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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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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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS The Nice People‚ by Henry Cuyler Bunner‚ is republished from his volume‚ Short Sixes‚ by permission of its publishers‚ Charles Scribner’s Sons. The Buller-Podington Compact‚ by Frank Richard Stockton‚ is from his volume‚ Afield and Afloat‚ and is republished by permission of Charles Scribner’s Sons. _Colonel Starbottle for the Plaintiff_‚ by Bret Harte‚ is from the collection of his stories entitled Openings in the Old Trail‚ and is republished by permission of the Houghton Mifflin
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It might have been five or six‚ and we were much closer to the top of the mountain than the bottom. I turned a corner‚ eyes set dead ahead to avoid acknowledging the rather large disparity in height between myself and sea level. I looked down and to the left. There was a
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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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Odysseus and his tired men land upon a barren island‚ surrounded by crystal waters. They anchored their ship and shuffled off‚ in weary silence. The island was only a raised chunk of smooth white rock‚ with an igloo shaped cave. “We have learned our lesson with Polyphemus‚ we must stay clear of that cave.” Shouted Odysseus. Some men agreed with him‚ but others muttered in disagreement. They group decided to settle down for the night‚ as they longed to sleep on solid land once again‚ even for just
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He’d never felt so alive. The dance studio that he’d spent most of his time in as a wide eyed five year old in his first pair of tap shoes was akin to his home. In fact‚ it felt more like home than his actual home‚ where his dad often teased him about his ’prancing around the stage like a bloody pony’ but he knew that his dad preferred him doing this - his passion - than on the streets at ten o’clock at night smoking glue or sniffing weed. He’d never try those. For one‚ his mother would probably
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because they could not even see their hands as it was so dark‚ taking each step with care otherwise it could be their last. The rain pummeled them against the cliff face‚ it made the journey even worse as they were fleeing from the Black Sould. Not even five foot from them‚ lightning struck the ground leaving a black patch of ash from where it disintegrated the surrounding brush‚ thunder split the atmosphere in two causing the unsteady rocks above to lose balance and come crashing down narrowly missing
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with blue roofs but still manages to look dark and mysterious and has an eerie feel surrounding it. It is long and on half of it is about 10 floors high with little towers coming out above the main roof‚ the other half is lower down‚ only about 5 stories high‚ with a large watch tower in the middle of that section. It houses my aunt‚ uncle and their daughter‚ my cousin and a few other families. For the last few days I’ve been walking to their estate as I am moving there to live with them because my
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