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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“ Don’t forget your curfew is at 11 so call me when the party’s over Ava.” “ Yea yea I know‚” I said. It was a friday night in Hayfork‚ a quiet town that no one knew about. No one came to the town‚ and no one ever left. That night‚ I was walking with my friend Liam to a birthday party. It gets really creepy at night so I had begged my mom to let him accompany me. It took about 15 minutes to walk there but that didn’t stop me. “ It’s okay Mrs.Kimberly‚ Ava’s my best friend‚ I would never let anything
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up to the dart game‚ like he was a big shot. I requested if I could play at least once. He said “sure thing.” As I walked up to the stand with the dart already on the table‚ I thought I was ready to throw it at the rubbery balloon. I closed my dark brown eyes and squinted very tight at the only balloon I wanted. With my trembling arm I tossed the dart at the balloon‚ but I “wamm.” I had popped the wrong one. Dad started to play the game‚ trying to win me the certain fluffy white buffalo. That was
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THE DRAMATIC MONOLOGUE IN TENNYSON’S ULYSSES The greatest Victorian contribution to poetry is certainly the form of the dramatic monologue. A dramatic monologue is defined by various critics as a type of poem in which a single speaker‚ a persona‚ “utters the speech that makes up the whole of the poem‚ in a specific situation at a critical moment.” This speaker addresses and interacts with one or more other people. They are silent but usually identifiable listeners in whose presence the speaker reveals
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The vile odour of disinfectant permeates the air around me. My heart is racing and my trembling‚ sweaty hands cling onto my mother’s like a sloth to its branch. Gradually‚ more doctors begin to crowd around me‚ resembling 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
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I guess Ivy will stay in my imagination“ he laughed lightly. I played dumb looking at his arm where he had a tattoo of the Ivy. He was trying to light up the mood. „You know I had that dream once that we had an intercourse and after we talked about our future. We talked about our kids. You wanted a girl named Ivy.“ He was still holding me and the tears were already ready to fall and I did not care anymore as I was dying. He tattoed a name Ivy below his heart. Not his name‚ not my name‚ not my date
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watched him approach. I’ve never seen him before. He looks so serious‚ what is h.. before I could finish my thoughts I felt his hand grabbing my neck. "Do you know what time is it‚ little lady? Have you seen any other female walking here at this time of night? You’re in my hood‚ little lady‚ I’d feel guilty if one of my "gorillas" do something bad to you." He took his hand off and sincerely apologized. I told him I don’t speak his language very well which made him even more angry. "Crazy idiot
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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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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
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The glazed tiles reflected on my tired eyes not allowing to be opened. I slowly started blinking‚ harmfully blinking my eyes to see where I am. I scrunched my eyes at the bright shining light of the operation theatre. Imagining what all I had gone through in the past hours‚ I felt relieved. Thanking god to keep me alive‚ and letting me save the lives of those innocent people who have suffered so much. The nurse approached me and inquired about my health. It was more of a routine‚ and I was dragging
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