Story Within A Story
As her eyes opened, it seemed as if all the light had been restored in the world. She was alive, however, all the unforgettable memories and secrets she had once had, disappeared, leaving only a blank space. Her mind echoed with restless thoughts. Where do I go? Where am I? Who am I? Her past was like a blurred dream, and nothing was clear anymore. She had forgotten everything, and remembered nothing. The machines around her were beeping continuously as a man and a woman stared at her, a young, scared girl, hidden under the blankets of her hospital bed.
"Is she OK?"
"She 's alive, but I am afraid that 's the only good news I have for you."
"What happened?"
"After her near escape, she hit her head pretty badly. I am
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Everything was burnt, dead. The girl woke up after blinking several times, and stood up. Her wavy, tangled, chestnut hair cascaded over her shoulders, and her crystal-clear eyes were as blue and iridescent as the ocean. She walked across the dirt and dead leaves that lay on the ground. After walking across the wilderness, she came across an abandoned house. It looked alone, and empty, like there had been decades since footsteps echoed through the hallways. The only light that was able to find a way in was through a cracked window. The girl walked up the steps, the door creaked open. The house itself was small, only one story. As she walked in a cobweb brushed against her face, and she screamed. As she walked in there was a large living room. There was a large red carpet spread on the hardwood floor, and tan leather couches. A large glass chandelier, and old photographs covered the walls. The girl walked towards one specific photograph in a gold, engraved frame. It sat on a table between the two couches. The picture was of a family, most likely the one that previously lived in the abandoned house. There was a young girl, around 5, with short blonde hair. She was with her mother and father. The girl stared at the photograph. What happened to them? The girl continues exploring. As she walked, the floor boards creaked. The house had two other rooms. One was the parents bedroom, and had a large bed, and a huge walk-in closet. The other was a child’s room. It had a small bed pushed up against the wall. Next to the bed was a nightstand, covered in a layer of dust. On the floor in front of the nightstand was a scratched porcelain doll. There was a window with pink curtains hung open. On the left side of the room was a small desk with a large engraved mirror. The girl walked outside the house. Then she noticed something, a large stone hidden under vines. She pushed away the branches and leaves. It
Filban said the home had a yard that was overgrown. “The trees and bushes were overgrown, and the house was dark,” Filban said. “And the windows were covered.” She and her sister slept in the front bedroom of the house. She remembers the bedroom having a large, floor-to-ceiling window. She said you could look out and see the wra...
She picked a seat in the way back, away from all the people. She silently stared out the window making a quiet list inside her head of all the things she had forgotten and all the people she remembered. Tears silently slid down her face as she remembered her aunt crying and cousins afraid of the dark in their house. She couldn’t do it anymore. It was the best for everyone she thought. Deep down though she knew how hard it would be for everyone to find out she was leaving. From her family’s tears, to the lady in the grocery store who was always so kind and remembered her name. She also knew how
I walked into the room on New Year’s Day and felt a sudden twinge of fear. My eyes already hurt from the tears I had shed and those tears would not stop even then the last viewing before we had to leave. She lay quietly on the bed with her face as void of emotion as a sheet of paper without the writing. Slowly, I approached the cold lifeless form that was once my mother and gave her a goodbye kiss.
Glennon, owner of a police training seminar says, “[police] don’t train nearly adequately enough - or sometimes even in the right ways” (Glennon 6). Although Glennon proceeds to claim that “officer use of force has been low for many years,” his statement about police training is not one to be shrugged off (Glennon 6). Even though Glennon may believe that despite officers not training enough they still know how to use force correctly in a variety of situations, common sense and mounting evidence says otherwise. According to Ronal Serpas, former New Orleans police chief, in an interview with Juleyka Lantigua-Williams of the Atlantic, “there are millions of encounters between police and civilians every year, and that, [...] is where training can make an enormous difference.” If police are trained to see their role as “guarding the community, not defeating enemies” as Seth Stoughton, a law professor at the University of South Carolina School of Law and former city police officer and state investigator, says, then police would be less inclined to use force, lowering the rates of excessive use of force as well. If we improve the police training system then police will be more confident in their knowledge about when it is and is not appropriate to use force. They will also be more prepared to face challenges in the field and to resolve them in
Every day law enforcement officials are faced with the possibility of being assaulted or killed while in the line of duty and when off duty. Officers are faced with the harsh reality that today may be their last day alive. This leads to a rush of adrenaline when responding to crimes or when they encounter various situations. Often this rush of adrenaline can cloud an officer’s judgment. Officers are then faced with the possibility of being accused of excessive force. Citizens often call an officers use of excessive force “police brutality” (Petrowski, 2005). Citizen’s opinion of law enforcement has often been linked to the media’s tactics of displaying officers using what appears to be excessive force during an arrest. This typically leads to citizens becoming outraged and creates an issue for the force. The question then arises as to what exactly is excessive force? While many citizens may characterize force as excessive, the law reflects the realities that officer’s face in making decisions to use force (Petrowski, 2005). Each complaint of excessive force has to be examined and a decision made based on the evidence and circumstances surrounding the case. It is the agency’s duty to gain control of police officers use of force in order
Under some difficult situations, police officers would have to make quick decisions based on the assumptions from their past experience and historical crime data. The conservative supporters believed that police officers were not engaging in racial profiling, but merely focusing on the race with high crime rates. For the case of George Zimmerman, supporters pointed out that “Trayvon was not killed because he was black. He was shot in self-defense because he repeatedly punched and smashed Mr. Zimmerman’s head on the pavement” (Kuhner). These cases regarding police brutality and racial profiling have made the front page of many news articles and news channels. However, the conflict between the left wing and right extended when the Ferguson case
In “The Truth about Stories”, Thomas King, demonstrate connection between the Native storytelling and the authentic world. He examines various themes in the stories such as; oppression, racism, identity and discrimination. He uses the creational stories and implies in to the world today and points out the racism and identity issues the Native people went through and are going through. The surroundings shape individuals’ life and a story plays vital roles. How one tells a story has huge impact on the listeners and readers. King uses sarcastic tone as he tells the current stories of Native people and his experiences. He points out to the events and incidents such as the government apologizing for the colonialism, however, words remains as they are and are not exchanged for actions. King continuously alerts the reader about taking actions towards change as people tend to be ignorant of what is going around them. At the end people give a simple reason that they were not aware of it. Thus, the author constantly reminds the readers that now they are aware of the issue so they do not have any reason to be ignorant.
“The soul-caller in Lia’s healing ceremony, began to chant, “Where are you? Where have you gone? . . . Come home to your house. Come home to your mother . . . Come home. Come home. Come home.” Ironically and tragically, Lia would never come home, because her brain had been lost forever.
The purpose of the speech provided by Chimamanda Adichie is to portray the various impacts a single story can have on both an individual and a society. This is because of the usage of stereotypes provided by the media which creates an overall image, that everyone believes to be true. This is prominent when she says “A single story creates stereotypes, and the problem with stereotypes is not that they are untrue, but that they are incomplete.” Having a single story also confines the world to generalized outlooks on cultures, religions and nationalities. Due to this, individuals must seek for diversity and different perspectives, in which everyone should be able to see the world as it is, not just the aspect that the media portrays. Through
I sat in my friend's Oldsmobile with her three year old in the car seat resting in the back, as we traveled down the street towards my former residence behind the city park. My friend, Sarah, now a MOM, was eager to show me the transformation to the front of my old home. She kept saying, that I would never believe it as we approached the house, I could only see bareness. All of the bushes, flowers, and gardens that surrounded the house were removed. The windows appeared naked without curtains or blinds to dress them. Disappointment and disgust ran through my veins as I thought about the care and attention my mother had given to our home only to be stripped of it all by the new occupants. What a bad sale my parents had made!
Storytelling has been used throughout time, allowing history and religion to be passed down from generation to generation and with the introduction of technology, storytelling has reached a whole new audience. With this new form of storytelling continues to spread, the danger of the corrupt also comes the corruption of social morals into pray. Storytelling may become dangerous because it could cause the viewer to become more aggressive, contribute to child and adolescent violence, and teaches the art of lying/deceiving.
I woke up to the pungent smell of hospital disinfect, invading my nostrils. The room was silent apart from my heavy breathing and the beep beep sound you often hear in hospitals that indicates you're alive. I slowly opened my eyes, squinting in attempt to sharpen the blurred images before me. I glanced around and took in the deserted, blue and white colour schemed hospital bedroom. How long have I been here? I shut my eyes, trying to remember what had exactly happened. Then it all hits me with a bang. The memory of it all starts to occupy my thoughts.
I entered her bedroom, where she was last sighted. A peevish odour was rising from the bed. Mist started rising, the room was surrounded with gases and it was all I remembered of the past.
Suddenly she felt a touSH on her arm, but quick jerking aroND she saw only the menacing shadows brought by the luminous lightning striking in the night sky. As she turned back to the window the cold ghostly apparition of a small girl stood on the porch. Jenny blinked quickly ,but she was still there motioning for her to come outside. Jenny closed her eyes in horror, and reluctantly opened them again to see no one there. She could not contain her curiosity and softly walked to open the door and slowly walked outside to search for this child who seemed to need her so
"I'll start my search there. We won't lose hope that she may still be alive, but don't lose your sense of reality either." His voice had a coldness to it and his face looked like someone whose life was taken out of him.