"That poor child," said one of the merchants. "I've heard of such cruel displays but to witness one..."
"One of the Cursed Generation. So, not all of them have been executed by now," a deeply-voiced traveler couldn't help but stare at the guards with a smug look on their faces. "Where has the kindness of the world gone? It's a shame he might not live a full life."
The small, hooded figure squeezed themselves through the crowd but was easily pushed back as local villagers forced their way through with baskets in hand.
Xander saw the rising anger in the crowd and turned his gaze down toward the floor with dead, hopeless eyes.
The captain of the local guardsmen stood near the chained child and took a deep breath. "Citizens and guests of Eir Village!" he yelled as if he was going to announce his proudest achievement. "This runt has plagued us for years. One of the Cursed Generation denied by the gods and blessed by demons. He has committed a numerous amount of crimes within the past twenty-four hours: Theft and vandalism are among the minor occurrences," he glared at the boy. "He has eluded us for too long and now, he's here because of murder."
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The void in his hopeless eyes was immediately filled with anger. "I didn't kill anyone!" he yelled and tried to lunge at him but the boy was held back by the chains, "I tried to save them but I was too weak to do it on my own! You all left my friends to die..." he lowered his head as tears welled up in his eyes and flowed down his cheeks. "I begged and begged," his voice
Arnold Mendoza Mrs.Leite H English 10-4 April 17, 2016. Dialectical Journal: 1984 by George Orwell. Entry 1: Book 1, Chapter 1; 5-20 Summary. The book is set in Airstrip One (current day London), Oceania, dated 1984. The main protagonist, Winston Smith, is introduced as a middle aged worker in the Records Department at the Ministry of Truth.
The sword represents destruction and can signify war. The torch stands for the expansion and the pure light it
“At the window she raises the shade and a dusky southside morning light comes in feebly” (Act 1, Sc 1, 24).
could not bring himself to kill a innocent little boy so he gave him to a
A unique word choice introduces this essay, causing readers to be misguided. Staples begins by saying “My first victim was a woman…”(383). This choice of words obligated our minds to perceive this man as a criminal who was about to tell us his story. Staples allows himself to be portrayed as such a horrible person because that is exactly what people viewed him as. He uses self-blame as though he has accepted the fact of reality that he was viewed as a criminal and always will be. It seems as though he wanted to mislead us as readers so we would make the same mistake others did. A feeling of great guilt is created for judging this man that we barely knew. In such a simple way, Staples creates an ...
I stared into his face, feeling a sense of outrage. His left eye had collapsed, a line of raw redness showing where the lid refused to close, and his gaze had lost its command. I looked from his face to the glass, thinking he's disem...
“Wilson,” I called out, receiving no response. “Wilson?” He stayed slumped in the chair, eyes casted on the ground, refusing to make eye contact or any other sign of acknowledgement. “Wilson!” I yelled, causing him to flinch, his eyes finally meeting mine. There was sadness clear as day in his eyes, but no, he did not deserve to be sad. He did not have any reason. He didn’t love her. He couldn’t provide for her. Not like I could- or would.
In Chapter Nine the boys looking for shelter, they find refuge in a small village’s fishing hut. Normal if someone found nine boys they’d assume them to be rebels and immediately try to kill them. When the boys are found by the man who owns the fishing hut they aren’t harmed in fact they are taken care of. The fisherman helped the boys because he felt bad for them, he saw that they were not dangerous and were all in serious pain, peeling the flesh off their feet. “He stopped at the door, and was about to turn around when he noticed our suffering. His eyes met our frightened faces” (Beah, 61). I think that he realized that they were just scared children and not soldiers. When he looked into their eyes he must have seen how scared they truly were.
“Listen to my voice,” she says, using her established introduction to every conversation, following those soft words with a gentle story designed to soothe the senses.
Much of Siddhartha’s journey centers around his trying to find Atman, or his inner self. He feels as if experiencing Atman will lead him to inner peace. But, for the majority of Siddhartha section one, Siddhartha is a part of the Semanas, who believe that in order to find Atman they must practice extreme self-denial. After meeting Gotama and still not being pleased by his teachings, Siddhartha learns that if he wants to discover his inner self, he must try to understand Siddhartha, not destroy him; We’re led to believe Gotama found Atman the same way, by understanding himself first.
I think that what the author was trying to imply in this passage was that in his personal experience, he has noticed that many people take many things for granted and that they don’t live their lives according to what they want and need to do. So much is wasted during one’s lifetime, and people just allow their lives to pass them by.
"a man seized me from behind. He pinned me down with his stubbly beard pricking the back of my neck…He dragged me to my feet and started to march me through the village…We arrived at the edge of the forest. Beneath the trees there were about thirty other children huddled together"(Nazer 97).
The trial was adjourned. As I was leaving the courthouse on my back to the van, I recognized for a brief moment the smell and color of the summer evening. In the darkness of my mobile prison I could make out one by one, as if from the depths of my exhaustion, all the familiar sounds of a town I loved and of a certain time of day when I used to feel happy, the cries of the newspaper vendors in the already languid air, the last few birds in the square, the shouts of the sandwich sellers, the screech of the streetcars turning sharply through upper town, and that hum in the sky before night engulfs the port: all this mapped out for me a route I knew so well before going to prison and which now I travelled blind. Yes, it was the hour
He was told days ago by his father, the king, that another boy, a prince like him, would be joining the band of misfits they housed. Prince had not fit the description of the person he had conjured up, using the gossip and whispers thrown tossed back and forth from the servants. While he had imagined a boy, regal yet brutish, and capable of murdering someone in cold blood over a dice game, the boy before him was a weak knobby-kneed babe who, from what he could tell from his position on his back, barely went up to his shoulder. His deep umber brown eyes had yet to focus on one spot in the room and he looked as if a mere breeze could knock him over.
Like so many innocent, selfless girls, untouched by the world, I forgave him. The pain dispersing through my body reminded me that I was strong and all I needed to do was heal. I would cry without tears at first, the sadness inside me so intense, that the hollowness in my heart would weigh me down. My heart’s deep hollowness was so immense, that the loudest shrie...