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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There you are‚ you old goose! I thought you’d be waiting in the bar! To think of you down in these depths‚ it’s unimaginable." Crooned a particularly tall and slender woman‚ with sharp features that Genevíve believed to suit her sharp tongue perfectly. Behind her stalked another woman‚ the meeker of the trio‚ who towered above the two of them like an telephone post to a mail box. "Samantha‚ must you yell? You’ll attract attention!" She spit in a frantic voice‚ trying
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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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character‚ and the one whom the reader sympathizes or in some way identifies with. This character is commonly “the good guy”. Antagonist: Usually the opponent of the main character‚ who in some way prevents or obstructs the protagonists goal in the story. This is often “the bad guy”. Types of characters: Flat: Not much is known about the character. Reader doesn’t usually see this characters thoughts or feelings. Character can be summed up in one or two sentences. Stereotype: a type of flat character
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Five Short Stories Alphonse Daudet The Harvard Classics Shelf of Fiction‚ Vol. XIII‚ Part 4. Selected by Charles William Eliot Copyright © 2001 Bartleby.com‚ Inc. Bibliographic Record Contents Biographical Note Criticisms and Interpretations I. By Henry James II. By George Pellissier 1. The Siege of Berlin 2. The Last Class—The Story of a Little Alsatian 3. The Child Spy 4. The Game of Billiards 5. The Bad Zouave Biographical Note ALPHONSE DAUDET was born at Nîmes in the
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a copy right on the idea‚ however the professors clearly stole his idea. I also would recommend when he consults a new lawyer to seek his/her opinion on this matter‚ perhaps there is a possibility because there was not a copy right yet‚ that a law suit is not a good course of action. As long as Frederick prays about the situation and follows what he believes the Lord is calling him to do with the situation I believe he will do it correctly. John 13:34‚ The Holy Bible‚ King James Version
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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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