Gasping. Fresh air fills your chest. Scaldingly cold. Opening your eyes, a blinding white room occupies your vision. Again. A profluent voice issues into your head, “You have been revived by your loving government. You have experienced a near death experience. Please remember than intentional deletion is not permitted in Australia. If you wish to be deleted, please present your application to a local branch.” Slowly, you heave your new body off a coroner’s table. The world sways slightly. Fixer drugs do that to you. Wandering through a hallway filled with debris, you reach the high arcing front door. Barely impressive anymore, you pass under the crumbling masonry without a second glance. On the street, the soft cascades of a thousand footfalls …show more content…
Hundreds of faceless people; you've seen them all before. Murmurs of broken languages no one cares to use anymore. You are carried along the worn-down flagstones until a towering office building comes into view. You push your way out of the human river and onto the deserted curb. A broken window at the rear of the skyscraper becomes your makeshift entrance. A looted atrium greets you. You welcome the break from the automatons. This has been your haven since you swam into the Atlantic, searching for your cure, and got revived in Plymouth, Britain by accident. Hundreds of deep gouges in the wall represent your resentment. Puddles of blood from various attempts, some you don’t even remember. A few nooses, some knives, one degraded nine-millimetre. Everything is corroded; the alloys in steel gave out years ago. Rust rules this once-polished world. You withdraw your diary once more and, flicking to a page further into the book, read another entry. 31st December 2167 I gave in and sent my application today. Maybe they will process me quickly. No one has been deleted in the last few months; I wonder what the clog up is? A new church has opened down the road, “The
“Ponyboy run for it!”,I yell to him David chasing after him,and pony doged there first atemt then he was caught both arms twisted behind his back and legs gripped by the arms of two socs while they hadnt caught me yet,I was still running.The socs broght pony boy to bob and he pointed tweords the fountain with no hesitation and with that pony boy was head first drowning in a fountain of freezing cold water.As I was runnning from the socs I saw ponyboy as blue as a blue berry trying to hold his breath in.”I can t see this,I need to do somthing” I cryed.It was then that I rememberd I had thatswisarmy knife in my back pocket but I felt Heroism Revenge and Rushed for time but I also felt Question,confused and disbelefe.Eiether way I had to even thought I would be a murderer.With that I Stabed Bob in the heart and he slowly fell to the ground and then colapst onto the cold pavment.
I am the wife of an innocent dead man. I raised three without a father. People see us as less. We are the Robinson, and me I’m Helen Robinson. Living in the deep south in the 1930’s wineries. The Depression affected most everyone in Maycomb except for us. All of the blacks in the county live in one area outside of the landfill. I lived on the edge of farm which grows acres of cotton every year. We were a poor family that sharecropped. There weren't many people in Maycomb who treated us kindly except for Mr. Link Deas and the Finches. One year the white trash family accused my Tom for a serious crime that he never did. For months we never saw him due to the polices never let blacks and women in. The Finches and neighbours came and helped during
It has been too long since I last wrote to you, so I thought I would inform you on momentous events that happened in my life in the last little while. The previous time I heard from you was when Gabriel turned three. I can’t believe he is about to become a teenager now. My goodness, time flies by so fast. I was so ecstatic when I saw your prior letter arrive in my mail.
Oh dear! I can't believe what I just did, it was so hilarious, I hope
First of all, I’d like to say sorry for all the things that Scout and I have done. We behaved badly by trying to make you come out of the house. Such as when we gave you a letter to let you know that we want you to go out of your house, even if you do not want to, but Atticus caught us, when I’m going to slip the paper in your window he took it from me and read it. He told me to stop bothering you because Atticus thought that we’re making fun of you, but we’re not, we just want you to go out and have fun with us.
I also don't own the idea, it was requested to me by the wonderful Amanda. Thank you so much! I hope I did this idea justice.
“You’ll never leave” is carved faintly into the brick wall of the small jail cell, probably from its last guest. Every day, I started to believe the phrase more and more. I lay on the uncomfortable cot, pretending to be asleep. I’m lonely, but I’m not alone. I can hear him breathing and slowly flipping the pages of the newspaper; I assume it’s Mr. Heck Tate.
The voice in my head says that just thing to do, the other part of me would agree with the rest of the town. It is the day before the trial and I am still contemplating my stance on it. The air is warm and quiet but my house has a certain chill to it. I slowly rise out of my old and worn bed to visit Maudie a couple houses down. Whenever I brush out my short curly hair I tend to think more and more about Tom, poor thing. As I walk up to meet with Maudie I see her tending to the aromatic carnations growing in her vivid, organized lawn. We sit on her porch and sip overly-sweetened tea and gossip about whatever new event is occurring in our small town. The porch was quiet for a moment, then I brought up something eating away at my thoughts, the trial. Being a friend of Atticus, Maudie naturally believes that it is the right thing to defend an innocent man. I believe the same thing, though being the southern women I am, I can’t wrap my brain around taking a black man’s word over a white man’s. Maudie begins striking up gossipy conversation once more. I thank her for the sweet tea and make
We were driving to the Wakulla Springs Lodge. Mom and Dad wanted to go there before the butterflies migrate. I wanted to go to the movies.
I’m sitting behind him, the boy who everyone wants to know, has to know and does know. He’s a mystery to us all, especially his eyes. God, they were beautiful. He has heterochromia, where one of his eyes are blue – blue like the scarf my grandmother gave to me, a beautiful baby sky blue. His other eye, was brown with a small spot of the blue from his other eye in the corner. Everyone know his name, Kian Sherwood. Most people believed he was gay because he never spent time with anyone else, but Matt Somerhalder. They were closer than I am to my food and my bed; practically glued to each other. Kian was always popular in conversation, the blonde boy with gorgeous eyes that spoke Spanish fluently. Everyone girl wanted to be his, hell probably
Everything that begins, ends. And everything that ends, has it’s second coming. Whether it may be an idea, an event, or a person; ends are not final, just the means to restart. James knew this, so did John - so they could never long for each other, only anticipate the day when they once again would embrace each other like they once did. Their love was eternal, they insisted. That the sun and moon would cease to love before they did. That tides would quell and darkness reign. But the sun must set and so only then can the moon rise; one must lay low for the other to soar. Every day, week, and month are they doomed to chase each other, only to miss by the slimmest margin. Given sentience, they would yearn for the day they came together,
You ain’t goin’ to like this one bit. You know Lawrence? That sweet boy… that poor sweet boy…. They lynched him. Those white-skin monsters lynched him! I didn’t attend to his death of course, but I’ve seen that rope around his neck, John. You want to know how I saw it? It isn’t because they told me and showed me his hanging corpse. They put a picture of that sweet boy on our doorstep. Can you believe the nerve of them?! Putting a picture of that boy hanging there on our doorstep!
I don't think that the kids won't meet Boo. Boo used to be in a gang when he was young. Him and his gang friends would just do annoying things. When a kid was running past the Radley's house he saw Boo stabbed his father in the leg. The kid called the police and the police wanted to lock him up. But Mr.Radley said I will just lock him up in my house. Mr Radley is the only one that comes out side the rest of them never come outside. Mrs Radley goes on her porch to water her plants and thats it. The kids are scared of him because they say at night when everyone is sleeping he peeks through people window. One girl says she woke up at saw him standing there. But when she got up, but when she looked out the window he was gone. The kids say he is
We stood and watched as the dark figures got out of the dusty cars and moved towards Atticus and Tom Robinson’s cell. I had a theory of what they were trying to do: kill the accused. It’s not common for a group of men to be going to the jail in the middle of the night dressed in such a way. I was sure that they wanted to commit an act of lynching when they put the sheriff into this. The men wanted Atticus to draw back, but I knew he isn’t that kind of person.
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.