Article: http://www.nytimes.com/2008/01/22/world/middleeast/22mideast.html
It was an early morning, the sun rising in between the worn mountain ridges. The white curtains were pulled to the side letting the sun stream through the window. The slightly tanned girl kicked the white linen covers to the bottom of the bed. Her slippers were off to the right on top of the worn gray wood floor. The squeaky wooden door flew open, into a hallway that led into the kitchen. The strawberry blonde reached into the old fashioned fridge for the Florida orange juice. The girl reached for the paint chipped cabinets for a clear glass cup; the cup was brought down to the counter. She held the cup with her left hand as the juice poured like a fast river into the glass. Kelly walked threw the living room to the screen door. The living room had nick knack antiques scattered about, pottery and tin photos in farm wood frames. Kel swung the door open and bent down to get the newspaper. The gal heard the little boy on his blue bike peddle back down her dusty country road. The schoolgirl waved to him a simple thank you. He tilted his hat down to her.
Kelly kicks the swinging door with her big toe. She reads the headlines slowly “Israel Allows Some Supplies into Gaza”. The hazy blue eyes scrolls down to read the caption of the picture, “Palestinians waited to buy bread from a baker in the Gaza Strip Monday”. She looked back up to the picture and saw a man with a beard holding a bag putting several pieces of cake batter colored bread into it. She then sees on the other side several men of all ages reaching into the bakery. Which consists of a window, almost as if it were a drive though. There are two boys in the window, squirming to get their bread. The picture is endless in the line of people scattered about. Several men are huddling waiting to catch a moment to be able to slip in the line and place their order.
The young girl is fascinated by the story. She reads the rest of the article, briefly. The thin girl chugs the rest of the “o.j.”, spilling a few drops onto her lightly cream colored robe. She bolts into the bathroom, turns on the hot water and hops into the shower. Kelly opens the door, wearing tight jeans with a small hole in her left thigh, a white button down oxford and lets her hair dry naturally into her thick wavy hair. The original cowgirl quickly puts on simple turquoise earrings to match her eyes. Kay dives into the guest room and pulls out a brown leather bag, packing the basics. Then, walks into the living room grabs a pair of sandals, running shoes, and high leather heals and slips those on. She locks the door and darts down the rickety stairs to her right. A slip is pulled off the car; it is an old Jeep Wrangler. The engine starts; all that is to be seen is a car zooming down the dirt road for the city and an excited gal screaming at the top of her lungs to her favorite music.
Kay is so fascinated by the story she wants to make a difference, by helping pass out foods and supply new goods to Gaza. A quick phone call is made to a local volunteer center. Her name is in the files and she is ready to work. The schoolgirl drives into the city, spotting several designated areas where help is needed. Several kids huddle around the girl as she passes out simple foods. Kelly whips out her camera to remember this moment. She looks around, looking at the worn clothes the children were wearing. The feeling inside her is so warming and loving. At the end of the day, Kelly drives home so happy. The feeling inside is great because even though the children had torn clothing and homemade toys, the smiles that the children had, that were in the black and white photos was all that mattered to Kelly Roberts.
Sunday, January 27, 2008
Monday, January 21, 2008
Writing Assignment #5
WRITING ASSIGNMENT #5
Article: http://www.nytimes.com/2008/01/22/world/middleeast/22mideast.html
It was an early morning with the sun rising in between the worn mountain ridges. The white curtains were pulled to the side letting the sun stream through the window. The slightly tanned girl kicked the white linen covers to the bottom of the bed. Her slippers were off to the right on top of the worn gray wood floor. She reached for her robe off the rusted hook. She opened the wooden squeaky door into a hallway that led into the kitchen. The strawberry blonde reached into the old fashioned fridge for the Florida orange juice. She turned swiftly to the right for the paint chipped cabinets. She reached on the top shelf for a clear glass cup. She brought the cup down to the counter. She held the cup with her left hand as the juice poured like a fast river into the glass. She walked threw the living room to the screen door. The living room had nick knack antiques scattered about, photos of cows and tin photos posted to cork boards. She swung the door open and bent down to get the newspaper. Kelly heard the little boy on his blue bike peddle back down her dusty country road. She wove to him a simple thank you. He tilted his hat down to her.
Kelly kicks the swinging door with her big toe. She reads the headlines slowly “Israel Allows Some Supplies into Gaza”. She scrolls down to read the caption of the picture, “Palestinians waited to buy bread from a baker in the Gaza Strip Monday”. She looked back up to the picture and saw a man with a beard holding a bag putting several pieces of pancake colored bread into it. She then sees on the other side several men of all ages reaching into the bakery. Which consists of a window, almost as if it were a drive though. There are two boys in the window they look as if they could be brothers. The picture is endless in the line of people scattered about. Several men are huddling waiting to catch a moment to be able to slip in the line and place their order.
The young girl is fascinated by the story. She reads the rest of the article, briefly. She chugs the rest of the orange, spilling a few drops onto her lightly cream colored robe. She bolts into the bathroom, turns on the hot water and hops into the shower. She raps a towel around her body and gets dressed. Kelly opens the door, wearing tight jeans with a small whole in her left thigh, a white button down oxford and lets her hair dry naturally into her thick wavy hair. She quickly puts on simple turquoise earrings to match her eyes. The young girl dives into the guest room and pulls out a brown leather bag. She jogs back into her room grabs the basics including two jeans, seven light shirts, three sweatshirts and a simple dress. Then she walks into the living room grabs a pair of sandals, running shoes, and high leather heals and slips those on. She locks the door and darts down the rickety stairs to her right. She uncovers a car; it is an old Jeep Wrangler. She zooms down the dirt road for the city. She turns up the music, a screams at the top of her lungs.
-----Not Finished----
Article: http://www.nytimes.com/2008/01/22/world/middleeast/22mideast.html
It was an early morning with the sun rising in between the worn mountain ridges. The white curtains were pulled to the side letting the sun stream through the window. The slightly tanned girl kicked the white linen covers to the bottom of the bed. Her slippers were off to the right on top of the worn gray wood floor. She reached for her robe off the rusted hook. She opened the wooden squeaky door into a hallway that led into the kitchen. The strawberry blonde reached into the old fashioned fridge for the Florida orange juice. She turned swiftly to the right for the paint chipped cabinets. She reached on the top shelf for a clear glass cup. She brought the cup down to the counter. She held the cup with her left hand as the juice poured like a fast river into the glass. She walked threw the living room to the screen door. The living room had nick knack antiques scattered about, photos of cows and tin photos posted to cork boards. She swung the door open and bent down to get the newspaper. Kelly heard the little boy on his blue bike peddle back down her dusty country road. She wove to him a simple thank you. He tilted his hat down to her.
Kelly kicks the swinging door with her big toe. She reads the headlines slowly “Israel Allows Some Supplies into Gaza”. She scrolls down to read the caption of the picture, “Palestinians waited to buy bread from a baker in the Gaza Strip Monday”. She looked back up to the picture and saw a man with a beard holding a bag putting several pieces of pancake colored bread into it. She then sees on the other side several men of all ages reaching into the bakery. Which consists of a window, almost as if it were a drive though. There are two boys in the window they look as if they could be brothers. The picture is endless in the line of people scattered about. Several men are huddling waiting to catch a moment to be able to slip in the line and place their order.
The young girl is fascinated by the story. She reads the rest of the article, briefly. She chugs the rest of the orange, spilling a few drops onto her lightly cream colored robe. She bolts into the bathroom, turns on the hot water and hops into the shower. She raps a towel around her body and gets dressed. Kelly opens the door, wearing tight jeans with a small whole in her left thigh, a white button down oxford and lets her hair dry naturally into her thick wavy hair. She quickly puts on simple turquoise earrings to match her eyes. The young girl dives into the guest room and pulls out a brown leather bag. She jogs back into her room grabs the basics including two jeans, seven light shirts, three sweatshirts and a simple dress. Then she walks into the living room grabs a pair of sandals, running shoes, and high leather heals and slips those on. She locks the door and darts down the rickety stairs to her right. She uncovers a car; it is an old Jeep Wrangler. She zooms down the dirt road for the city. She turns up the music, a screams at the top of her lungs.
-----Not Finished----
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