Hanging by a thread “Alexa Mackenzie…the name known to all in our neighborhood. You galvanize our denizens that induce a jealousy in my heart‚ you bees knees! “Good Bellings finally assented after denying the same point for weeks in utter envy. I placed the teacup after drinking the rest of it. “I have been singing your praises and there you are decoding an antiquated Latin text!” She hollered. “Bell‚ you comprehend the fact that I detest being showered with praises‚ don’t you?” I threw a rhetorical
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This is a story about loss‚ about being different‚ and about the world’s many evils. This story will fable heroes who learn to summon unwavering courage in times of unimaginable adversity. This is a story about sacrifice and the willingness to oppose bitterness and hatred in honor of the greater good. This story will highlight the devastation that corrupt governments leave in their wake. The characters in this story will undergo tests‚ trials‚ and imperfections that may seem large scale‚ but ultimately
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Winchell nervously looks at the clock on the wall‚ which is directly in front of him‚ peers through the glass panel at his left into the engineer´s booth‚ and then glances around the room. It is thirty seconds to nine. A studio visitor‚ seated in one of the four chairs alongside the wall‚ coughs‚ and Winchell looks up anxiously‚ He reaches for the water pitcher‚ fills a paper cup‚ and takes a quick swallow. The buzzer sounds on the keyboard in front of the announcer as the engineer signals fifteen
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the ground‚’ Nero observes to SH as they are being bundled ever further down a winding tunnel. From somewhere the MC’s voice‚ ‘Look‚ we wanted some razz-matazz out there tonight‚ but things are not really working out. You’ve at least discovered that Story Hunter is not dead meat.’ With frustration shining through in voice SH complains‚ ‘Yeah‚ it is all well and good to have found me‚ but now we have lost Buiteboer to the netherworld‚ it seems.’ The MC sounds unconcerned about Buiteboer’s whereabouts
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pinkish-red one said calmly. “A bear?!” the tall‚ thin one and short round purple gems shouted in unison. “What if it hurts us? What if it hurts Steven?!” the thin one shouted back. Again with the steven? Whats up with him? Is he special or something? Soda thought. The branch that soda was on started to crack more. She tried with all her might to not let it fall‚ she even used her powers to attempt to hold it up; but alas‚ her trying cut short‚ and she fell to the ground. Fast. “ACK!” The blue gem shouted
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following structure to help you. Introduction • This should briefly explain a bit about Maupassant and the Gothic genre; you could comment on whether you think events in Maupassant’s life influenced his work. • Briefly introduce the story. Main Body of the Essay: • The preparation questions you did should provide a good starting point‚ remember you are focussing on how the language creates atmosphere and tension. • There should be lots of P.E.E. paragraphs here‚
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Prince Nathanael‚ accompany by his lovely betrothed and her family‚ sashay through the throng of people to his father and uncle. Kathrynne rises from her chair‚ spying on his every move. She eavesdrops on the conversation he is now having with members of the King’s council from the food table: “I hope this signifies my allegiance to you all‚” Nathanael speaks‚ “and when the time comes‚ you’ll demonstrate your loyalty to me.” “You’ll make a fine King‚” one says with the others agreeing. “You have
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I believe that if I set my mind to something I can do it. Anyone can do this. Just setting your mind to something and going through with the comment to that‚ you can do anything. My story starts out with how I learned how to Juggle. Friday night it was 4th Friday for businesses downtown. My store which is The Red Peppermint had a juggler come to help bring in customers. We were slammed! Thanks Mr. Juggler! When he was there he asked us if we knew how to juggle. All three of us said “no”. So he
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Loss is often sudden and painful‚ like a kick to the gut‚ but the pain eventually fades leaving you with only a memory of the past. Sometimes‚ though‚ it is not a kick. It is a rusty razor gash that opens up your belly leaving you desperately trying to stuff slippery innards back into a yawning wound. Even when it heals there remains a jagged scar and a dull ache as lingering reminders of what has been lost. I once counted Professor Gregor Szaranev as a close friend. I suppose I still do even though
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an enemy and did not hate him but went ahead to kill him with a grenade. If somebody is not an enemy then he should be a friend‚ if it was not a matter of life and death why kill him? We are forced by the laws we obey to disobey our own will. The story “Ambush” tells us about a soldier in war who never wanted to kill but did it anyway because he was obliged to do so. “There were no thoughts about
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