9/11 I was late again. I remember rising from my slumber with great regret and ordering my zombiefied body to make its way toward the bathroom. I hated my job‚ it’s not like I was important just an assistant‚ running around being everyone’s slave and taking orders. And what made it worst.. It was my first day at this new job in the north tower of the world trade centre. The time was half eight when I finally managed to start making my way towards the tower. I had to scurry though large crowds of
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The theme for Halima Bashir’s story Tears of the Desert : Survival in Darfur is “How are we shaped by society?”‚ society does not shape us‚ or who we are what so ever‚ I will prove this by using real life event s from this story. Firstly‚ in the story Halima belongs to a culture called Zagawha‚ they live in a small village in Darfur where everyone knows about everything‚ everyone follows the same rules. Halima despite what the society of her culture says goes to school in a Arab village where they
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When people try to describe O. Henry’s writing style‚ they always use the term “smile with tears‚” which implies his twisted way of thoughts and endings about every story. These stories usually end in a humorous but also cruel kind of way. It’s absolutely useful to elevate the artistic thought in writing a thoughtful story. To better understand the brilliant plots of his twisted endings let us begin with one of his most famous stories‚ The Cop and the Anthem1. In this story‚ the main character
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my mind for a never ending period of time. That night was not the same as the rest of the days in my life. Instead of going to bed‚ that night I was standing in the middle of the road‚ in complete terror. My heartbeat was accelerating with fear and tears were rolling down my cheeks as I saw Emily taken away by the ambulance. The house‚ which I was standing in front of‚ was burning as fire engulfed it from all sides. There was fire everywhere. The roof was on fire‚ the doors and the windows
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On August 15‚ 2007‚ my older brother‚ Lucas‚ suggested we go to the corncrib. I agreed and we walked across the farm to flip the lock and open the large white doors. I followed him inside‚ and hence there being no windows on the lower level‚ it took my eyes awhile to adjust to the darkness. I heard Luke’s voice somewhere to my left‚ and glanced over my shoulder to vaguely see him climbing up a ladder. Having never been inside the corncrib before‚ I blindly followed him. My eyes stung as they adjusted
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Meow. I hear an imaginary cry. Meow. There she goes again. I wish she were real‚ and that other people could hear her too. Meow. Are you hungry? Thirsty? Lonely? It could be anything‚ but really‚ I have the power to decide what she is feeling. If she was hungry‚ I could pretend to give her some fish. If she was thirsty‚ I could pretend to give her a bowl of milk. It’s all pretend. It had to be. After all‚ I didn’t have the responsibility for it to be real back then. But still‚ I carried
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What need you‚ being come to sense‚ But fumble in a greasy till And add the halfpence to the pence And prayer to shivering prayer‚ until You have dried the marrow from the bone; For men were born to pray and save; Romantic Ireland’s dead and gone‚ It’s with O’Leary in the grave. Yet they were of a different kind‚ The names that stilled your childish play‚ They have gone about the world like wind‚ But little time had they to pray For whom the hangman’s rope was spun‚ And what‚ God help
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Frozen Tears: Psychodrama in the Resolution of Trauma and Grief By Tian Dayton PhD‚ TEP “The deepest pain has no words‚” echoes the ancient Chinese proverb. Today’s trauma theorists‚ it would seem‚ agree. Time stands still and so do we when something frightening is happening that doesn’t fit into our framework for “normal.” We freeze like a deer in the headlights- locked in a trauma response that was coded into us from the beginning of survival‚ from the earliest development of the human brain
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Isabel and Joe were in the restaurant since Isabel wept on that afternoon because Joe desired her but they were poor and could not marry. The reason was that they both had miserable jobs‚ the futile night studies and Joe’s sick parents. Joe worked as a clerk in publishing house and received meager salary‚ which he spent to his sick parents while Isabel was as assistant librarian to Mrs. Suntay‚ in a small children library. They first met when theirs a show in the library where Joe appeared selling
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My Additional Chapter “Are you done yet?” asked Machine Lady‚ in an unprofessional manner. Her eyes were glaring at Sade and Femi and it looked as if Machine Lady was going to swallow them up if they didn’t move any minute. Although Sade was startled inside‚ she tried her best not to show it. It was clear that Machine Lady was waiting for an answer. Sade cleared her throat and tried to make a sound. No sound came out. She tried again‚ giving more of an effort to do so. A sound came out and Machine
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