Game of Chess” section of T. S. Eliot’s The Waste Land (1922); like Eliot’s masterpiece‚ Hemingway’s story deals with the sterility and vacuity of the modern world. The boredom of the man and the desperation of the girl reveal the emptiness of the postwar generation and the crucial necessity of taking responsibility for the quality of one’s own life. Hemingway’s characters seem to live in a world without a God‚ without traditions or clear and established values; they are‚ in Jean-Paul Sartre’s words
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The rattle of machine gun fire filled the air as the raiders hid behind a heavy steel desk. Sparks fell on Pierce’s head as bullets hit the desktop and walls. When the clicking of empty mags sounded‚ the raiders opened fire at the vault guards. As the last guard fell‚ Pierce and his comrades went deeper into Vault 408. On the way the raiders picked up supplies‚ guns‚ and valuables. Once the cryo room was reached‚ a scarred man with a brown mohawk began directing the raiders. The man‚ Rik‚ was the
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bond maybe. Polluted‚ that word struck my head‚ what can it be? Thinking as I was strolling through the corridor until I approached a steel door called stage 3 with a sign saying “no entrance” hanging on. Thoughtlessly I sneak inside and start wandering with anxiety looking at all of these tubes‚ hearing some murmuring here and there. A hand pulls me to the side behind a set of tubes. “shhh‚ don’t say a single word” this old man puts his hand on my mouth. He takes me into this small chamber
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was going to find him. That very instant‚ a wonderful idea popped up in his head. “Why don’t I ask granny‚ since she was the last one who saw him?” Dashing across the living room‚ he finally arrived in the kitchen. Granny was living in her own world of work. Oblivious to the surrounding‚ she carried on washing the dishes for lunch. She was about 70 years of age and had loose flesh hanging from her hands‚ together with a pair of 1960 spectacles. Whistling‚ he finally caught her
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One by one‚ the raindrops fell onto my head as I looked out onto the front yard‚ eagerly waiting for the postman to make his delivery. Feeling my hair drenched and frizzing up didn’t make me flinch as it usually did. There was only one thing that could summon that feeling. In the distance I could start to hear the grumble of the postman’s bike. As my ears twitched to the nearing of the roaring sound‚ I immediately got up off the veranda and paced towards the front gate. It was only a minute later
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Yashu Vuruputoor Ms. Keys English 10 Period 3 6 September 2011 Inside My Room Great‚ I got practically down-graded! I thought as I crumpled my clothes savagely and flung them into a cardboard box. I was packing to move into my closet-size new bedroom on the other side of the house. My grandparents would be partying in my actual room for months. I had pictured my fantasy bedroom a million times before… A large bay window peeked into the fresh lawn outside and right in the middle of it sat an
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My telephone rang and a shiver went down my spine. I knew who was calling and why they were calling. I slowly walked towards the phone‚ trying to walk slowly enough so by the time I get there the caller would hang up. But soon enough I founded myself next to the phone‚ because the room didn’t go on for ever. My hand reached out to grab the ringing phone and putted it next to my ear. I heard someone speaking to me through the phone and he said ‘hello’. I quickly answered him back with a shaky voice
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"...the pain of saying goodbye and moving on." Write a short story inspired by the above phrase. Bright lights. Clean walls. Clean floors. Pale uniforms. People rushing back and forth through the corridors. That nauseating smell that lingers in your nostrils for hours after you leave. Blood slipped down the left side of his face‚ dripping off his chin‚ slowly forming a tiny puddle between his legs. His hair was a mess‚ his clothes soaked - ragged in places where the medics had cut them to check
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Hotchkiss Intro to Literature Short Story Analysis Paper October 5‚ 2009 “How to Tell a True War Story” I found “How to Tell a True War Story” the most interesting short story we have read so far. Why? Because the story is true and so very real. The story paints such a vivid picture of war and what effects it has on the many men involved. The people are real people‚ the events are real events‚ and the story is a real story. It really drives home the point because war is such a big part of life
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friend Paandu were sailing on the coast of Vancouver. Nabarun and Paandu had come from India and had been best friends for 10 years; they had big dreams of travelling the world together because Nabarun was a pirate and owned his own sail boat which made it easier for them to travel and see family on the other side of the world. They had set out an adventure along with their pets‚ Nabarun’s parrot Denver and Paandu’s cat Jane. It was the 5th day traveling and they would take breaks from driving
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