“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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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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Power One theme among five stories included in chapter eleven was the power struggle between characters‚ either within themselves or among other characters. Power is somewhat of an elusive concept in which it can take many forms. The characters within this chapter exhibit a wide spectrum of power including the power achieved through independence and feelings of empowerment‚ the corruption that may coincide in great power‚ or the illusion of power. In the first story‚ titled Sweat‚ the character
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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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In Control In my sophomore year of high school‚ I remember a particular speech I had to deliver in my English class. It was just like any other‚ honestly. But this one‚ this specific one‚ gave me the greatest trouble. My irrational fear of public speaking consumed me and turned me against myself. I remember the mindset that I had for most of my sophomore year: me vs. them. That was how high school was. It was every man for himself. But never would I have ever thought that I was my own biggest obstacle
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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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It was one of the more curious things about Humanity‚ our reluctance to allow others see us cry. It could be said that it was a form of defense‚ of never letting one know your weakness‚ and perhaps there was some truth to that. After all‚ hadn’t Humanity kept the Deadly Races at bay for a time by pretending to be strong? That day‚ however‚ Intrepidus was not able to hide his weakness by refusing to go home a mess. There was a shadow he had failed to realize did not have a place in this cavern any
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Avilio‚ being the serial pick pocket he is‚ manages to get the pair enough money to stay in a dinky inn on their way to the next town. The building is a sad sight‚ being nothing more than shabby wooden planks being held together by faith and strong glue. Nero is thoroughly convinced that if he sneezes hard enough‚ the building would collapse on its own. “We’d like to stay for a night. Two if possible.” An old lady with no teeth stands at the counter with a black cat on her shoulder. The cat hisses
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