Excerpt
Wasn't my knock-knock joke good?
Yes, it was a funny joke..., especially for the occasion.
But you didn't even smile.
...
Of course, that was his time for revenge.
You only told me that because you might have noticed I was crying.
And why were you crying?
Because I'm sorry I upset you.
And because I was afraid you'd be mad at me.
You should not be sorry. According to what I heard about you, it wasn't you who taught me how to play the firetruck game.
Wasn't she Mad Sylvie, your other self?
What do you know about her?
By the time I was all alone in that school, I didn't talk much but I wasn't deaf. I've heard people talking about you, several times.
I never forgot that it was you who helped me when I transferred to that school, so I
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Mad Sylvie may be an angel compared to what I may become unexpectedly...
No... do you mean... they may be wrong, and you can really suffer a psychotic outbreak any time...?
Then you would become a monster and... kill me... and cut my body into a thousand little pieces? That's it?
...
Well... I can't...
Oh my God, Eric. In this case, I have to tell you something you still don't know about Mad Sylvie.
She can't be killed. If you cut her into a thousand pieces, each piece of her will regenerate into a new Sylvie. She's a mutant girl.
Can you imagine such horror? A thousand Sylvies stalking you? I wouldn't wish that to happen to my worst enemy.
Wha...
Aha! You smiled! I saw that, you liar. Too late to try to hide your face.
Jesus! You are really unable to show respect for anything, Sylvie.
Okay, it's true that I won't become Mr. Hyde, but what I've told you about my past is also true.
Tell Professor Eileen that I told you that, and she'll confirm it.
Okay, then. I'm sorry about your past, but you told me yourself that you don't want to talk about it. And you don't really need to talk about it... especially if it still
Elizabeth is very supportive, and concerned about Victor, and his health. When Victor decides to leave for his studies, Elizabeth does not object, and continues to support and care for him. She patiently waits and waits for Victor to marry him, and the day they get married, she gets killed since she was alone and there was nobody to protect/shelter her. When Justine was wrongly accused, Victor makes a decision on how to act. While Elizabeth pleads with him, ultimately Victor has the final say, showing where the power lies with their relationship.
Agnes’ most prominent character traits are revealed through constant repetition. When she called the police station to report the murder plot she had overheard, the repetition in the dialogue exchanged between her and the officer revealed a significant amount of information about her mentality. Agnes often stutters when she is anxious, and repeated her name, “Mrs. Stevenson, Mrs. Elbert Stevenson” (11), twice. She also spoke in quick, short phrases often beginning with “And…” (11), to add one more small piece of information to an already long and extended thought. The excessive repetition gives her dialogue a nervous, almost hysterical quality, and highlights her unstable mindset in her anxiety. While providing her address in great detail to the police, she eventually realizes the repetition in her own words, and begins to suspect she is the victim of the murder about to
In the middle of the cold room, I stood, tracing a circular path on the hardwood floor, barefoot. Your eyes wander from my dirty soles caressing the floor up to yesterday's clothes hugging my poor, crooked posture. Then your eyes finally settled—to see me smiling at nothing. It's a chilling sight, isn't it?
“Nigga do you think I wanna hear yo’ bullshit ass excuses. You know the rules either you have my money or somebody dies. It's that fucking simple! I don't do this back and forth bullshit.” I swear these niggas think I'm a fucking therapist or a priest or
I got back to the room and closed the door. My heart was pounding as I rested on the back of it. I couldn't believe that just happened, but what I couldn't believe most was that I didn't try to do anything about it. I mean what kind of punk was I? I woke my sister up to help mom, and in return, she also ended up hurt.
On October 28, 2014 on a sunny sunday afternoon all you here is me yelling what time is it then my team saying “Game Time!!!”. This was the last round of playoffs, whoever won this game was going to the championships at Pal stadium. There was a lot of muggin going on (staring at someone in an angry way) because we were playing Union City our rivals. But #10 was looking at me like someone told him who I was. He was wearing his Union city uniform he was about 5’8 a lil taller than me.
Prologue “Everyone get into the pool!” Says billionaire Aiden Rayei of Rayei Industries. “Why?” Asks someone. “Just get in!”
Prologue Heat makes its way across my skin, the UV rays cascading across my face. Small beads of sweat fall down my face, as the luminous sun beats down on me. Thoughts run through my brain and I can see the sun through my closed eyes. The faint sounds of “Mambo Italiano” fill my ears as my mamma sings away in the kitchen beside me. The light breeze hits me and I let out a small smile as my mother lets out a small “Shit” as she drops something on the floor.
Hi Mr. Kee, I want to apologize for getting upset on Tuesday. I didn’t mean to come across as disrespectful. I’m not great at holding stressful conversations in person, especially with people I’m not entirely comfortable with. I’m able to articulate myself more clearly and respectfully in written form. That being said, you said some hurtful things when we talked the other night.
After school, Tomas and Ashlyn sat on the bleachers at my tryouts for volleyball. I passed the tryouts, I ran up the bleachers with them “I won’t know until tomorrow. But how do you guys think I did?” Ashlyn stood up and hugged “You did perfect. I never knew you liked volleyball.”
A long time ago in 1798, I ran down the stairs of my house on military road. My shaved stubby head almost dragging behind a pair of slouching shoulders. Then suddenly the neighbors cows came bursting through the door of my giant house! Since I was going so fast my big feet stumbled over the cows in front of me, and onto the floor I went. Then all I could hear was a loud shattering and my mother yelling and screaming.
Helene’s primary character trait is her devotion to Andre, and it is shown that she will do anything to prevent him from committing suicide. After seeing what he has become, she realizes that he must be destroyed. Andre is shown to be dedicated to his work the point that it both figuratively and literally consumes him, though it is also clear he loves his family. After becoming a monster and realizing that Helene will likely be unable to locate the fly, Andre adopts an almost fatalistic attitude, believing that his only option is to destroy himself. Despite this, it is still shown that he loves Helene as he attempts to sate her curiosity by going through his matter transporter once last time.
High school is full of drama. I like to think myself above it, as many do. But as much as one runs away from something, there's always the chance it’ll still bite you- which i’ve learned first-handedly. My friends are always feuding, they’re like cats, it almost seems like they were never friends.Then here I am- the dopey loving dog who just sits and wishes for a happy family. It is difficult being in the middle because you are 2x as likely to be accused of choosing sides or being a “backstabber”, there is no doubt that it is a fine line to walk. However, let me tell you, being the calm eye in the anger storm is great. I am the only voice of reason, the bridge over the gap. My own calm and happy vibes almost seem to radiate off me onto the feuding, originating from
I believed that everyone had at leased lied once times in your life. Each person has a different reason to lie. Some people have to lie because their situation, but some were lying because they benefit. The result of lying always bad, and sometimes, you could lose big things with it. You cannot hide the truth forever.
When discussing the poetic form of dramatic monologue it is rare that it is not associated with and its usage attributed to the poet Robert Browning. Robert Browning has been considered the master of the dramatic monologue. Although some critics are skeptical of his invention of the form, for dramatic monologue is evidenced in poetry preceding Browning, it is believed that his extensive and varied use of the dramatic monologue has significantly contributed to the form and has had an enormous impact on modern poetry. "The dramatic monologues of Robert Browning represent the most significant use of the form in postromantic poetry" (Preminger and Brogan 799). The dramatic monologue as we understand it today "is a lyric poem in which the speaker addresses a silent listener, revealing himself in the context of a dramatic situation" (Murfin 97). "The character is speaking to an identifiable but silent listener at a dramatic moment in the speaker's life. The circumstances surrounding the conversation, one side which we "hear" as the dramatic monologue, are made by clear implication, and an insight into the character of the speaker may result" (Holman and Harmon 152).