Beowulf: Short Story In the beautiful town of Ventaria‚ which is located near the southern- most point of Ireland‚ a once proud colony of people enjoyed the magnificent surroundings and a simplistic life. Brian the Great‚ beloved ruler of the Ventarians‚ had been killed by the evil Filth-Sammich. This vile creature‚ with a crocodile-like build‚ had a head larger than the immense church in the center of the town. When fully-opened‚ the mouth of the Filth-Sammich could open wide enough to fit
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“I disagree with your interpretation of the main idea.” Kim said to Austin as they sat on the cement stair in Austin’s backyard and discussed about their short story analysis work from English class. It was just after rain‚ the sky was still filled with gray clouds‚ but at least the temperature had cooled down a little bit. Kim secretly felt bad for Austin‚ that now he was stuck with her for this “working buddies” thing in English. Why would someone stupidly arrived class late and became my deskmate
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burning‚ fiery pain in my toes. I looked at my toe wincing. We were playing baseball in my friend’s lawn. It was a perfect place to play baseball and we had to move nothing. It had a fence that shaped like an L. “Teams are me‚ Alex‚ Maison‚ and Ben vs. Ryan‚ Conner‚ and Ethan‚” I said walking out to the picture mound. I threw a perfect curve ball which caught the corner of the strike zone. “Strike one‚” Maison calls from the outfield. Next pitch I threw a fastball‚ which Ryan and missed. “Strike
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could shine light in the darkest room and her laugh could get out me of any rut I had perpetually set myself into. From the coldest winter nights where she would sit outside until three in the morning on the phone with me to the time you wrote me poems to cheer me up‚ you were always there for me. Our friendship last one year‚ nine months‚ and seventeen days‚ and through all that time‚ I had never cared for someone as much as I did for you. Even today‚ you are beautiful. I can’t express in amount
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was so young during that time period‚ I had absolutely no idea that my family was homeless. The word homeless comes with such a bad attachment‚ so for a long time I never spoke about it to anyone. But‚ I think it’s important to share your personal story‚ in hopes that another can relate. About three years of my life were spent either in a car or a shelter or once in a while at a family/friends home. Given that‚ I think it would be best to speak only about the first year. Granted that it was the most
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Zichao Huang Mr. Lambert English028 March 17‚ 2015 The Story of an Hour “The Story of an Hour” is about a woman named Mrs. Mallard who is married to a man named Mr. Mallard. Mrs. Mallard does not have a very good heart‚ and she is sick. Something bad has happened‚ and people do not know how to tell her about it. Josephine is her sister‚ and she tells Mrs. Mallard that Mr. Mallard died in a train accident. Richards is Mr. Mallard’s friend‚ and he is there because he knew about the accident. Richards
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BELONGING STORY(2) Coughing violently‚ I passed the glass pipe along to the young man beside me‚ who took a long drag before handing it on the next in the circle. I could feel the foul-tasting smoke tear down my throat and withstood the urge to vomit. The entire room was overflowing with a fetid haze; it grated against the back of my throat as though it were sandpaper. I fought to maintain my composure and appearance of serenity‚ but if anyone looked close enough they would easily be able to distinguish
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Short Story Scrutiny. Scepticism. Shock. It was all too familiar‚ the look on the faces in the room. An aboriginal female in a doctor’s coat. She glanced around the room as she sat down. The dullness of the grey walls seemed to absorb the lost hopes and dreams of the young men around her. The stale oxygen that lingered in the small room was slowly suffocating under the sterile smell of disinfectant. The only glimmer of light was a small corner of a window where the morning sun shimmered through
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very few could manipulate it to their will. The man in this story is me‚ my name is Rayn and I write this story to chronicle my rise to power. My journey started when I was in my mid twenties and our country was at war with a neighboring kingdom. I was a guard for a small village which was ruled by the empire of Luton grod. One day while out on patrol a strange old man was making his way to our village. This is where our story begins. The
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"Yo‚ Wonwoo! Going to Dongho’s party tonight?" One of his friends yelled a few metres away from where he sat. The raven-haired male responded with a gesture before continuing to keep the papers he had sprawled on the cafe’s table‚ successfully completing an assignment before the next class. As he stood up‚ he was met with a couple of other people he knew‚ greeting him and asking to have lunch together the following day. "Sure. I think I’ll be free." Wonwoo replied and the three figures that
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