By Ella Ringel The Niagara falls wasn’t always a waterfall‚ I can tell you how it came to be. 500‚000‚000‚000‚000 year ago‚ before the dinosaurs there was something else living on earth‚ animals‚ including ones that we have now and millions more that we don’t have. The day was regular‚ except for in one place‚ there was a big cliff. That cliff was called the the death clif then‚ it was so tall that the animals never went near it after they found out how all it really was. Nobody ever went their
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Summers’ not over till the sun goes down. Trapped in waves that have tormented the minds of younger weary travelers’ since the begging of time‚ they sat pleasurably on the back of a shriveling tree. Click‚ click. Tap. Pause….. “Now that can’t be right.” Shifting through pages upon pages made fox-copper locks fall to Marie’s flushed complexion. She ran her fingers through her hair and she stared quite blankly into the pages in front of her‚ making her scrunched face again. She’s back at it with her
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Auron stood away from the altar. He could only watch his two companions approach it in abject silence. He’d noticed Davon’s change gradually as they made their way back from Morvac. He was emotionless‚ lending only blank‚ uncaring stares as they traversed the wooded areas to the spire. Matthiu was more beside himself. The unending call for the dagger - the way he described it - was the insatiable need told through far-off whispers that slipped like bells tolling. He could see that it had taken
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We were the kind of family that wasn’t for or against hunting. It was just something we did‚ like going to church on Easter and eating watermelon in the summer. String didn’t like to go‚ but Pop made him so they could have their together time. I was lucky being a girl‚ so Pop left me alone to stay home with Mom and Terri. We never did anything special when they were away except maybe stay up late and watch Johnny Carson. Mom got nervous when Pop was gone‚ so she’ll make popcorn and watch TV with
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Bartleby‚ A Story Genuinely About Him The story of Bartleby‚ The Scrivener in my opinion is truly about Bartleby. In the short story the narrator merely talks about himself to give background knowledge to the reader on the life in which Bartleby is about to enter. From the beginning he says “it is fit I make some mention of myself … because some such description is indispensable to an adequate understanding of the chief character”‚ emphasizing that he is merely there to tell the story of Bartleby
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Desiree wanted to believe in every word that Razio spoke. It all sounded to magical‚ a love that could last an eternity. To never be alone ever again‚ and to feel whole for once in her life. "I want to have that‚ to feel that. To be that strong for you." she took a breath and decided there was no other choice. Desiree knew just tossing this all aside and going back to her life would leave her feeling empty. So why not try‚ Desiree would never forgive herself if she didn’t at least do that. She kissed
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Connie didn’t try to escape‚ not because she didn’t want to‚ but because she found she truly couldn’t. Moving her limbs‚ she felt the pull of her skin and muscles as if someone else was moving them and making her leave her home and her family to some unknown place. As she sat in the leathery seat - was it leather? Or was it silk? - she had a passing thought‚ but couldn’t grasp it quickly enough to bring them into words. “Alright‚ Connie baby‚” Arnold Friend said‚ leaning over and invading Connie’s
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Bohannon October 22‚ 2012 Essay: Comparison of Frank O’Connor’s Three Short Stories In the three short stories written by Frank O’Connor‚ he depicts the narrator’s relationship with family similar in his short stories. In all three short stories‚ “My Oedipus Complex”‚ “First Confession”‚ and “Masculine Protest”‚ O’Connor portrays the narrator as a young aged boy whose relationship with each family member has a unique similarity throughout each of these short stories. Frank O’Connor illustrates
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“You’re It!” Low battery. Exactly the two words I didn’t want to see right now. ‘No signal’ blares in bold black letters in the corner of my phone. Soon‚ I will be without any light or time source; I need to find my way out‚ and fast. At the moment‚ playing hide-and-seek with a bunch of Intrepid teenagers‚ in the middle of the night‚ in the woods seemed to be cool… but now‚ not so much. Every now and then‚ I hear faint howls coming from what feels like behind me‚ though‚ in all fairness‚ a few
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Just like M. Scott peck‚ I have seen someone refuse to take responsibility for his own problem. The person is Chris Williams. He’s a goody childish teen‚ who don’t know when to quit playing or lying. The problem was that he had got me and a couple of other friends stuck in Hot springs. He wanted us to go with him so he can meet this girl. She told Chris to come all the way to Hot Springs. He asked his mama if he can go. She said as long as you have a ride back. Now we weren’t around when he ask his
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