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    The wind made a loud noise through the towers of Blackthorn Castle‚ shaking the old windows with a fierceness that appeared to be alive. Clara crouched next to the fire in the large hall‚ the flickering flames creating giant shadows that moved and showed on the stone walls. Rain pounded on the windows‚ while thunder ominously grumbled‚ a perfect setting for her loneliness. Clara was locked away by her mother in this castle‚ claiming it was for her protection. She had been raised thinking her father

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    captivates the soul‚ it does little to stimulate the mind‚ a clear pun to the Italian culture since they lack the common analytical brain of the intellectual. This harsh‚ real life view of the world‚ is reflected and ever present in Italian Noir Detective Fiction‚ and mirrors the daily realities faced by Italians who are both observers and victims of the organized crime performed by many criminal sanctions of the Mafia. Many of the horrific‚ jaw dropping stories told by authors of the noir‚ such as Massimo

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    "The only reason for the existence of a novel is that it does attempt to represent life." Stated Henry James in "The Art of Fiction" page 437. I agree with Mr. James that feelings and ambitions formed in characters do represent life. The idea of characters and how real they should is represented in page 440. <br> <br>Characters‚ in my opinion‚ form the novel itself. It is the characters and incidents corresponding in a novel‚ which make a good one. There are two kinds of characters: the round character

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    Fiction and Right Thing

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    Stolpestad is a short story written by William Lychack in 2008. The short story takes place in a little town named Stolpestad. In this story we meet a man who works as a police officer1‚ one day he is called to a house where he is told that they have some problems with a dog. He goes there‚ and finds that the dog is sick‚ the mother asks him to shoot the dog‚ which he does after asking if they shouldn’t take it to the vet. While being at a bar after work his wife calls him telling him that there

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    Science Fiction Story

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    The Search Through Time and Space “Beep‚ beep‚ beep‚ Mr. Gordy wake up!” Rang the alarm clock. The year was 2023‚ the date September 3rd‚ the time 9:03 A.M. All was silent as the incessant nagging of the alarm clock continued to repeat it’s usual speech until a hand with a force of a comet came crashing down to end the repetition abruptly. A man‚ 6’3”‚ emerged from the bed‚ face worn from what seemed like a minute of sleep after spending a night of searching for what no man could manage to find

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    Hey‚ bright eyes!” Dallon turned around and smiled when he saw the familiar face of Mr. Kasper Calder. “How you doing today‚ Kasper?” Dallon asked‚ smiling. “On same old‚ same old‚” He shrugged nonchalantly. “How come you didn’t stop by my creek?” “I did‚ but you weren’t there so I went looking for you.” Dallon admitted. Kasper was an older looking fellow with long‚ grey-ish white-ish beard that stopped growing at his chest. He had the softest most bluest eyes Dallon has ever seen

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    Omitted Chapter Ten Being woken up against my will is already annoying enough‚ but when it’s someone you don’t particularly like at an obnoxiously early time in the morning with a pounding headache and only a vague memory of a weird dream‚ it makes for quite the attitude. "Ugh‚ just wake up already! I don’t even know why I’m doing this anymore." "You’re doing it to get back on Justin’s good side Susan‚ we can all tell." "Shut up. Did I ask you?" "No‚ and I’m glad you didn’t." No matter how

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    Our fleet‚ empowered by a westward tailwind‚ glided across the wine dark sea for nine days and nights‚ as smooth as river stones rolling across seamless granite floors. We had just sighted Ithaca when I fell to exhaustion from nine days at the tiller. Greed overcame my men‚ and they stormed the hold beneath the decks where the bag gifted to me by Aeolus rested‚ and they ripped the sack open. Wind erupted from the bag‚ scattering my ships across the sea. Distraught‚ I run from below decks‚ seize

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    She was young‚ but old. Young in the eyes of someone old‚ old in the eyes of someone young. Her golden hair was like the setting sun‚ full of bright colors. And her eyes held so much spirit that you thought you were looking into the bright blue ocean. Her pointed ears poked out inbetween her hair and when she smiled the sun was brought out from behind the cloud it was hidden from. She walked through the green‚ lush‚ forest. Her footsteps soft and silent. She would often go here when the sun set

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    The sun was low and swollen‚ falling off the edge of that great faded blue abyss. The flat‚ empty horizon of reds and browns gave way to neat sections of farmland that flickered past like pages of a picture book. They were wheat fields‚ bristling and swaying in the early autumn breeze. I knew then M— wouldn’t be that much further. And it wasn’t; it appeared like a smudge of dark green on that lifeless line of longitude known as the outback. I drove through the town and the cool drape of dusk gently

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