“Hills Like White Elephants” calls to mind the “A Game of Chess” section of T. S. Eliot’s The Waste Land (1922); like Eliot’s masterpiece‚ Hemingway’s story deals with the sterility and vacuity of the modern world. The boredom of the man and the desperation of the girl reveal the emptiness of the postwar generation and the crucial necessity of taking responsibility for the quality of one’s own life. Hemingway’s characters seem to live in a world without a God‚ without traditions or clear and established
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wishes with revising your paper! Hi‚ Gregory! I am Kobe F.‚ and I am happy to read and comment on your work today. I like your choice of Jimmy Cross for your discussion because he suffers the most important conflict between desire and duty in O’Brien’s story. Below I suggest some improvements to your thesis statement‚ conclusion‚ and comma use to help you enhance your paper. The ERF and embedded comments include the draft being on topic and grammatically correct as in “Help Requested.” So here we go!
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What makes a good scary story? A good scary story is only good if it’s based on something that happened in reality and could happen to anybody. My story is something similar to that. Now that I look back at it‚ maybe it was just the sugar rush I had from the Surge soft drink. It had my blood pumping and my heart beat was racing. I haven’t been back to those woods since that day; however‚ there was still a part of me that wondered if what I saw was there in reality and not just my imagination. Either
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A Home on the Other Side of the Mirror “Dillon‚ it’s time to go!” His father yelled from his car. His room was the only place left he could think. But maybe that was a good thing. He carried his suitcase downstairs‚ each step seeming like an inch closer to rock bottom. The door slams behind him‚ leaving the sounds of anger to echo throughout the house in despair that his mother might be listening and come running after him. She was gone now though. It had been only a few days since his mother
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The Little Mule that Could “Clip‚ clop‚ clip‚ clop‚ such a reassuring sound”‚ Jenny thought as she pulled the plow through Mr. Dawkins’ fields. Jenny could feel the soil beneath her hooves‚ and the steady beat of her lively heart. Behind her was Dave‚ the small black boy‚ who was tasked to lead Jenny through the fields. But she already knew the way; she had done it‚ day in and day out‚ for as long as she could remember. From the time she was a little mule‚ she remembered her parents had done this
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FIVE ELEMENTS OF A SHORT STORY Plot -it is the sequence or flow of the events in a short story that would help develop the author’s idea. There are five elements of plot structure-- introduction‚ rising action‚ climax‚ falling action‚ and denouement. Character -considered as being one of the most important factor to a good short story‚ the characters are sentient beings who carry out the actions of the story. Setting -the when and where in which the story takes place. Authors often
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When He Came Back Sasha Boswell He had spent my whole life avoiding me‚ leaving my mother and I to look after ourselves‚ no help‚ no calls‚ no child support‚ not even one single letter just to say hi. The day he called was when my world had changed. I would finally meet him‚ the man from the small photo propped up against the brick wall above the fireplace. My curtains were wide open and the sunlight filtered in‚ creating little dust beams as mum liked to call them. The big oak tree by my window
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STORY OF MAYKAPAL In the beginning‚ the sky was very low; it was possible to touch it with a long bamboo pole. Because of this proximity‚ everything on earth was burnt by the intense heat of the sun. The rivers and the seas were boiling tremendously. Then suddenly from nowhere‚ a huge man appeared on earth. This enormous being was called Maykapal. Some of the ancient Tagalogs‚ said that Maykapal was the Lord of the universe who came down to earth to correct some mistakes in his work. However
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A Lost Hope The lights appeared out of the darkness. I heard a soft voice talking to me as my eyes slowly opened and everything was blurred. My eyes adjusted I found I wasn’t at home in my own comfy bed but a horrible hospital trolley. My mom was sitting on a chair beside me her hand in mine and her eyes filled with tears I could tell she had been crying. It had happened again I thought to myself‚ I had collapsed for no reason. My mom explained to me why this was happening and a sharp pain shot
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She stepped slowly from the doorframe‚ letting the light touch her old and faded face as if it were the sun that was to appreciate her presence. She hardly went on walks when I was around. She’d always just stay in and moan about it being too bright. I definitely remembered this old hag. And if you think ’old hag’ was a bit of a harsh term‚ I am more than willing to argue. Despite her frail appearance and gentle expression‚ I know what truly lied behind the facet of wrinkles. Stubborn and headstrong
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