“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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When I awoke‚ I found myself standing upright in a large cave facing a wall of stone‚ which struck me as odd until I remembered the events that had recently transpired. Quickly‚ I shook myself and turned away from the wall to a sight that made me gasp in awe. A line of people extended for what was at least a mile‚ winding their way over to the river that ran between this land and the underworld itself. I joined the queue and waited for my chance to cross the Styx. The second I hopped off the boat
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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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Everything began on that gloomy Sunday afternoon. I remember all the little details about that day like it was yesterday. I was late to my part-time job at The Alienator‚ a small‚ alien themed fast food joint on the corner of 2nd and Main Street. With coffee stains on my shirt‚ my hair a ruffled mess and my shoes on the wrong feet‚ I sprinted down the sidewalk‚ rushing to work. Breathing heavily‚ I was so focused on dodging and slipping past people‚ that I didn’t realize what was happening to my
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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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Susie had slapped Aaron Brooks when he introduced her to the game Mao. It was at one of those dumb house parties that were full of freshman girls and upperclassmen guys. (She was one of the freshman girls‚ and hadn’t learned to avoid them yet.) She’d had three gin-and-tonics and Aaron kept staring at her boobs‚ so she only felt a little sorry about slapping him at the time. (And if he was trying to sleep with her‚ introducing her to an incredibly frustrating card game was the wrong way to go about
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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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straightforwardly. Which‚ she did. However‚ she looked so eager to reply‚ that I could not fathom her enthusiasm about such a dull topic. All my instincts woke up! Her excitement was either a childish act‚ or was triggered by some very pleasant and very real event which must have taken place during the course of the past week’s studies. As for Dame Chaboix‚ encouraged by the girl’s behavior‚ she reiterated her
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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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