By Francis Figueroa

 


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ENC1102 INFORMATIVE REPORT

By Francis Figueroa
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 Does NSFW or Explicit Material Have a Negative Effect on The Brain and Social Development? Francis D. Figueroa Miami-Dade College ENC1102                                               AUDIENCE PURPOSE STANCE The audience for my Informative report is other Seniors at Miami Senior High School who are interested in learning more about the effects of the consumption of explicit material on the brain and social development. The purpose of my report is to inform other individuals about the effects of pornography consumption on the brain and social development. My stance on this topic is neutral. I am merely informing my audience about a particular topic, not creating an argument for a specific side.           ...
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Fading Gold

By Francis Figueroa
  Loving Eve was always easy. From the start, it was as if Cara had found her missing piece. Some called it sandbox love; others called it an obsession. To her, they were just two souls who found each other in a cold, harsh world. "Hey, if we were stuck on an island with no way out, would you eat me?" Eve said half-jokingly, with a playful glint in her eye while assessing her body in the mirror.  "What the hell are you talking about, Eve?" Cara said, used to her weird questions.   "I would. Eat you. I mean." Eve said as she looked behind her shoulder.  "You're so cracked, you know." Cara retorted while standing up from her best friend's bed and walking around her childhood bedroom.  "Oh, come on, I was only joking, Cara."  Eve Trailed off before fixing her sleek, matted hair for the hundredth time.  "Only you can get away with joking about cannibalism." Cara rolled her eyes— a shiny heart-shaped necklace with the inscr...
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Rain-soaked Reverie

By Francis Figueroa
  The smell of freshly cooked Japanese food filled my lungs as I walked by the narrow alleyways of Amsterdam with an umbrella in hand. The scent faded as more and more rain droplets began to fall, and the smell of wet cobblestone took its place. I stopped in my tracks, taking in the unfamiliar stores I would never find back home.  “ I should be happier. It’s Christmas season, and I’m lucky enough to be in one of the most amazing places in the world.” I thought to myself, but the empty feeling settled in my stomach. It had been there since I landed, but I decided to lose myself in the bustle of the city. Snippets of conversations floated around, and couples walked around me hand in hand. The sight of them reminded me of how hollow I felt.  I spotted a happy couple who walked so close to each other that it felt like if one of them moved for just a bit, the small world they seemed to have created under their small red umbrella would crumble. My hand tightened around the h...
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A Love Letter to Jo March

By Francis Figueroa
Dear Joe March, Thank you for awakening the writer within me.   I received a copy of Little Women when I was about thirteen years old. At the time, writing was nothing more than a tool to express my musings about my family, friendships, and ever-changing emotions. But when I traced the white pages of your world- dare I say your very own life—I was fascinated by your fiery spirit and determined disposition. Seeing a young girl be inquisitive and passionate about something as amazing as writing made me want to pick up the pen and paper and start writing stories, not for academic purposes, but for myself. Admittedly, at the time, I did not feel I could ever write stories and create complex characters and worlds. But as I kept exploring your world through the pages of Louisa May Alcott's words, I felt inspired by your inner drive to follow your dreams of becoming a writer all the way to New York. I saw your worries, your doubts, and your fears test your spirit,...
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My Philosophy of Writing

By Francis Figueroa
 Francis Figueroa Dr. Shawn DeNight ENC 1101 18 December, 2024 Introduction       The power of writing lies in its ability to transform intangible thoughts into tangible forms, creating a bridge between the inner self and the outside world. For me, writing is not just a skill but a journey—a process of exploration and modification that reveals the depths of human expression. From messy first drafts to the collaborative insights gained through peer reviews, each step in the writing process holds the potential to shape raw ideas into impactful works of writing. Through the teachings of writers like Anne Lamott, educators like Pirette McKamey, and all of my current and previous english teachers, I’ve come to understand that writing is both a personal and communal act that thrives on practice, reflection, and the courage to embrace imperfection. My philosophy of writing explores how the practices of drafting, revising, and collaborative feedback illuminate the pr...
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Temporary

By Francis Figueroa
  Six letters, the same name  Six letters, a different face  The way his eyes glimmered I thought maybe it was love  but what was lurking beneath was only lust  When you saw me, did you notice my face? When you felt my touch,  Could you feel my love?  My soft intentions? The whispers of sweet nothings fill the air  I cling to your words  Like you cling to my skin   I look into your eyes  In search of something more  not a person, but a warm body  temporary company  someone to be discarded  used and forgotten Was it my innocent gaze?  The way my lips parted?  Or the way I said your name?
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November's Ghost

By Francis Figueroa
  The crisp fall air filled my lungs as I walked  near the small open  window in our room. The world outside the window seemed peaceful and unmoving, and for a second it felt as if I could breathe again. A small shuffle near the bed snapped me back to reality, it was Raymond, stretching out his hands, with eyes half open, it was clear that he was just waking up. “Morning Cecil” Raymond said, his voice trailing off  as he got up to go to the bathroom.  “ I’m going down to make breakfast in a little bit” I said as I finished making the bed. As I walked out of the into the hallway, the house seemed empty and lifeless, an empty shell of what it once was. On my way down the stairs I noticed that Ronan’s  room was half open, as if it was waiting for him to come back.  “ Raymond must’ve gone in and forgotten to close the door” “ he always does this when he comes home drunk.”  I thought.  I recalled the first time I caught him in there, his muffled...
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Begin Again

By Francis Figueroa
 The brick-laden paradise that was New Greenwich overtook my vision. For the first time in a long time, I had butterflies in my stomach; I was excited to see what the future awaited. I had just graduated from college; anything could happen. I closed the door to my apartment and took in the summertime —the bustle of the city hummed with possibility. I looked down at my phone, and the picture of a curly-headed girl and a tall boy with a goofy grin stared back at me. A familiar pang settled in my chest. June’s hair flew all over the place after Mom snapped the picture. A bitter-sweet feeling came over me as I remembered that summer’s day, the day I lost my first love and my best friend. I turned off my phone and kept walking down the concrete sidewalks of New Greenwich. The shadows of the trees formed the beautiful shapes of the leaves. I loved New York in September. The lack of tourists, the summer heat, and the people walking out and about gave the city a quiet life that you just ca...
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Soft intentions, Sharp Goodbyes.

By Francis Figueroa
Tell me- was I ever more than just a fleeting thought? A passing desire?  A momentary indulgence in an afternoon already forgotten. I traced the constellations on your skin,  let my fingertips linger in the hollow of your throat, where your pulse beats steadily- unshaken, unbothered, untouched by me. You kissed me like a promise I watched the door close behind you, watched my reflection in the window, wondering if I had only imagined that, for a moment, you held me like I was something to be kept. But I was never meant to be kept, was I?
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Shadows of the Bloodline

By Francis Figueroa
  Alexandria’s quiet demeanor had always terrified her father. He recalled the child’s 6th birthday party and how, despite the grandeur and jovial atmosphere of the event, she had stood in a corner with her favorite stuffed bunny for the entirety of the celebration. William extended some grace to the unsettling behavior; After all, she was merely a child with no concept of proper etiquette. Yet, it immensely bothered him that his spawn wasn’t “normal” and shunned any sort of social interaction with their esteemed guests. “What a disgrace she has become,” he murmured to his newlywed wife as they stood over the balustrade of their grand staircase, akin to rulers casting their gaze upon their subjects, the corrupt New Orleans elite. “Pray tell, William, are you certain she shares your blood?” The beautiful yet cruel blonde whispered the snide remark right into her husband's ear.  “ Indeed, there are moments I fervently wish she were not my own;  it would spare my bloodline...
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