, and I couldn’t stop it. “She’s trying to lose weight by starving herself. That’s why she looks so stressed. She isn’t eating. She–” I gulped–“She thinks she’s…too big.”

    Mrs. Beverly whispered, barely audible, “Lucie…Lucie, is this–are you–”

    Lucie stared at the floor. “Mom, I–” She started to say something, but swallowed, took a deep breath, and said, “Mom, it’s true.”

    Mrs. Beverly put her head in her hands.

    “But there’s help.”

    ***************************************

    The 10th grade dance was the biggest dance of the year. Everybody was going to be there. The guy who sat in front of my in chemistry, Brian, was taking me, and I had picked out a cute dress and everything. Martha and Terese had dates as well.

    Lucie was going with a guy she’d met through the hospital.

    We had goaded (verb) her into changing. She’d undergone psychotherapy, and was now back to her normal self. Her hair was a vibrant red again, and her eyes sparkled, especially at the mention of her date, Ian. Ian worked at the hospital gift shop and believed in a positive self-image. Lucie was now truly confident in herself and proud of her body. She was now a healthy, burgeoning (adjective) teenage girl. I think that Lucie should be exculpated (verb) about the anorexia–it wasn’t her fault, really; just as anorexia is not to be blamed upon the individual as much as it ought to be blamed upon media that portrays teen girls as twig-like beings.

    At the dance, I raved about Lucie’s dress, her hair, her body, so much that Lucie grinned and told me playfully to stop. Ian came over and asked her to dance, and I was cast into oblivion (noun)–forgotten in the passion between them.

    I watched them, her head on his shoulder, a content and happy look on her face. She had overcome a gigantic obstacle in her life, and was back on track. Ian had asked her if she wanted to be a spokeswoman for the clinic that had saved her, and she said yes. She currently works for them by going to elementary, middle, and even high schools, talking about her experience and her close shave with death.

    Was Lucie still my friend?

    We were closer than ever. She constantly thanked me, randomly even: “Good morning, hon. Oh, and thanks for saving my life!” She loved me even more for taking such brave action. I know now that I did the right thing, and I will never hesitate to do so again.

  3. Image #2

    I know I look like a laconic and grotesque chunk of stone, just sitting here day after day. Actually, I am a loquacious guy, and I will freely tell you my story. It is not necessary to goad (n) me to tell my story. As I sit here thinking atop this God-forsaken church building, I am not at all impassive (adj.) about what happened to me long ago. Rather, I feel deeply about it all. I am not equivocating (v), not lying at all, when I tell you I started out as a hawk. Yes, a hawk. It would be analogous (adj.) or comparable to the story of Lot’s wife. I will not try to exculpate (n) and clear myself from blame for my pitiable condition. I was wrong when I was insolent and treated God’s order with levity. God promised that he will send me to oblivion (n), to a state of being utterly forgotten if I did not let the pigeon go. My burgeoning (adj) and increasing arrogance and confidence led me to kill that pigeon. I was certain that God would rescind (v) or cancel His threat. But when He carried out His threat and I started to stiffen, I was terribly daunted (adj.) and frightened. You might think that this story is totally disparate (adj.) and unrelated to your situation, but I think not. Let me give you an intimation to be good and let your pigeon go.

  4. Student #3 (follow-up)

    Correction:
    Replace pigeon with dove, the symbol of peace

  5. “Mother, can we go the beach today?! Oh can we mother, please please please plea-“

    “Sure Emily”, chuckled her mother in such a way that no love seemed analogous (adj.). She would have to rescind (verb) her other plans, but they weren’t important compared to the smile on her face.

    “Yay!”, screamed the six-year-old. Emily ran throughout the house to get everything that had anything remotely to do with the beach. Her favorite toy was her pink and green pail, which was the very first thing that she put in her bag. “O.K., I’m ready mother!”

    “Emily, um, honey”, she couldn’t finish her words. She was in the middle of one of those ciché parenting moments. Emily had put on three swimsuits and had filled her entire Cinderella suitcase with things that didn’t exactly pertain to the beach. “Sweetheart, I don’t think that super seal wants to go to the beach”

    “Yes he does, he told me. He said that he would be lonely if I left him here”

    “I promise you that he will be just fine with all of your other stuffed animals. If you take him then he’ll get dirty and have to take a bath” Emily gave a disgusted look and hurried to put super seal away. She wouldn’t put him through that.

    The drive to Lanikai Beach was typical. Emily was in the back seat while she sang along to the radio with her mother, followed by a short lecture about staying safe at Lanikai. This wasn’t meant to daunt (verb) Emily, just to warn her of the dangers. After arriving, the two went to set up the numerous items that had taken the trip with them.

    They both sat down on the red and white plaid blanket staring in awe at the powerful waves of the sea. The beach was empty today and there was a placid atmosphere, the only sound was the ocean. Emily was too active to sit for long.

    “Mother, I’m going to build a sand castle. Can I go by the ocean so I can have a moat?”

    “Of course dear, just be careful” She goaded (verb) her daughter to have fun. She was adorable, but a handful. She would definitely be tired after playing for a while.

    Emily brought her pink and green pail to the oceans edge, casting the rest of her numerous items into oblivion (noun). The castle was quite simple, actually, just a large blob of sand. Every time she turned the pale over, the wet sand fell into a pile of mush. Her irritation was apparent by the impatient look on her face. She decided to move on to the move on to the moat. The sand was already wet, so the water didn’t sink. This brought pure joy to Emily’s face. Then a powerful rush of water came and destroyed her masterpiece. She was impassive (verb) in her thoughts, feeling nothing as her creation disappeared before her very eyes. Her mind moved too fast to worry about such little things. She went to talk to her mother as her sorrow for the event burgeoned(verb).

    “Mother, the ocean ate my castle, could you tell it to stop because that’s not very nice of him”

    “Of course, I’ll have a talk with him before we leave, alright” Emily went back to the ocean again believing that he would stop.

    The mother looked around for the picnic basket she had brought and realized she left it in the car. She was about to tell Emily when she realized that she wasn’t there. A completely disparate (adj.) thought ran through her head. Emily couldn’t swim. She sprinted to the edge of the water, finding that there was nothing left except for the pink and green pail.

    She wasn’t equivocating (verb) to Emily. She didn’t just talk to the ocean, she screamed at the ocean; filled with hate for him, filled with hate for herself. She would never exculpate (verb) herself for the split second she turned away.

  6. The church bell rang, sounding a tune that hung heavily in the air.
    The deep clanging of metal on metal shifted the winds; it disturbed the birds’ perches on the rooftops with a melancholy chorus. The scattered dots of wings and black bodies against the cream colored sky was contrasted by the trace of white clouds — they looked like frozen cream and dark sprinkles on coffee. The rusted bell rang, high above the lonely town and hidden between parapets of stone.

    Then, the gargoyle stirred.

    The stony hands, curled around the contours of the thing’s face, unfurled slowly. Its countenance was masked with an expression of impassivity (noun), emphasized by harsh cheekbones and an elegantly sculpted nose. More masculine and ape-like than a female’s, the gargoyle’s eyes were set in stark contrast to his lifeless, granite appearance: they glittered with malicious foreboding. Concrete wings spread slowly from behind his back. Gazing across the horizon, he eyed the town as if in a state of oblivion (noun). And in a way, he was — he was a lone figure on the church’s roof, stony and forgotten, eternally bound there until the rain and sleet eroded him away.

    This creature was in no way terrifying, yet he possessed a mysterious and daunting (adjective) quality to him. His face was sculpted by one who knew true craftsmanship; the lines were smooth and flowing, giving him an expression of a creature at peace. Yet underneath his placid mask were the lines of harsh and unforgiving savagery. It was a small but disparately (adjective) contrasted presence of good and evil.

    The church he sat upon provided exculpations (noun) and comfort for the people who visited it. They found and sought inner release here. But, ironically, this place of solace could give the gargoyle no comfort or release.

    For centuries the stone figure had sat upon this rooftop, his eyes gleaming with a yearn for freedom. He wanted to destroy the chains that held him and break away from his rocky curse. Every morning the birds flitted around him on the rooftops as if mocking him. It burgeoned (verb) his desire, his thirst, to become free. They were not caged like he was; they soared in the air, felt the sun on their small backs, and sang melodious tunes for the world. They were carefree and happy. Why could he not have that freedom? Bound by the curse of rock, of stone, he was lifeless and granite, stony and cold. He could not fly. He could not sing. He could not feel the warmth of the dawn or the breeze of the evening. The pain of this realization slashed into him like a knife in flesh. He was analogous (adjective) to a caged bird — neither would ever be able to stretch their wings, and the desire to do so would never rescind (verb).

    Dusk crawled across the horizon, painting the sky a deep violet. The stony prisoner slipped into a slumber. Tomorrow would bring the same pain to him, it would be no different from today. He would watch the birds again, and no amount of self equivocation (noun) would bring him joy. He wept, tearlessly, as he succumbed to sleep.

    ****

    Hot, red, flaming. Fire. Voices, distant… yelling. Sounds of despair… and laughing. Screams of terror and pleas for mercy, increasing as the flame is goaded (verb) on by the wind.

    Silence.

    ****

    Morning came, revealing the chaos brought on by the night before. The peasant town lay in ruins. Cottages had been ransacked and burned to the ground… stubbles of hay and twigs were all that was left of them. The sky was red, streaked with the crimson the fire had brought. The ground was matted and sooty, covered in blood and ashes. There were no birds.

    In the middle of the wreckage, boulders of granite were piled in a heaped mess. The old church bell laid, cracked and broken, on its side. Among the charred rubble of stone was a gargoyle’s head.

    Miles away, a baby bird hatched from its egg.
    But, strangely, its eyes were not closed like its siblings. They were open.
    The eyes were large and even slightly sinister, a stark contrast to the bird’s innocent appearance. They glittered with malicious foreboding for only a second, and then lightened in a sense of realization. The creature looked as if it was smiling.

  7. As the 22nd century appeared, television was evolving. Many programs were rescinded(v), taken away forever. Some removed shows that made people impassive(adj), made people happy. However, as more shows canceled, the American peoples’ fear burgeoned(v), scaring them about the possibility of losing their favorite show. Many shows were goaded(v)to cancel. This really daunted(v)the people. This television- oblivion(n) was analogous(adj)to The Great Depression. Kids however were happy that “Spongebob” still aired. They thought that that “Spongebob” was disparate(adj) from other shows. Soon enough, Spongebob was removed from television for good. Nickelodeon equivocated(v) to every kid in the nation, saying that the new show would be better. While lying to everyone, Nickelodeon burned, destroyed, and ripped everything about Spongebob that ever existed. After watching the “better” show, kids everywhere where mad and they revolted. People exculpated(v)the creator of Spongebob(They thought his foundation caused it).Their efforts however were in vain. “Spongebob” had been cleared out from existence.

  8. I am alone.

    I live in such a world of oblivion (noun), my only has friend has forsaken me for the enticements of the world. The once loyal ruler of my friend betrayed him, and I watched as the world destroyed this man as well. For my friend, however, the allure of the woman was instead the goading (adj) claws of Hades. I have long given up listening to what goes on underneath my rocky shape- all they teach is lies and exculpate (noun) sins from the Ugolinos of the world. Instead, I watch the real world I shall never have- we are so disparate (adj), the world and I, that I could never subject its people to the illusions of the hideous creature I am. My appearance was not always so daunting (adj), I used to be treasured, revered even. I once had a friend, an ally against the dark void. But even my friend chose to replace the call of the birds with those of the Sirens, to submerge himself not in the bells, but instead the River Styx. And I am again alone, but I am now impassive (adj) about my obscurity. I once stood for all the gifts of man; his talent, passion, darkness, light, love, hate, and beauty were all molded together in me. Now, I am merely a forgotten culture as the once perfect form of my arms crumbles to the calls of Time. I cannot change though- I am here, and the distance of the world seems to burgeon (verb) each day. Those on the world have their havens, that protect them from hate, ignorance, loneliness and the cold- yet I, who live on a sanctuary, I have the rain and wind. The wind lashes me, humiliates, mocks me. But it is the sun I hate the most- the golden star in the brilliantly blue sky that equivocates (verb) to me, beguiles me to believe that I am happy here on my God-forsaken tower. So it is only the lightning that is analogous (adj) to me; the lightning that flashes vividly across all the city, then is gone forever, only remembered in the minds of those who saw its greatest glory.

    I am alone; I am wise. I long for when the day again comes when a creature uglier than sin is my sole companion. I long for the day when my secluded existence can be rescinded (verb)- when I can be liberated from my immovable shackles of stone. I long for the glorious days of before- for the people, the leaders, the festivals, the happiness, even the wars that have since left their legacies only in the memories of those who witnessed their grandeur. But, most of all, I long for the impossible return of my only friend, the hunchback of Notre Dame.

  9. Kenneth knelt and his mind raced through his transgressions, asking for exculpation(v) in his head, wanting to be at least semi-free from the conscience that plagued him. No matter how many times he told himself she deserved it, it never became a truth. It stayed among a world of black and white, shrouded in shades of gray. The bells tolled, they told him never to let this happen, to suppress the demons that daunted(v) him, making his own thoughts, his reasoning, his humanity fade into oblivion(n), ceasing to exist while the darkness consumed him. He was shocked back into his own body after a state of freedom, disparate(adj) from the tormented life he led, and then grasping the harsh reality of where he was. This peaceful wonder fled him like a candle in rain, extinguishing his hopes of release from his agonizing half life. He was no longer a human, not yet a being of either higher or lower levels, but an in-betweener, goaded(v) forward in a purgatory to redeem himself from unknown sins. He recognized the place he sat, draped in a black overcoat, soaked to the bone with the rain that now became a detail in light of his new memories. He got the usual occurrences, his senses burgeoning(v) to a point of excruciating pain, then the memories of what he had done flooded into his mind, overbearing all else. Kenneth saw the terror in her eyes, the shadow of his own figure on her wall, the impassive(adj) and brutal murder. He was the murderer, he felt the heartless thrill through his recollections when the job was done. No hell could be analogous(adj) to this, knowing he committed another crime, knowing it would happen again, knowing there was only one way out, but that it would cause him more pain than even his current situation. These people were innocent, but they were taken. The only way to rescind(v) the deaths of the many he didn’t know was to ruthlessly kill the one he had loved. Oh, what a tangled web, the spider caught in his own weaving, approached by a much more malicious being taking advantage of the folly of the poor spider. Kenneth had once been a good man, a Catholic who restored old churches such as the one he used to attend. He prayed for a life that would make him a legend, and God equivocated(v) about his love, lying as to how much he cared, failing to fulfill this foolish man’s wishes, or so he thought. Rage overtook the poor man, leading him to suicide, only to find out that he could never die. God punishes those who do not respect him, giving way to the Lord of the Old Testament, giving the man the gift, and the affliction of a life without end. This life had to be shared with a creature from below, a vindictive spirit bound to do the arduous bidding of those seeking revenge. He then was cursed with the work of those who had died, a man encased by his own immortality, sharing his life with a beast. The unfinished cathedrals, repairs yet to be made, watched him as he walked, the gargoyles taunting him, only frozen fiends, not bound to the duty of killing. Kenneth never knew what awaited around the next corner, praying only that others never made such a grave mistake.

  10. Most people are so excited for their 16th but when you have the life i have I would rather it be rescinded (v.) and to not even be living then have to go through what i do.

    Well your probably really confused so I will tell the story behind my impassive (adj.) life. I have been living with my neighbors ever since my parents passed away 5 years ago and when it started out it was great they comforted me they were always there for me but after a few months the love stopped, my room was moved to the attack and all my clothes were thrown away but two pairs of jeans a few shirts so that i could look a little nice at school.

    When it first started to be like this I was in shock because of how they treated me the last few months. So as I goaded (v.) to keep living and just keep thinking only two and a half more years with them and then i was free, it made the world of difference. But as i sit in the attack all I have to look at is a little green bucket and a window to see the sunshine through. And as it is in every tragic story, since i was the “second” child I was never exculpated(v.) i was blamed for everything Diana did. Diana was the younger daughter who was 15 and treated me as if i was some slave to her.

    It got to the point where the green bucket that had no significance to me, became the only thing in my life that didnt boss me around and tell me all my faults. As the i started to grow up i realized that my life was in a state of oblivison (n.), i didnt matter to anyone anymore. I would sit at night and pray to God that one day everything would go away and i could start my life the way my parents would have wanted me to. I would pray then put a tiny little rock in the bucket that had fallen from the ceiling and every rock that i put in the bucket represented one day that was finished and one less day till i was free from the walls of hell.

    As i began to burgeon (v.) i learned that life isnt worth living if it isnt going to mean something but the only thing that kept me going was the being able to look up in the sky and know my mom was looking down on me saying that “its going to be ok and that if i just listened to my heart she would be there helping me every step of the way in my life and making sure i was never alone.” My life was not analogous (adj.) to lives of any of the girls i went to school with. I was never allowed to have friends over because when i did have a free minute my “guardian” would find something for me to be doing. I never could figure how my “guardian” continuosly kept me daunted (v.) by her.

    Yet one day the world turned upside down and a new light started to shine. This guy i had seen before in the commons walked up to me and asked if i would like to do something friday night and for the first time ,except for when my mom and dad were alive, i have never felt so good inside. I smiled at him and said “i would love to do something!” He smiled, turned around and before he got out of sight he turned back around and said “its going to be ok, you just have to trust me and take a chance, i am really looking forward to friday.” I went the whole rest of the day with a smile on my face something i couldnt remember the last time i did.

    When i came home i came to find that my room had been torn apart by Diana and her friends as a joke. I just looked at her and for the first time i wasnt mad i just said “are you done being be stupid because if you are you can escort yourself out the door.” She just looked at me with a blank face and stormed off. Surprisingly she didnt tell her mom that i was rude to her today and something about the day just didnt feel right. I had always known that my life was disparate (adj.) to anyone else but until today i never honestly put this much thought into it.

    So that night as i put my rock in the bucket and prayed to God i stopped for a second and put two rocks in there and told myself that after today my life of freedom is going to come one more day earlier and from that night on i put two rocks in the bucket and by the middle of my senior year i turned 18 and moved out. I was still dating Bryan, the guy who turned my life around and made me realize that life is to short to be alone and not be able to shine when thats what i was born to do, says Bryan.

    I learned that i had equivocated (v.) to myself for so long that when i was able to find the truth i felt as if all Gods angels were relaesed to earth and all walked on the right side me as i held on to my moms hand on the left. That day i was born again into a life worth more than anything anyone could wish for.

  11. Image #1

    I tried to goad (v) Tommy into taking me outside so I could help him build a sandcastle, just as we had done so many times in the past. Tommy equivocated (v) when he told his parents he could not find me. How could Tommy be so impassive (adj)? We had shared so many wonderful times constructing impressive fortresses in the sand! So here I sit…vanquished to the window sill, in a complete state of utter oblivion (n). Tommy’s motivation for replacing me was disparate (adj). It’s not like my handle was broken or I was incapable of holding sand. I was a little worn, but still very strong. He wanted a new pail simply because Johnny got one. If only he knew how much I longed to be outdoors, next to the ocean. The crashing waves and voracious riptides did not daunt (v) my sense of adventure. My abandonment has burgeoned (v) ever since my replacement was ordered on in the internet from Pails-R-Us by Mr. Wilson. In a few short days, I would become analogous (adj) to an old car that goes to auction or an outdated computer that gets taken to the dump. Finally, I was vindicated when Mr. Wilson found me in the attic. Mr. Wilson asked his son Tommy why he had claimed that I was lost. Tommy tried his best to exculpate (v) himself, but finally confessed that he had hidden me in the attic and pretended I was missing. Much to my pleasure, Mr. Wilson rescinded (v) the order for a new sand pail.

  12. The basement had one window, a tall rectangle cut out of the two foot wide foundation. A cross piece of wood and a glass pane at one end, complete darkness at theother. It was wide and high enough to sit or stand. It faced out overlooking the barren hill on which the house stood. From the top floor a park could be seen far below the hill. Kids could be seen playing there from day until night from the balcony above. But from the basement, all that could be seen was a barren hill, green but dead. The window would equivocate(v.), tell you you were the only one on earth. The child would sit in the window, looking impassive(adj.), staring out from the darkness. The inside was so disparate(adj.) from the outside, but the transparency of the barrier made it seem so near, so attainable. The sunlight goaded(v.) the hand to reach out. At the last moment the window would recind(v.) the invitation. The sensation of acceptance and rejection was analogous(adj.) to touching dry ice; you were frozen and burned. The child sat for hours, for days, for years, it clutched a bucket in its lap. The colorful pail looked out of place in the crossing of white and black. It was a momento of a beach trip, of the hot sun and the cool waves. As the child grew, the barrier between it and the outside began to burgeon(v.) into a daunting(adj.) wall. The child was seperate, but the glass exculpated(v.) it from blame. Bathing in the warm sun, looking out from the darkness the child sank into oblivion(adj.).

  13. Staring at the almost daunting(adj)eyes of Notre Dame, she felt small. She never had been a tall person, but now, Remie felt oddly intimidated. Craning her neck, so she could peer into the faces of the icy gargoyles. They were analogous(v) to vultures watching their prey, but lifeless and impassive(adj). Remie took a deep breath, not knowing why and walked into the cathedral.
    It was gloomy inside the church and slightly stuffy. The large windows from above gave a warm glow. Unintentionally she ripped off the silk scarf draped around her neck. Her fingers slid cautiously across the wooden seats. Dust danced into the hair, as the manicured finger tips snaked on to the next bench. Did Fleur de Lys feel like this?, Remie wondered. Remie closed her eyes and tried to forget the events from before, tried to cast the memories and the feelings into oblivion(n).

    Two hours before arriving at Notre Dame, Remie was with her “man”. Or at least, then he was that. Now, he was just another mistake. Remie sat down in the third row and just stared at a point in front of her. How could he? Was she just that gullible or just blind? Was her burgeoning(v) desire towards him that what had destroyed it all? No, Remie shook her head; she exulpated(v) herself. It’s impossible to wish too often on a star. Remie’s mind wandered back to Fleur de Lys. Did she go here after she found out about Phoebus equivocated(v)? Remie’s eyes filled with tears. Her conscience goaded(v) her to rescind(v) her ‘date’, later on that day. But no, curiosity was greater. She wanted to know, she needed to understand. What did the other one have, that Remie didn’t? And what were the continuous “Hunchback of Notre Dame” interruptions to do with the situation? It was entirely disparate(adj)!

    Then, Remie understood. It wasn’t Remie, and it wasn’t him. And there was only one other person. If the book was so close to reality, then maybe meeting up with him again, will bring progress. Remie stood up and started to leave. Just before returning outside, she turned around and mentally thanked the building with a nod. Phoebus did the right thing and maybe, he will too. Remie placed the silk scarf back around her neck and walked into the sunshine.

  14. he stone Gargoyle has watched over us from far above for thousands of years. They are motionless creatures that daunt(v) us with their large claws and fangs but don’t let these characteristics equivocate(v) you, they are quite harmless. Some say that the gargoyles are analogous(adj) to their creators, the sculptors, who spend much of their time alone in silence as they work on a masterpiece. To modern society the gargoyles are in oblivion(n) and hardly noticed but when they are noticed, they goad(v) the people into the building to lose the gaze of a creature that seems to burgeon(v) the longer you look at it until it is the only thing you can see. It isn’t the gargoyle’s fault that it is seen this way. It should be exculpated(v) from this crime because all it really does is stare impassively(adj.) and quietly. The real culprit is the sculptor. Those of you who hire a sculptor to create one of these monstrosities should rescind(v) your order and ask him to create something beautiful, something disparate(adj) from the atrocious Gargoyle.

  15. “This birthday was not at all analogous (adj) to any other one I’ve ever had mom!” said little Billy before the piñata.

    His mother smiled and said, “I’m glad sweetie. You’re burgeoning (v) into such a big boy!”

    It was Billy’s fifth birthday and he had a massive obsession with Spongebob. Naturally, he wanted his party to be Spongebob themed. He was so excited to have a Spongebob piñata and grabbed onto it, running towards his mom. She was lighting the cake at the moment and when she turned around with the cake, one of the flames on a candle caught the piñata on fire!

    Billy sat, impassively (adv), showing no emotion, completely shocked into a state of non-existance almost. His mother tried to exculpate (v) herself from the accident, but Billy only saw this as a sorry attempt to equivocate (v) about what happened and ultimately rescind (v) the previous event.

    “I can’t believe you mommy!!” little Billy was so upset and was unable to go into a state of oblivion (n).

    Billy was clearly not at all daunted (v) by his mother as he continued to talk back to her. But his friends were goading (v) him on, because they were furious with his mother as well, they wanted to get candy! However, the reason for being upset between Billy and his friends was disparate (adj) and they both had different reasons for being upset.

    Thankfully, Billy’s mom brought out candy to satisfy the boys, but Billy was still vexed [adj :)] with his mother for destroying Spongebob!

  16. The city I love lies in a state of oblivion (n.). It is my job to protect it. I have seen it burgeon (v.) from a fledgling village into a thriving metropolis, and ever since the day this community was founded, there has been corruption, suspicion, and crime. And as my city grew, the petty thieves also grew to become fathers of criminal empires, spreading their fear into the deepest alleys and the darkest streets. I watch them exculpate (v.) themselves and pass the blame for their sins onto their closest allies, innocent or not. I see them recruit more and more every day to their gangs, equivocating (v.) and enticing them with the promise of money and power. And the rest of society does nothing but goad (v.) them. In my mind, they are analogous (adj.) to a virus, spreading disease into the world. I am the cure; it is my duty to daunt (v.) these heathens, to rescind (v.) their reign of fear on my home. I am an impassive (adj.) sentinel; ready to fight what is disparate (adj.) from my wishes, and the wishes of God. I was awakened to protect this place, and that is what I will do.

  17. I am trapped. Captured, forced to stay in one place, I am a prisoner. All because of my father. That monster! He knew my birth would kill her! He knew it!
    And yet he let it all continue. Because of him I am a monster a parentless monster. Who am I you ask? That will be reviled in time but first let me explain how I came to be.
    ‘I hate it here. Always answering to him never truly free. I am more powerful than him for I am the most powerful angel in existence and he has trusted me with all of his secrets. Even his most hidden weaknesses. I will gather my armies and I will strike and take control of Paradise.’ All of this ran through his mind as he walked towards where he would meet the others.
    “Lucifer welcome.” One of his many followers said. They were not important enough for him to remember their names. Lucifer nodded his head in acknowledgement and went and stood on a raised platform to deliver his speech.
    “Welcome everyone! Today we will take control. Today we will take his power and we will spread it equally. We will no longer have to answer to him. He who treats us unfairly and as if we were superior. Today we will daunt (verb) our enemies until they submit of fear and intimidation. They will cower before us, and we will take control of Paradise!” As he finished all of his twisted followers cheered and then they were off to God’s hall, off to the battle of their immortal lives.
    What they didn’t know was that God already knew and was prepared for their attack. It was not the easy battle they had expected. In fact it was in no way analogous (adj) to what they had thought. They were incomparable; instead of being an easy conquest the attackers were quickly subdued and brought before God.
    “LUCIFER! You have equivocated (verb)! You have lied to and deceived all of your followers. You do not want to share power you want to take it all for yourself. You believed that you were stronger than I and now you will be punished. You and your followers are banished to Earth and can never return. This is the will of God you are dismissed.”
    Angry and ashamed Lucifer and his followers left for their new life amongst the mortals.
    Thousands of years passed while the fallen watched humanity evolve. The year 1854 was one that changed the fate of the world. That was the year Lucifer met Mina. He now lived in Paris and in all his time on Earth he had accumulated a fair amount of wealth and now goes by the name of Devlyn. He met Mina at the annual party he had every New Year and she intrigued him. She let no one talk down or dismiss her, she was strong. He needed some one to lead by his side, someone to help him over through the Creator. He decided then in there that it would be her. He approached her and they ended up talking for the rest of the party. He let their relationship burgeon (verb) and he asked her to marry him. He said he loved her but he lied she was only convenience for him, a means to help him achieve power. Her family pushed for an heir but he knew that to give them that it would kill their daughter and she was only convenient to him alive. But they kept threatening and pushing, he knew that they could not kill him but it was growing tiresome. He finally agreed and Mina was pregnant shortly after.
    She went through nine months of immense suffering since her baby was not totally human. In her fifth month Lucifer divorced her and left her alone. He knew she would die from childbirth and felt no need to dither. Once her parents found out she had been abandoned they scorned her and she fled to a local monastery within an old castle. The gargoyles scared her a little bit but other wise she was happy there.
    She lived out the remainder of her pregnancy and as predicted died during child birth.
    That is how I came to be. My name is Lilith and I am daughter of the fallen angel Lucifer and the human Mina. For this reason the monks have kept me here in this oblivion (noun). Both the monks and I have been utterly forgotten. They probably would have let me go if I hadn’t sprouted ink black feathery wings on my sixteenth birthday. Only one angel had black wings and with this sign the monks locked my in the castle using trapping runes to keep me in.
    I am disparate (adj) from my father. I am different from him in every possible way, but because his blood runs in my veins I am trapped in this ancient prison.
    While I’ve been trapped I have discovered that I have every power of an angel except slightly weakened because of my human half. I learned to control these abilities. I can now understand every language, can summon angle fire, have immense skill in battle, and of course the power of flight. My wings will itch to be drawn open but the room is not big enough and every time I try I am attacked by the wards encompassing me. I am eighteen now and am still stuck in this prison. The monks were never going to exculpate (verb) me. I will be forever blamed for my father’s crimes. It was time to leave.
    I had finally figured it out, a way to get past the runes. They didn’t put runes on the ruff. So if I could gather enough angel fire I could probably blow the ruff off. I was going to escape tonight.
    I packed all the food that I had stored and blankets and clothes into a backpack and then walked to the center of the room.
    I looked up and focused all of my energy on the highest point of the ceiling. I goaded (verb) the power out of me. I felt the power pour from my core then as I released it the ruff exploded.
    I could barely contain my happiness as I let my wings unfold and took off into the sky. I let all my anger go and fell into a state of impassiveness (adj.) I was unfeeling for a while, then I let the happiness take over once more. I was free. What I didn’t know was at the precise moment I let lose of the power inside me my father, all of the fallen, and all of the still riotous became aware of my presence. What I didn’t know was that I wasn’t free, not really for now I was hunted.

  18. Student #16 (follow-up)

    I’m sorry there was supposed to be another paragraph between Lucifer’s welcome and his speach.

    As he was steeping up one of the doubt-full approached. The doubt-full one asked:

    “Lucifer, will you not rescind (verb) your attack? Please cancel it for the sake of your followers and the sake of Paradise. If you lose all could be lost.”

    “I will not lose. Now leave me.” Lucifer responded as he arrived at the center of the platform.

  19. He didn’t know that the fire that destroyed his birthday party also destroyed my life. I was sixteen, he was eight. He loved Spongebob so much, it is not analogous (adj) to any other love and cannot compare to any other liking. So, like a good family, we planned his eighth Birthday party with the theme of Spongebob. Everything was great! All of his friends came and we even planned a sleepover with three of his closest friends. I now know that was the worst decision we could have made. My brother is, well, mentally ‘handicapped.’ So were all of his friends. I had no problem with it, he was my brother and I loved him like one. We were completely disparate (adj) and incomparable, but we got along. Sure he was annoying sometimes, but that’s how everyone’s little brother is…right?

    Everything was going good. My brother and his friends enjoyed their pizza (I think a little too much, considering they probably had more sauce on their faces than they had actually ingested.) After taking dozens of pictures, my mom told me to get them some damp paper towels to wipe off their faces, and I agreed impassively (adverb) without feeling. The night burgeoned (verb) and flourished rapidly and with every fleeting moment I, along with my parents, got more tired.

    The time had come for cake. I was excited to see how my brother would react whenever he saw how I equivocated (verb) and mislead him into thinking it was a regular chocolate cake. I had made the cake vanilla, and the icing chocolate. Things like that amused him, and frankly it pleased me to see him enjoy the little things in life that most people all too often take for granted. I lit the candles, all eight, and one to grow on, and then goaded (adj.) and urged him to blow them out. But my mom insisted on taking a plethora of pictures from every angle and with every family member, all three of us.

    While this was occurring, everyone was oblivious (adj.) to Philip, who was usually the quietest in the group, so naturally, it didn’t sound like anyone was not at the table. He was under the piñata rope. I wish now that we could have rescinded (verb) and cancelled our order for that Spongebob piñata. Philip jumped for the rope that was almost a foot above him, grasped it by his right hand, but lost his grip when he came back down to the hard, brown earth. The piñata fell, right on top of my beautiful trick cake. The other kids screamed as the burning Spongebob daunted (verb) and frightened them. As he stood and cried and stared at his favorite character burning, I saw my brother, pure and precious, being let down. My parents both ran into the house in a mad search for the fire extinguisher. I whipped out my phone and called 911.

    “YES! There is an emergency! Fire!… 4537 Tranquility Road, Raleigh…I’m Macy Whittaker! Come fast! How can I stay-MY BROTHER… HE…EVERYONE HERE IS HANDICAPPED!” I hung up the phone. Appalled at myself, I looked at my brother. I had never said that before. He looked at me through the flames, sheer panic and a hatred filled his orange face. Then he screamed, “sister, ah!” I couldn’t move, I would never exculpate (verb) or free myself from guilt. I thought I saw him as a brother!? No time for that, save him. Save him, you damn idiot! I ran around the tables, yelled at him to run. Then, I looked around, for the other kids like my brother that were there. Where are they!? I can’t loose them, what about their parents!?… “Mom, Dad.” Where were they? Can they not find an extinguisher? “Philip! Go into the house, wait in Mikey’s room! With all your-” control yourself Macy, “-with all of your friends!” I turned back to face him. Oh my soul. Mikey, I told you to run!” I was screaming from the next-door neighbor’s house where I had found all of…them. I ran as the fire encompassed him and spread profusely around the tables. I reached for his arms, the fire instantly burnt my hair and I yelped. He was not making any noise. Why!? It hurts! I yanked him out, not even caring about the pain I was in. How could this happen!? The fire trucks and ambulances pulled up. I carried my brother, hot with scorch marks and a bald head, to the closest ambulance. What had I done? My brother, was in pain, he didn’t need this, how could I?
    **************
    I have learned now how to accept my brother; he still doesn’t know I can’t accept myself.

  20. Jane walks up to the floor level of the building to get away from the stress build up in her life. She notices a stone structure analogous (adj.) to the stone structures seen on old cathedrals. The sight of this ‘stone beast’ subsides her earlier feelings of stress and leaves her feeling daunt (verb) and curious about the story behind this amazing creature. The story and feeling she gets from this ‘object’ is beyond what words can describe. This stone structure gives her a new freedom and outlook on the world around her. Her earlier need to equivocate (verb) has vanished, and she feels exculpated (verb) as the day progresses and then night falls upon the two ‘beings’. Even though Jane is disparate (adj.) from the stone art she feels a similar ness and bond that was unexplainable and burgeoning (verb). She once felt oblivion (noun) to the world and now has finally sound meaning and life in her world. When night fall arrives she realizes the change in her life from that day and the complete turn around and view on the world from an object that has the world day to view the world. She rescinded (verb) the impassive (adj.)feelings from her previous life and steps through the threshold to goad (noun) on to the next threshold.

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