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State of the UnionLuka Angeleski
From your last letter, I felt that I needed to tell you more about my country. What you knew was not incorrect, but it was only half the story. A proud country, America is ethnocentric and it affects many aspects of our lives. The problem with this is, many citizens take it too far and/or base their opinions on fallacies. This portion of the populace speaks loudly and brings shame to this country. They use religion, perverted morals and even our language to carry their messages of hate.
In a culture language is important to all its members; it is a source of pride. As an American I am proud to speak English, but somehow insanity has turned many of us against being multilingual. These people feel we are losing our culture to foreigners are being hateful without reason. They have forgotten that we stole this land from the Native Americans in the first place; all of us are foreigners. What happened to our pride as t
My brother lies heavy in my arms. He doesnt cry, never has, but he is trembling. His wounds are worse than mine and I wish I could help him. I stroke his hair and my heavy eyes close. I am beyond any fear for myself, in fact I feel relieved, glad I could stay by his side until the end.
My brother lies heavy in my arms. The scent of fire comes to me on the breeze. I realize it isnt coming from our smoldering home, but from the opposite direction. Confused, I open my eyes and my breath catches in my throat. A man kneels, head bowed, beside us. His long red hair veils his face; he appears to be praying, and that is more surprising than his presence. In this godless land, no one cares for anyone else and nothing is free, not even sympathy. I conclude he is an angel waiting for us.
My brother lies heavy in my arms. He is trembling violently no
Blood BrothersBrookie always holds my hand when we cross the street. She's never given a reason for it, she just does it. It's become this unspoken rule with us that whenever we cross the street together, she slips her hand in mine and I lace my fingers through hers and we walk hand-in-hand until we reach the other side and she drops her hand and we both wipe our palms on our jeans. Brookie's a little scared of crossing the street. Her poppa died in a car crash when we were six. He was a pedestrian. She's never gotten over it.
Brookie is my best friend going on sixteen years now, which is pretty impressive considering we're both sixteen. We don't have some cute little story about how we were born in the same hospital on the same day or about how our mothers were best friends long before they were pregnant with us and somehow passed on that bond while we were still in utero. No, Brookie and I met the same way ever
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A two-time Community Volunteer for the deviantART Related category, Anne is well-known as a positive, helpful force. She is the community's resident expert when it comes to CSS (Cascading Style Sheets), and her personal gallery offers a wide variety of tutorials for new and experienced coders alike. In addition, each winter she hosts a calendar project encouraging members to create Journal designs for all to use, bringing more creativity to the community.
It is with immense gratitude that we acknowledge Anne as the recipient of the Deviousness Award for October 2014. Read More