amazing wonders. Greater than even the Crimson Knights power itself I’m sure." He looked at me and then smiled. "That’s true‚ there has to be something bigger. Bigger‚ than the Crimson Knight. I’ve thought about it since Father started telling us the stories‚" He took a deep breath‚ "But enough of that‚ let’s go meet up with the others shall we?" We walked to the social area. We seen everyone talking‚ so we causally walked up to them. "Tai! You killed it out there‚ that upwards strike really caught him
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Samuel Boorse Professor Mary Dixon ENGL 102-B05 LUO January 30‚ 2011 Thesis Statement for the short story “The Lottery” The title of the story suggests a positive outcome. But upon reading the first couple of paragraphs‚ we see that a different plot is coming together. Outline 1. Many people gathered. a. Three hundred people b. Small town. 2. Children a. Gathering Stones b. Summertime c. Talked of school and teachers 3. Adults gathering
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it controls your actions. Hate ruins your life. It makes you do things you would not otherwise do. It obliterates your happiness‚ and any light you could see. Hate is an awful thing for someone to meet and I wish I never had. I want to tell you the story of how I met hate‚ and how I somehow managed to power through it. It all started a long time ago‚ when I was about six or seven. I lived in North Carolina‚ and I would come visit my family here‚ in South Carolina. I was young‚ so of course‚ I did not
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Have you ever lived the life of a spoiled rich kid? A kid who can get anything he needs or wants at a simple snap of a finger? Taylor grew up a rich kid‚ and is still living the lavish life. Although Taylor can have any exquisite thing he wants‚ he is still having trouble another friend. Don’t get Taylor wrong‚ he does have one friend by the name of Wojak. Wojak is the person Taylor goes to‚ to not feel unaccompanied. Taylor and Wojak’s lives are extremely similar. They both attend the most prestigious
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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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Mute “Deeeeeeeep” The heart minder screamed letting me know that cancer was winning “DOCTOR” I screamed at the top of my lungs. I took one last gazes into my sister’s eyes as the nurse pushed me out the room and all I witness was defeat and surrender. “ Myasia I’m sorry‚ I love you” she battled to pronounce. “ Taj don’t talk like that‚ I’m not letting you go… I can’t” I replied bursting into tears and pushing through the nurse into my sister’s arms . “Myasia listen‚ y-you can never t-talk…”
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The night sky was clouded with a tired haze‚ sending the city into an emotional collapse of anything exciting. Even the typically wild taxi services buzzed with boredom‚ and the street lights sent any bystanders into a mental slumber. With bland weather‚ came bland people‚ who had many things to accomplish while the rest of the city folk were caught in the whirlwind of disinterest. Genevíve Luther was one of those bland people‚ and she indeed had many things to accomplish that evening. Though‚ those
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3 Review of Mark Twain’s “How to Tell A Story”: The American humorous story In “How to Tell a Story” by Mark Twain‚ he attempts to explain how one should tell a “humorous” or funny story. He also goes on about the how an American humorous story differs from a European comic or witty story. Twain explains that when one tells a humorous story‚ the manner in which the story is told is much more important then the actual content. The humorous story is told gravely and the teller does their best to
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Clang! A mountain of falling goblets and dirty silver platters pierces my ear drums and I instantly wake. As the pungent odor of boar wafts through the air and my eye catches a beam of the mid-morning sun‚ I realize that I failed to return from the mead hall. That could prove to be a costly mistake. “This isn’t an inn‚ Cathasach‚” said Judoc‚ my friend‚ the hall’s keeper and‚ fortunately‚ Amoorhi’s finest chef. “Have clemency‚ brother! I am still weary from last evening’s battle against the
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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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