The Silent Holocaust: The Guatemalan Genocides Genocide is not only a murderous madness, but the thought of a political Utopia, tempting many political leaders of multi-ethnic, religious, and cultural societies throughout history. From 1978 to 1983, General Efrain Rios Montt conducted inhumane acts and brutal killings against indigenous communities in Guatemala. ‘Death squads’ were sent into communities, killing anyone with a trace of fear in order to, “Dry up the human sea in which the guerrilla fish swim,” as stated by Montt. Although rebellion support was gained from cruel acts carried out by the government, troops responded to rebellious guerilla movements with massive massacres on innocent civilians. The Guatemalan genocides were
Personal Narrative by Kyle The reason i was named Kyle Hutton because Hutton is a Irish name. I was named Kyle because Kyle is also a Irish name. My family is somewhat Irish on both sides of the Family. That is why my name was Kyle.
Clouds began to roll into the small town of Springvale around mid-morning, and the rain followed shortly after. It was easy going at first, but quickly became torrential. The brightness of the morning was consumed by the ravenous appetite of the clouds, turning day to night. This kind of weather was not uncommon for the coastal town during the summer months. Many of the citizens of Springvale relished the constant rain.
This time I ran to the door to catch what was making that noise, and I hid next to the door. There was a light moving around my front door in circles, like someone had a flashlight, moving it around. I stood sideways at the door, determined to catch whatever was there. When I stood sideways at the door to catch what was in the bushes, I looked through the window on the door -and I saw a whole family.
I woke up the next morning to come to find there was a
I glanced around shaking and trembling,
I felt something. Not one of my illusions that I had created to make myself feel valid, but a real feeling. It was extraordinary. It spread thru the whole of me, seeming to tear me apart from the inside out. Then it was gone.
When I was in kindergarten, I did not have friends; my highs and lows oscillated on the approval of others who understood me even less than I did myself. For picture day, I remember being happy to wear my favorite shirt: a Strawberry Shortcake blouse with ruched sleeves. A girl deprecatingly told me I looked like a little kid. I never wore the shirt again. Although I already felt like an outsider, the situation worsened when I moved from Las Vegas to Hawaii.
My Theme Song Songs can connect with how we feel and our experiences. Music has been a major part of my life ever since I was just a toddler. For me music has helped me express what I am feeling and who I am as a person. My therapy has been music, it has helped me through almost every problem I have faced. With listening to the song lyrics, we can get a true understanding of what the artist is trying to tell us.
I looked around. As I turned to the left, I came face to face with the figure of another human. I let out a loud shriek as I stumbled backwards. The figure moved closer to me, and I moved farther back. I was breathing heavily
The Man in All White Summer 2008 we were knee deep in the trenches of Myrtle Beach, I remember it like it was yesterday. Sweat like waterfalls dripping off my brow, sand in my eyes, the salty drink of the ocean intertwined between my hairs. I panicked as I looked around wondering if I had become lost at sea. Soon after I got a grip on reality I saw the shoreline, in my mind I had a plan figured out.
It was a dark stormy night as I drove home from work. I was taking a long winding road with many curves and no lights. I had seen the speed limit but I didn’t care I just wanted to get home. I thought that if i had made it through the other curves at this speed I would be fine.
I woke up, hearing an eerie silence. I carefully opened the hatch and saw
I can see my breath when I breathe out. I can hear the snow crunching underneath my thick wool boots and fuzzy socks, and can hear the sound of my own breathing. The faint howling of the wind sounds like ghosts swarming the city on Halloween. I notice an old abandoned, dilapidated house far off in the distance, in desperate need for a new paint job. With it’s rickety old
The scene laid its effects on me, and sweat dripped from my temples despite the cold. Then something called to my ears. A cry, as if from a small infant, came from outside. It was particularly loud and sounded
