doesn’t speak much. I catch his eye and smile politely. He smiles back....an embarrassed/ uncomfortable smile. He’s about to insert needles into my ankle. I sit up‚ facing him. My legs‚ together‚ dangle off the edge of the table. I’m wearing blue shorts. I place my hands on either knee and slowly move my legs apart‚ looking downward with no expression the whole time. Although his eyes widen a little‚ he only looks at me. He moves back one step. With my hands still on either knee‚ I smile at him.
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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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They were not criminals and if they signed the paperwork they were agreeing to be just that. Mother refused to sign as a show of dignity and pride. These attributes are nonmaterial things that the guards could not take away from Lina’s mother. This story is about compassion‚ determination‚ love‚ hope‚ and miracles. I chose compassion because of the shocking ending in which the guard is the one that really helps the prisoners to survive. Even in the face of total hopelessness‚ there are people who still
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to the racist nature of the Europeans who colonized Canada. The main character in the story‚ Big Tom‚ appears physically and mentally worn out by his life. At the beginning of the story‚ the reader gets a sense of bitterness with how he perceives his life. Despite living in poverty‚ he appears to be a caring father. The reader senses Big Tom grappling with his Native identity when he tells his infant son a story: “his voice slid awkwardly through the ageless folktale of his people”. It is as if Big
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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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Chatter. Chatter. Chatter. I heard my mom’s teeth chattering from my room. I walked into the living room to see my mom laying on the couch. Her face was as pale as a ghost. My mom was wrapped in a blanket and still shivering. I’ve never experienced anything like this before. My mom is usually the backbone of my family and she is never sick on the couch like this. I had just started kindergarten when this all unfolded. We had just gotten a new house and my mom had just gotten a new job. She was
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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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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 question at her. An awkward silence fell between us. It was disrupted soon though. I ran helter-skelter to answer the ringing
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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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