Emily woke up in the dark to an electronic beeping coming from her backyard. Tossing the blankets off her body‚ she quickly ran to the window and peered into the expansive garden. Among the rose and honeysuckle bushes‚ she could see two small spheres glistening softly in the moonlight. Each of the metallic balls had a small light‚ blinking in time with the strange noise. The lights were so bright that Emily could distinguish them from her bedroom window one hundred yards away. She was seven years
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African Short Stories: “The Garden of Evil” by William Saidi and “The Wicked Tongue” by Mohammed Moulessehoul The stories incorporated in the book‚ Hot Days Long Nights‚ which also comprises the two stories to be studied‚ relate different scenarios and pictures of the African continent. They are compact and precise‚ giving the readers an insight to the customary laws and traditions of its people. Some of them depict the painful collective memory of wars‚ while the others narrate the story of an individual
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pretty huge and amazing.” Alex paused for a minute. Actually‚ he went through the Yuma Proving Ground which is highly restricted by the U.S. Army‚ but if he continue his story‚ the authorities would know that he was trespassing. Alex decided to skip this part of the journey. “But one day‚ the canoe crashed and unfortunately‚ I barely lost the control of the canoe. I was so busy saving myself that I didn’t realize that I already passed the border and I was in Mexico until the canal came to the dead end
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It was another day in the city I love. Baltimore. Like any other resplendent city in all of the states. Baltimore has been my only home for years. However‚ today in Baltimore something felt different. “Ahhh…‚” I yawned and moaned as I tried to free myself from my bed sheets. I opened the shutters of the windows to look outside the early sunlight began to creep out as all livelihood of the distant inner city began to awake. “Will‚ it is time to wake up‚” shouted Will’s mother above the staircases
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Nirvana song‚ it was driving her up the fucking wall at this point. Standing at the bottom of her stairs‚ she called up. "I’m gonna come up there and throw that damn thing out the window if you don’t stop!" Did her son hear her? Most likely. Did he listen? Not a chance in hell. She mumbled some shit about her ex-husband while walking back towards the kitchen. It was Colin who had bought the The Beats Pill speaker and Lorelai was almost certain he did it just to annoy her — their son was a brat and
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The short story “Who‘s Passing for Who” by Langston Hughes was influenced by Hughes’ background in his society. This racial influenced story exemplifies how people thought of and interacted with those of a different race and those of a similar color. Hughes proves his credibility in writing the piece through his experiences that he endured in his lifetime during the Harlem Renaissance. The life he led was filled with daily racism and discrimination; he experienced much of his subject matter regarding
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He scraped together enough money to merit an in-store greeting and a breathless caress. When was the last time he involuntarily held his breath? The muskrat gave the slightest smile. True‚ he smiled all day long with potential customers‚ but that smile was like smudged carnival face paint. It was full of an alienating effort that meant nothing to anyone. This hat had come to define the inside of the muskrat’s head‚ and his thoughts flared into a psychedelic
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and thinking that it was some killer fish or something so I didn’t really care about the fish anymore and just fed them‚ watch them as I eat breakfast‚ etc. A few weeks later‚ there were only 2 fish left. The black one‚ and the other one (which was a complete blur to me)‚ I forgot about the color. However‚ I could tell you that I was getting really frustrated to the point where I didn’t even care about the fish. I just looked at them and minded my own beeswax. They didn’t look as happy as before
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saw an elderly women struggling with carrying her groceries into her house. She had been hard of hearing‚ so Jim had to repeat himself about three times until she understood what they were saying. She mumbled‚ “Thank you so very much for extending an olive branch to a helpless women like me.” The old woman wound up giving them a little tip for helping her without her asking. Since they are young‚ and have never seen her before they did not respond to her because their parents told them not to speak
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she knew Jerry had no mother‚ and he had no skates‚ she wonderland was pacing back and forth‚ staring at a picture she once took with Jerry up in the snowy cold mountains thinking‚ Why would Jerry lie to her? Didn’t he trust her enough to tell her the truth? In a serious thoughtful moment‚ something came in mind. “ he must of had a reason for him to lie to me”‚ She said. The next day she had cook Jerry’s favorite food. She had set the table with a white tablecloth with a vase of‚ dark orange clusters
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