In the short story ’’The Raft’’‚ by Betsey Byars‚ the author develops and explains the motivations of the main character Dewey‚ by using various techniques like dialogue‚ flashbacks‚ and imagery. Throughout the story‚ Dewey develops many characteristics like being determinate‚ hard-working‚ prideful‚ and rebellious. Many of this characteristics are developed in the story to explain and show Dewey’s personal gain‚ beliefs‚ and feelings. For instance‚ imagery is used many times by the author to
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‘twas the night before hike-mas. I had begrudgingly agreed to go to bed before 10‚ even though I insisted that I could stay up later and still be okay in the morning. I was all packed. I had packed plenty of water‚ water‚ water‚ and even more water. I had snacks. I had lots of sunscreen on‚ and lots of sunscreen in my backpack‚ although there’s only so much sunscreen can do. I had anxiety about a couple of things. One of those things was my fear of snakes‚ and the other was my fear of heights. I
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Budi is in a hurry. His breath is heavy. Muttering to himself‚ he runs. The path was dark and the evening wind blowing against him‚ giving him a chill. He can hear the sound of crickets echoing through the jungle‚ the wild birds calling each other with eerie tone and leaves brushed by the wind giving off whispers. None of that bothers him. He is on a mission. The situation has taken a turn for the worst. He is out of options. Although common‚ dark arts are not something to be taken lightly. He desperately
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When Rosie was younger she used to play in puddles. “Jump‚ Brock!” Now‚ she sat in a puddle of sand‚ surrounded by the water that crafted a false ground. “That’s dirty water‚ Rosie.” She was trapped there‚ on some sort of island‚ waiting for Union or Veridee to save her. “Oh.” She needed an escape‚ a way to truly get away‚ yet none presented themselves. It was just her. Alone and waiting for night to come and show tell her who died so she’d know who was left. I’m left. Me‚ me...and five others‚ right
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Betrayal of Freedom Here I am again; working for another rich family to do their labour. I hate having no freedom. I have been owned by different rich families ever since I was born. I am now 16‚ 17 in a month‚ I think. I kind of lose track. I never met my parents. They were slaves for other folks so I guess I won’t ever get to meet them. I don’t get jealous of the rich families though. They got no respect; the young spoilt‚ spiteful children treat me like a piece of shit on their shoe. I can’t do
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It was true. Several of the maidens and their families left the compound as soon as the food supply became scarce. Her Master had not been outside of the home in months as his appearance became increasingly unrecognizable—even to her. It made her sad to see the man she’d grown to admire succumb to such an unexplainable illness and tragedies that surpassed human limitations. Ayala always thought that one day she would marry herself a man much like her Master… someone rich‚ handsome‚ and who
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Oh my god." After witnessing his cellphone drop into the magma Alphys finally hung up. She then decide her next choice of action was to look to Undyne for guidance. "T-the phone had a very important function and..and..." Her words quickly deformed into blubbering. "I don’t know‚ wh-wh-what if he dies! I can’t let tha-that happen!" Undyne rubbed Alphys‚ which always calmed both of their nerves. "They’re heading to the newstation‚ right?" Her head bobbled up and down. "So‚" She jumped off the couch
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one for any unfathomable emergency he could face. Mr. Sen wasn’t an alcoholic‚ at least that’s what he kept telling himself after every bottle‚ every single night. One could sympathize with him‚ albeit‚ his career took a toll on his heavy body‚ his short‚ bulky neck‚ tea bags around his eyes‚ displayed every passerby of his nocturnal sleeping habits and late working hours. In almost surreal contrast‚ Zoya stood lavishly beside Mr. Sen; her eternal youthful body with the firmness of a fully grown woman
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Hanging by a thread “Alexa Mackenzie…the name known to all in our neighborhood. You galvanize our denizens that induce a 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
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No one can put a price on being alive. Being held accountable for one’s actions during a life or death situation can put a great deal of pain on to the victim because of something that could have been out of their control. In The Seventh Man‚ a short story by Haruki Murakami‚ a boy loses his best friend in a tragic accident. For years and years afterward‚ he’s wrecked. The boy moves away from his family and grows up‚ but the event follows him as an adult. He never marries because of the night terrors
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