*_"Don’t forget I’m just a girl, standing in front of a boy, asking him to love her." – Notting Hill_* Her eyes opened hesitantly, gazing around the shadows formed by the towering trees that surrounded if she narrowed her eyes, she could see a village that glowed with festivity celebrations. “It worked!” She gasped, eyes widening. She had only heard the stories of Earth from Deletrear’s stories but none of them compared to the real thing. Then again, this also meant she was one step closer to finding Damien; the real protector of Shen Sheyel. She still wore the attire of her world, not bothering to change any bit of it. It would hardly be noticeable. She could see village lights in the distance. Deletrear had once told her that the inhabitants of Earth were eerily similar to then Shen Shelians. Hopefully, this meant they dressed the same too. Wanting her story to seem accurate, she began tearing herself up. She scratched her skin with her nails, tearing her dress wherever she could find it easiest. She shook her head wildly, allowing strands of hair to fall fully out of place. She then dropped to her knees in the dirt, rubbing her hands in the dirt before rubbing some of it upon herself. She was being stained with blood as she finished, from her nails. It was not a lot, but it was just enough to sting. Nadia bit her lip, wondering if her father would be a bit frustrated, as he had told her to be careful when it came to her blood. “It was for his return,” She nodded in confirmation to herself. She gazed down at her now dirtied body and could not help but smile, even if the slightest bit. There was no doubt in her mind that her idea, once she found him, would not work. Nadia bit her lip, eyes gazing around to find a way d... ... middle of paper ... ...the family at one time. There was six people in the painting; two adults in the back smiling down at the four younger children, especially at the third child, who was holding a baby, probably no older than a month or so. That was when the horrid memories began coming back. Quinton walked around, holding his dagger out in front of him with his rough hands, noticing the childish drawings around him. He saw many pictures and valuables, but none of it made any sense to him. It was greatly confusing. Over and over, he saw six names on doors, frames, and on all the drawings. There was Darren, Maiyna, Tieran, Cosette, Jinsu, and Nadia. Quinton could not help but wonder who these people were. Of course, he knew Nadia, for, they had just met, but these names. They seemed very familiar, but he could not tell where he knew them. Whoever they were, they had to be important.
“Listen,” the grandmother almost screamed, “I know you are a good man. You don’t look a bit like you have blood. I know you must come from nice people.” It all happened so fast. The car had rolled and wrecked.
"At the end of the second week, when four casualties came in, Mary Anne wasn't afraid to get her hands bloody./ She learned how to clip an artery and p...
“A maid accidentally pulled the countess’ hair while combing it; Countess Elizabeth Bathory instinctively slapped the girl on the ear, but so hard she drew blood. The servant girl’s blood spurted onto Elizabeth’s hands...the countess noticed that as the blood dried, her own skin seemed to take the whiteness and the youthful quality of the young girl’s skin.” (Rodrigues 15).
"This can only end bloody for me," this is Jane talking to Chapel after she arrived at his place to visit and sees another woman in there with him half dressed.
"Like the face, the whole countryside seemed to flow into her eyes. Fern's eyes said to them that she was easy."
The painting is intimate, almost as if was not meant for the eyes of the viewer. The mother gently holds the baby, within her arms, as she feeds him. The mother’s gaze is met by the child as it reaches out to touch her face. The background is simple, emphasizing the closeness between the mother and child, much like Le Brun’s piece. Additionally, Cassatt’s The Child's Bath, 1893 “with its striking and unorthodox composition, is one of Cassatt’s masterworks” (“The Child's Bath”). Within this composition, she employed the use of unconventional devices such as cropped forms, bold patterns and outlines, and a flattened perspective (“The Child's Bath”). Cassatt utilizes a pastel-like color scheme, exemplifying the delicateness and tenderness between the mother and her bathing child. Her brush strokes are swift and gentle, again, suggesting the passionate, yet soft, love the mother has for her child. The elevated vantage point invites the viewer to observe this intimate moment, but not to
I looked around at everyone in the room and saw the sorrow in their eyes. My eyes first fell on my grandmother, usually the beacon of strength in our family. My grandmother looked as if she had been crying for a very long period of time. Her face looked more wrinkled than before underneath the wild, white hair atop her head. The face of this once youthful person now looked like a grape that had been dried in the sun to become a raisin. Her hair looked like it had not been brushed since the previous day as if created from high wispy clouds on a bright sunny day.
A tragic hero is defined as a person of high social rank, who has a tragic flaw or flaws that lead to their downfall. These heroes’ downfalls are usually either complete ruin or death. Tragic heroes face their downfall with courage and dignity. While many characters in Julius Caesar could fit these conditions, the person who fits the role of a tragic hero the best is Marcus Brutus. Brutus develops into a tragic hero throughout the play, and this is shown though his qualifications of a tragic hero, his high status, his tragic flaws, and his courage in the face of his death.
This story is about a teenager named Jason, Jason Grace. One moment Jason found himself on a bus, holding hands with a girl named Piper, Piper McLean. Jason didn’t know her. Everyone on the bus was confused about Jason. Jason also had a best friend Leo Valdez. It's not that Jason never met them before, it’s that he didn’t remember them, he didn’t remember anything. They had a bus driver named Coach Hedge. Coach Hedge was a Satyr.
The design of the painting is composed to draw your eye to the arguing couple because they are lit up and it is the only none dark area. Once you see them, your eye automatically moved to the child semi hidden between the lit space and the dark space. As I mentioned before the parents portray how the child lives in real life, as the hung picture in the hallway portray how any child would rather live, happy and safe, not scared. The colors used are very dark reds, yellows, grays and black, even the yellow lit up area is dingy and grayish making the picture very depressing and sad. If this was to show a happy family conversation, the colors would be more neutral with bright whites and not so much darkened areas. With the author’s background in art therapy and working with domestic violence victim’s and hearing their stories, I think she did a pretty good job in showing a real situation. I would use her as a credible source in the
Between 1866 and 1873, seven hundred and ninety-seven lepers arrived on Molokai. Almost half of them died. Public indignation mounted, and the Board of Health sought to improve conditions. In April of 1873, Walter Gibson, a politician at the time, wrote a newspaper article that made a bold request. It called for a noble Christian priest, preacher, or Sister who would sacrifice their own life to console the lepers on Molokai. There were several men in Hawaii who were willing to respond, and one of them was Father Damien, a charitable Catholic priest with the Sacred Hearts order. It may have been presentiment or prophecy, but Father Damien had known for some time that he would eventually go to Molokai.
With the start of the spinoff series to the critically acclaimed Percy Jackson and the Olympians Series, Rick Riordan did not miss a beat. Riordan is the author of over 20 #1 New York Times best-selling novels, so, clearly, he knows a thing or two about writing. Those masterful works include: The Lightning Thief, The Red Pyramid, Demigods and Magicians, and the book I am reviewing, The Lost Hero. The author is also an experienced English and history teacher of fifteen years in large school systems and private schools in San Francisco, Austin, and San Antonio. In San Antonio, he actually won the Master Teacher Award and won the Edgar, the Anthony and the Shamus awards for his adult mystery novels. Now, he is a full-time author and focuses primarily
Carol lowered her head in shame and pushed her sunglasses higher up on her nose, hiding the bruises around her eyes. She shivered as the wind whipped around her and pulled her threadbare sweater closer around her battered body, wincing as the movement pulled at her aching ribs. There was nothing she could do about it right now she thought, so she trudged on.