Dramatic Intro Flashing lights were blinding my vision‚ and emergency sirens were screaming in my ears‚ both making it hard to process the situation I was in. I looked around praying to find something familiar that could possibly give me guess as to what was happening‚ but was interrupted by sharp creaking of a metal door‚ which robbed my attention. I looked towards the direction the sound was coming from and was shocked to see the face of a man‚ I tried moving but couldn’t. Confused I asked him
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CRASH. SCREEECH-BANG! Many protesting and angry yells went up into the pale NYC morning sky‚ caused by what looked like a small‚ red‚ and motorized wagon. It looked like this because that was exactly what it was. This “Motor-wagon” was piloted by a young-ish‚ tall-ish‚ and mostly bald man named Evan Victor Ite-Laught. Anyway‚ the sources of the yells were victims of a small red blur of dents‚ scratches‚ and crashes careening around the corner somewhere around 20 miles/hour too fast. Evan was in a hurry
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Luminous were the lights as they shone upon the golden masks of the dancing party guests. Women gracefully glided across the ballroom‚ the slow‚ rhythmic “click clack” of their heels echoing throughout the space‚ as their gowns twirled nonchalantly around their bodies‚ accentuating the soft yet striking colors of their dresses. They firmly clutched onto their partner’s shoulder‚ as if afraid that they would fall‚ and their partners in turn held a firm grip around their waist. Snap. And just like
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Paige was born in March 2005. She really enjoys writing‚ reading‚ and painting. Paige loves unicorns and the colour pink. She also loves to play the ukulele. I froze‚ my mouth as dry as a desert. What was I supposed to do? Eight hundred eyes were looking at me! This all started when I received a special gift from my grandma‚ who’d recently passed away. "I’m sorry about your loss‚" stated Sophia. "It’s okay‚ thanks for your concern‚" I sighed. "At least she gave you something to remember her by
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vultures hovering over their prey‚ preparing to strike. The clanging of metal instruments and beeps of various machines distract me momentarily. Looking over to my left‚ I see a stout‚ middle-aged man donned in a green surgical gown. He is wearing a big‚ red foam nose and a multi-coloured cap‚ with a peculiar propeller-like object perched on top of it. I almost burst out laughing‚ but fear latches onto me. My eyes pan down from his cap to the sharp object in his hand. Who even is this man? What is he going
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I was seeing red and I demanded answers. “Who are you?! Show yourself right this instance.” “Who am I you ask. Why don’t you figure that out Mari.” The voice took on an even more mocking tone‚ making me see nothing but the little red furies passing through my brains. “ How do you know my name? And when I find out who you are I am going to tell my father and we will sue you for harassing me!” The voiced had burst out laughing at my statement‚ then belted out in mock horror“ Oooohhhh! I am so
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put down‚ signalling that the conversation was over. Jadedly‚ I got up out of my salubrious bed and got dressed into my normal work attire which consisted of an off white blouse‚ layered with a black jacket that was paired with trousers and emerald red flats. In wake of me finishing brushing my teeth I made my way down the opal steps of my apartment with a bag in hand and onto the street of blossom lane‚ where the car that would take me to Emerald Garden was parked. ‘Hello Miss‚’ said the attractive
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If I see that one of my friends is continuously looking off into space with a frown or looking down into their laps as if waiting for something ‘right’ to fall into it. . I make it a priority to text or talk to them about it. Usually they’ll say things like “I’m just tired.” Obviously‚ being someone who uses that excuse as if it’s the secret to life‚ I tell them it’s okay to talk about it if they need to. But‚ what about me? I mentioned I use that same ‘excuse’‚ did you catch that? Yes? Well‚ I’m
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conflict between different societies and is usually the fight for power. Stephen Crane was always interested in the idea of war and the psychology of it. The Red Badge of Courage gives a first person view of war and uses Henry Fleming to depict it. Fascinated by war and influenced by his surroundings‚ Stephen Crane wrote The Red Badge of Courage by using realism and naturalism and immersing himself in the subject. Stephen Townley Crane was born on November 1‚ 1871‚ in Newark‚ New Jersey. Stephen
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forth muttering to himself like a madman‚ pulling at his hair in his frenzied haste. “I just don’t understand‚ it doesn’t make any sense‚” he muttered‚ desperately gazing at the wall before him‚ covered with documents interconnected with a web of red strings. He quickly gazed up at me‚ his eyes bloodshot and skin a pallor grey‚ “We must do the impossible” he whispered so quietly that I had to strain to hear him‚ “We must open the portal.” “No‚” I said in a shaky voice‚ “It’s unstable‚ the machine
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