You Got It

twist, here are 22 life lessons I have learned after being betrayed. 1 When it's the end of the night and everyone has left, you only have yourself. But remember that’s not always a bad thing. 2 You can’t act like everything is fine and you are happier than ever on social media just because you are hoping one particular person is going to see it.…

It all began with a simple phone call one night after dinner. “Joe,” Joe’s father hollers up the stairs, “it’s for you. It’s Jackie, and she sounds upset.” As Joe comes downstairs to pick up the phone, he is not happy. Joe is tired and had looked forward to a nice quiet evening at home, not another useless adventure with Jackie. Thirty minutes later, however, Jackie’s 2007 black Ford Escape swings into Joe’s driveway, and Jackie is leaning on the horn before the car can come to a full stop. Joe…

He tried to come in and we had to push him back out. I asked him "Who are you? Why are you harassing us?" The man did not respond so I asked him again, “Who are you? And why are you harassing us?" His response really freaked me out. He replied, “I am Bobo. I am running from the police and need you to hide me in your house?" "No!" we both screamed as we slammed the door in his face. We then heard sirens in the distance that sounded like…

That is a risk I am not willing to take. Taking care of the family is my priority. You and Himat need the money I can provide by obeying orders.” Himat, upstairs, listened with a heartache, to his bedroom to sleep. Later that night, Himat was in bed, when he heard ever so silent “No matter what happens to me,” encouraged his mother…

Rosalind Franklin’s story started in Notting Hill, London, United Kingdom. Her full name was Rosalind Elsie Franklin, and she was born to a rather conspicuous British Jewish family on July 25, 1920. The second of five children, three boys and two girls. Daughter of Muriel and Ellis Franklin, both of her parents originated from Jewish families that settled in England in the 1700s and 1800s. Her guardians owned banks and publishing companies. They were both educated and companionable people.These…

from the crowd that had gathered for this event addressed me. Tracking the sound, I found a well-dressed man approaching, possibly thirty or so years old, with solid black well maintained hair, and a wide mouth from which he spoke again. "Who might you be?" The man inquired standing before me, his query drawing the attention of most of the individuals within the room. "This letter arrived four days ago?" I responded presenting the summons for David McNeil, the favored…

“You know jungle juice,” Adil said, after not getting a reaction out of Michael. “They get a large container and fill it with some cheap juice or fruit punch, then pour a bottle of this stuff in it. Gets the whole room lit up for like twenty bucks. It’s the only way people can handle this stuff.” Michael picked up the bottle and spun off the cap. He then took a long belt from it with not so much as even flinching. “Whoa,” Adil said, astonished. “I guess a big guy like you does need to water it…

Why didn’t anything happen in you, Wild Awake? I wanted you to be good, but unfortunately, you were not because nothing happened and goddamn, your main character and the prose was cringe-worthy. Yes, that’s right, my dear friends. Nothing really happen. Yeah, Wild Awake seemed true to everyday life since life doesn’t have an overarching plot, and I would’ve enjoyed it if I hadn’t disliked the main character. It is a mess (albeit, somewhat fitting to the main character’s state of mind). When I…

emotional for me to write, so please try to hang with me because some of what I say may be a tad scattered. Those of you who are sensitive may possibly need tissues (shoutout to grandma!) So here we go, take a deep breath and keep reading. I’m struggling. So hard that it hurts. I can’t even explain half of the feelings that are twisting and turning inside of my heart right now. If you know me you know that my emotions are all on overload.…

like that. You’ll see when he gets here.” She straightened up and turned to face me, smiling. “Would you like some tea?” “That would be wonderful, thank you,” I answered with my own smile. Still, I could not shake the odd feeling I had gotten about her words. What sort of man was Mr. Jones? “You can sit down, Mr. Miller,” Mrs. Jones said from the stove. “Ah, yes, of course!” I faltered. “Thank you.” I pulled out one of the wooden chairs and slowly lowered myself into it, once again eyeing…