My feet ache. My ears ring and my hands sting from the cool steel handle of my sidearm I ripped off the body of a collector. I don’t know why they’re coming after me--I had paid my rent in full a whole day before the cut off date--and yet here they stand, poised outside my door with automatic rifles screaming “Heretic! Death to the false Prophet!” I didn’t have a clue to what they meant. Maybe they were referring to the shrine I had created in the attic of my townhouse dedicated to Silvus, the deity of lightning. Probably not, though. Maybe they mixed up my house with the Joi dealer next door. I place the re-possessed firearm on the ground and kick it into their view, then shout out to them. “It’s alright, I’m coming out unarmed! We can talk …show more content…
I push myself off of the wall when the agony in my leg slaps me across the cheek with the force of a runaway freight train. Looking down, I realize that the handsome man’s blade still cheerfully roosts just millimeters to the right of my sternum. Silly collector, I think to myself as I carelessly draw out the flayed cobalt sheet from my torso, spewing clot and gore onto my hands. The heart is on the LEFT side. I giggle blissfully as I lick my viscera off of the blade. I turn towards my front door and see the other collector staring at me in lamented horror, unsure of whether to finish me off with the assault rifle she held in her shaking hands or to simply run away. “Oh, sorry, did you want some?” I inquire as I hold out the blade towards her. She fixes her gaze on the blade, then back to my face. “N-N…” she attempts, but resorts to just shaking her head. “More for me, then!” I state as I feebly limp past her and out of my destroyed room. I head for the elevator and bulldoze the “up” button with my fist. When the corrugated iron doors lazily shriek apart, an elderly woman and her husband look up at my face, then down to my wounds as I board the trembling
In The Chronicle of a Death Foretold, religion acts as a foremost determinant of the meaning of Santiago’s murder and parallels biblical passages. Gabriel García Márquez employs religious symbolism throughout his novella which alludes to Christ, his familiars, and his death on the cross. There are many representations throughout the novella that portray these biblical references, such as the murder of Santiago, the Divine Face, the cock’s crowing and the characters, Bayardo San Roman, Maria Cervantes, Divina Flor, and the Vicario children.
Toha, your mum is concerned about you not playing with your peers. I noticed you initially enjoyed playing by yourself when you first started at Jump Start, but now your sense of belonging has grown you are starting to play more and more with others. Recently I have noticed you are playing regularly with Riley, Lexi, and Jocab, who also enjoy engaging in dramatic play.
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
Think back. I mean way, way back to when you were a child, maybe five or six, sitting in a playground sandbox, looking at the ground. You feel the warm summer air around you. You hear the laughter of the other children playing in the distance. But you, you don’t care what those other children are doing. You are in your sandbox, discovering something… something interesting. Something different that most people would fail to even take notice of or bother to admire. Looking down, you can see the grains of sand; uncountable numbers of tiny little particles staked on top of one another. But wait! What was that? Is that? No… It can’t be. It’s a tiny black moving piece of sand? How could that be? Last time I checked, sand couldn’t move on its own. What… another one? More? More? There are hundreds of them! What are these little things running around in my sandbox?
“What crime do you believe you committed?” I asked the insane man. I was in my office with him, patiently waiting for an answer that I knew wouldn’t be true. This man had killed another man. I didn’t know either of their names, and I didn’t have any other information about this man other than that he was a caregiver to an old man with a cataract. I was determined to find out more about this man and if he needed any special care.
“On the count of three lift...one, two, three” said another working man. Instantly, I felt a pain shoot through my entire body and my legs began seeping blood at a vigorous rate, causing the men to quickly put me down. I cried out in misery, tears running down my face, while the working men contemplated on what to do with me.
The air is thick with smoke and people are running amok-- their screams echoing in my ears. I’m looking through the cracks of the trees, but a figure has appeared and seated himself in front of my view. Their face isn’t visible, but I can assume they’re not here to assist these helpless people; they’re devising a plan to harm them like a lion preying on zebras.
On my hospital bed, I sit and stretch out my arms to relieve some nervous tension. My room is nothing but dull grey walls and the smell of disinfectant. My ears perk up as I listen to doctors and nurses conversing outside. Their voices grow louder and louder as I hear their feet coming closer to my door. I crane my neck towards sounds, only to spot the brass knob of my door turning. My heart begins to race and my breathing becomes shallower. I quickly pull out a pocketknife from under my pillow and slip it into my pants pocket. Stealthily, I roll out of bed, forgetting about the various tubes attached to my body. I wince in pain and tears well up in my eyes as they get yanked ou...
When I stepped out of the car for Cross Country Camp, I couldn't tell if I actually wanted to be there. I had been looking forward to this event for months, but part of me still wanted to hop back in my van and go home. At home there wasn't anything to prove, and I didn't feel like people were watching me everywhere I went.
The disapproving officer draws me out of the van, triggering a sharp pain up my arm where the handcuffs meet my skin. My skittish movements don’t seem to match the person which I have been described as for the past month. A killer? A liar? I am none of these. The stairs towards my destiny seem to last forever, again making me question society. Aren’t staircases supposed to symbolise going to heaven, not hell? I enter the courtroom, overflowing with faces that I
As I was approaching Herot Hall I went to the door knocked on the door not one opened it and I was confused because I could hear the breathing of the soldiers. Furious that no one opened the door I ripped it right off like a human arm on an body. I wanted to enjoy the party with since my mom doesn’t let me go out much. They were all asleep and I thought why waste all of this delicious food. I grabbed the nearest soldier and slowly cooked him over a torch like cooking a lamb over an open fire. I devoured him in one piece. It was a delicious appetizer, I saw one soldier in particular who looked very meaty and should taste well as a entree. I went to pick him up and all the sudden my claws were piercing my own skin.
-There becomes a moment in your life when time tends to fade as a past memory until you completely realize that up till now you just live in the past which means you haven’t live at all-. This thought has opened my eyes to the inevitable reality. I look at the cracked high ceiling and really don’t know who I was for about thirty strange seconds. I can’t even imagine how the past shapes my life for the last eighteen years. I feel that I just skipped the worst part of my life. And now I believe that time itself had erased my memory. You think it strange, but it had.
Razack does a tremendous job in this script of painting a picture of a concept that brings the reader directly into the project and how she wants it to be visualized. Included in her action descriptions are the camera angles that bring this war to life, along with the hectic situations that the characters get involved. As a result, the character and dialogue come together to combine cultural dialogue with fiery, charismatic Irish characters one would envision in a storyline of this magnitude. Niall’s ascension from son to man of the house to the in the wake of his father’s death, shows the audience what an oppressed Catholic man in these times of war looked. Where his mother used to have authority over him, when he asked her to be silent during
Do you always believe everything people tell you? That's what happened to Scout and Jem in How To Kill A Mockingbird. They heard about a boy named Boo Radley who people said he ate rabbits and squirrels. Granted Boo only came out in the night is because he didn't like the day. Boo constantly looked or watched over Jem and Scout.
Have you ever been scared for the safety of a complete stranger? Have you changed somebody’s outlook on life just by being a Good Samaritan? Well, I have. It was a late Thursday night and I was in a bad part of town informally known as “The Knob.” I had been at a friend's house when we decided to leave to find somewhere to eat. On the way, my friend got a call from his mom telling him he had to be home. His house wasn’t really out of the way. As I pulled down Belle Avenue, towards his house, another friend of mine shouts out “Hey, pull over that guy just knocked that girl out” I instantly questioned this absurd accusation. “What? You’re joking.” As I turned around I noticed that he certainly wasn’t as I saw a middle-aged lady facedown on the pavement. Without hesitation I parked the car and we all ran over to see what was going on. You could see in the distance a man in an orange hooded jacket fleeing the scene. My friend attempted to wake this lady up. She was out cold. At this point each one of us had no idea what we should do. Obviously, the first thing we should have done was call the police, but let me remind you this was a bad part of town and didn’t know if we would be the next. Tommy, my friend, the nearest house and knocked on the door. A trashy looking man answered the door. After being informed that there was an unconscious lady in front of his house he scurried to her aid. The man then realized it was a good friend of his. Jane was her name. You could sense his anger and concern for this lady. He began to frantically ask questions. Who, what, when, where, why, how and every other sort of interrogation question was thrown our way. We described her assailant and which way he went. Evidently it was her boyfriend. At this ...