The man’s mouth was set into a creased frown, his eyes lingering over the state of degradation the room had succumbed to. The walls were dark and ashen, the faded green wallpaper peeling off from where it still remained plastered over the cracked wood underneath. There were planks lost here and there among the floor—a perfect trap for the unsuspecting—and no amount of cheep, dirty rug made from polyester that attempted to falsify something akin to fur could provide redemption for it. Dust was rampant in every crook and cranny, which his nose had noticed at once with an insatiable tingle that he couldn’t simply sneeze out. The bed was tacky and plain; a white, yellow-stained mattress without a bed stand, covered by a gray, fumbled sheets and a single, white pillow. The only form of light was a halfway melted candle in a glass jar and a small, cracked window in the corner of the room that was smudged with something indecent. “Honestly, Mr. Miles. Couldn’t you pick your victims is a more decent abode?” the man inquired sourly as he pulled a pair of white, plastic gloves and slipped them on. He shook his head as he opened up his jacket to reveal an array of tools attached to the inside; an unusual mixture of cutting tools that would belong to a surgeon and then cleaning utilities that were better fit to a janitor’s toolbox. “Put a sock in it, Robert. S’not my fault the broad can’t afford a better place than a rundown apartment shack,” the man’s companion rumbled hoarsely, black eyes gazing over the prone form before him. With a scowl he spat on the body’s bloodied form, nearly mangled beyond recognition. “Is that really necessary? I already have enough work getting rid of your tools and fingerprints, but now you a... ... middle of paper ... ...ll kinds of fury. Robert gazed at the man before him, eyes empty now, “Yes, we are.” The door burst open and a flood of men cloaked in black and blue poured in, guns armed and ready as they charged and tackled the culprit to the floor. He did not resist, allowing them to bind his arms behind his back roughly and chain them with cuffs. A pair of shined boots came to stand in front of him and he looked up into the cold, but victorious gaze of the Sheriff himself. “Robert Miles, you are under arrest for the murders of twenty people, men and woman,” the officer hissed, and the grimy, thin man, his clothes stained with blood, was hauled to his feet and dragged from the room. If anyone had expected resistance, they would have been surprised to find the man willingly walked with them, and even more so would have been the complacent smile on the man’s bearded mug.
Anders had conceived his own towering hatred of the teller, but he immediately turned it on the presumptuous crybaby in front of him. “Damned unfair,” he said. “tragic, really. If they’re not chopping off the wrong leg, or bombing your ancestral village, they’re closing their positions.”
The captain of the local guardsmen stood near the chained child and took a deep breath. "Citizens and guests of Eir Village!" he yelled as if he was going to announce his proudest achievement. "This runt has plagued us for years. One of the Cursed Generation denied by the gods and blessed by demons. He has committed a numerous amount of crimes within the past twenty-four hours: Theft and vandalism are among the minor occurrences," he glared at the boy. "He has eluded us for too long and now, he's here because of murder."
Dill finally reached the second floor, after numerous pauses to look behind him upon hearing suspicious noises. The upper floor had only one room: the bedroom. On one side of the room was a fireplace, dusty photographs on the dusty mantle. The floral wallpaper peeled from the walls exposing the water damage underneath. The bed was carelessly pushed to the side of the room leaving only a woollen rug in the middle. Dill scanned the room before stiffening. In the corner of the bedroom, on a wooden chair sat something…or rather someone.
In 2009 Chimamanda Adichie gave a TED talk about the ‘danger of a single story’. A single story meaning, one thought or one example of a person becoming what we think about all people that fit that description, a stereotype if you will. In today’s America, I believe that we have all felt the wave of stereotypical views at some point or another. Adichie gives many relatable examples throughout her life of how she has been affected by the single story. Her story brings about an issue that all humans, from every inch of the earth, have come to understand on some level. A young child reading only foreign books, a domestic helper that she only perceived as poor. Her college roommates single story about Africans and her own formation of a single
“Gimme that bag!” The officer continued, ripping Melanie's brand new bag from her shoulder. “Well….well…..well… look what we have here!” The officer laughed as he pulled a sharp, blood red knife from Melanie's bag!
“She grieved over the shabbiness of her apartment, the dinginess of the walls, the worn-out appearance of the chairs, the ugliness of the draperies. All these things, which another woman of her class would not even have noticed, gnawed at her and made her furious.”
“Prodigy” is an exciting post apocalyptic science fiction novel written by Marie Lu. It is told by the two protagonists, Day and June. They attempt to discover the truth about the rebels they are working with, and The Republic. The Republic is their main form of government who killed both of Day and June’s families. They find that the leader of the patriots, and the antagonist of “Prodigy” is planning to become the Elector; the main leader of The Republic. Day and June travel throughout the plague swept Vegas, and the flooded west coast seeking safety from the wars. Marie Lu has written a wonderful 347 page novel filled with courageous characters, who must face many dangerous obstacles. The reader will be astonished by the resolution of the book, and will be left with a powerful theme.
As I walked down the corridor I noticed a man lying in a hospital bed with only a television, two dressers, and a single window looking out at nothing cluttering his room. Depression overwhelmed me as I stared at the man laying on his bed, wearing a hospital gown stained by failed attempts to feed himself and watching a television that was not on. The fragments of an existence of a life once active and full of conviction and youth, now laid immovable in a state of unconsciousness. He was unaffected by my presence and remained in his stupor, despondently watching the blank screen. The solitude I felt by merely observing the occupants of the home forced me to recognize the mentality of our culture, out with the old and in with the new.
The police officers escorted the seventeen men into cars and took them to the county jail, but on the way they were halted by a group of armed men, which called themselves “Knights of Liberty”. Knights of Liberty took the seventeen men out of the car and tied them to the tree. As Ellsworth reports, “They were wiped on their back and then hot tar and feathers were then applied to the bloodied backs of the seventeen men” (30).
He is escorted down to a room with handcuffs on both arms and feet. The tension in the room causes nervousness and a stirring in his stomach, which entombs his dinner from the night before. He is told to take a seat. Still in doubt of his fate he notices the witnesses and their various expressions. His family is grief-stricken, a sharp contrast to the family of the brutally murdered, for which he was found guilty of. If only they knew what he knew; for they would not be strapping him into the chair, soaking a sponge, and placing it on top of his head along with the metal skullcap. If they knew the truth there would be someone in his place today. But alas, the truth dies along with the innocent.
During this semester the class studied three novels. The first, killing Mr.Griffin, was about five students who prank kidnap their English teacher which results in unexpected consequences the Second, Go Ask Alice, was about was about an emotional, distressed adolescents girl who experiences an emotional downward spiral which eventually leads to her death. Finally, One Way is about an adolescents boy entangled in legal problems as a result of an unfortunate accident with his "ex" girlfriend. The main theme of all three novels is conflict. This essay will examine conflict in terms of man vs himself, man vs man and finally man vs nature.
There are many people who believe and consider that creativity is affected by culture, the way that ideas, how concepts are introduced, and developed into a reality. In today’s market, creativity is linked to innovation, which is an appreciated and sought after skill to have in todays changing world. I agree with this statement and declaration with four reasons. The first reason is if we did not let people think of ways to be improve items, then we would not be currently in a place in society with the advancement of technology and new ideas that come out everyday from the people of the world. Secondly, the believed notion that “More Energy is equaled to Better Moods”, which is appropriately true about how creativity is affected by culture. Another reason why creativity is affected by culture is allowing the possibilities and opportunities created by creative minds of our culture. The final reason why creativity is affected by culture is one learns persistence and dedication from the journey they take to be unique and creative; while they create and find new answers that they never knew before using creativity to
Similarly, the furniture in the house is as sullen as the house itself. What little furniture is in the house is beaten-up; this is a symbol of the dark setting. The oak bed is the most important p...
Since we are born we have imagination and as we grow up this imagination may increase or decrease. Creativity strongly relies in our imagination. Depending on different circumstances people learn to express their creativity openly while other people close themselves and believe they do not have creativity. Creativity is a natural talent that every single human has. Creativity can be used to solve a complex problem in a different manner or just to find innovative ways to have fun. Creativity is thinking out of the box. Even though creativity cannot be taught from scratch there should be a class that is specific for creativity.
Everybody; old and young have active an imagination, but we all express it differently than others. For me I express my imagination with my artwork. For example; when I was younger I watched a lot of cartoons just like any other kid. My favorite cartoon at the time was He-Man. I loved the show so much that I frequently dreamt and imagined of being strong like him, but I knew it could not be possible so instead of dreaming, I drew up an entire comic book of myself being a super strong super hero just like He-Man all thanks to my vivid imagination and artistic ability. I’m sure I’m not the only one who has done something similar.