For the sake of anonymity I’ll keep some names private‚ and call myself Beowulf. My story happened around two years ago‚ I was 26 years old when my family and I had noticed that my grandmother was starting to forget our names‚ couldn’t recall certain events‚ and at times seemed in a daze and lost from her state of mind‚ completely forgetting where she was in that moment. This was followed by her stumbling around the house and falling a few times. One time it got to the point where she fell down
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Everything began on that gloomy Sunday afternoon. I remember all the little details about that day like it was yesterday. I was late to my part-time job at The Alienator‚ a small‚ alien themed fast food joint on the corner of 2nd and Main Street. With coffee stains on my shirt‚ my hair a ruffled mess and my shoes on the wrong feet‚ I sprinted down the sidewalk‚ rushing to work. Breathing heavily‚ I was so focused on dodging and slipping past people‚ that I didn’t realize what was happening to my
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Nyame was out of her element. Several times she had been hit on by “alpha” males ready to force themselves upon her. She carefully directed them to other more submissive females in the room. The other females in the where use to this type of behavior in fact they adored it but she did not. This whole scene was new to her and as she scan the place there was really no other newcomer here at least none that stuck out as bad as she did. Nyame was not the naturally submissive type. She usually had
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blacks animals‚ wild people. We’ve always argued against that. But now here we are are killin’ our own kind‚” I was just about to a shouting level by then. “Oh no‚ what if someone heard me?” I worry. By that point I was feeling close to death from exhaustion of my travels today. “I can’t believe I actually did it‚” I mumble. “Yes‚ you must’ve had a great deal of erroneous treatment during your life. But look at you now y’all are fine and dandy layin’ down on a free street in Illinois‚” A voice
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Odysseus and his tired men land upon a barren island‚ surrounded by crystal waters. They anchored their ship and shuffled off‚ in weary silence. The island was only a raised chunk of smooth white rock‚ with an igloo shaped cave. “We have learned our lesson with Polyphemus‚ we must stay clear of that cave.” Shouted Odysseus. Some men agreed with him‚ but others muttered in disagreement. They group decided to settle down for the night‚ as they longed to sleep on solid land once again‚ even for just
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Kara Howland October 10‚ 2002 M‚R‚F-10am "VANKA" After reading the story entitled Vanka I was both amused and saddened. Vanka was a poor orphan child who was obviously quite desperate due to the miserable conditions of his life. The child Vanka is reaching out in desperation to his grandfather much like any individual might reach out to a higher authority that he or she believes in with great faith and hope. As is often the case in seemingly hopeless situations‚ people will promise things
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lead was quickly put to rest as yet another bullet left the barrel of a sniper. This time it did the job. The bullet hit my neck‚ severing my carotid artery and just missing my spine. I fell to the hard‚ dusty concrete floor. Laying in a pool of my own blood‚ the Russians cheered about their small victory. Disappointed‚ I close my eyes for the last time‚ beginning my descent into
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Response to “The Story of an Hour” The story mainly talks about complex emotions of Mrs. Mallard towards the news of her husband’s death along with her inner reflections upon living‚ death‚ and freedom. The emotional change of Mrs. Mallard is an essential clue throughout the whole story. At first‚ she was deep in sorrow after hearing the bad news that “she wept at once‚ with sudden‚ wild abandonment”. Then‚ she realized that her husband’s passing away actually set her free physically and mentally
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I began to cough severely‚ to which i had been coughing for several days. To me‚ the cough meant nothing‚ but Montresor objected. "Come‚ we will go back; your health is precious.” Enough” I silenced him. “It was merely a cough‚ nothing more‚ I shall not die of a cough” He presented me with wine to which I was most gracious and consumed the wine in one gulp. We pressed on. Into the catacombs we ventured‚
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Though scorching‚ her hands did not react‚ the skull of her mate‚ her lover‚ her friend in life. His hand reached into the wicker basket removed two large red stones‚ placed a stone in each of the skull’s eye sockets. They began to glow‚ intensifying until they became fiery red staring into her eyes and soul. She breathes in the fragrance of incense and that of the cauldron’s brew‚ most pleasurable among fragrances her mate’s blood covering her body in its most natural state. She brought it to her
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