Fantasy Story: Once upon a time there was a girl named Belle. She lived in a magical kingdom‚ but was unaware of it‚ until her 13th birthday. She and her friend Sunny are to discover that there were more than flowers in a garden. “Let’s hurry!” yelled Belle “We don’t have much time!” “Ok‚ ok‚ I’m coming!” murmured Sunny groggily. It was 3 in the morning after all! The two girls were heading to the Tulip Meadow. It all had started when they were having a sleepover
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Antwan Mansour S_113 Announcer: “ C_Copy2 and C_Copy 7 to super stage‚ report now.” “ What do you think all of this is about S_112 ?” “ I have no clue‚ they might have some sickness or might be polluted.” “Yea”‚ every time I talk to her I feel something in me that keeps me attracted to her‚ a bond maybe. Polluted‚ that word struck my head‚ what can it be? Thinking as I was strolling through the corridor until I approached a steel door called stage 3 with a sign saying “no
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Patience Jones November 12‚ 2012 Short Story Corrections Everything Matters Everything Matters “Shay! How are you?” asked Leah. Leah and Shay were cousins‚ but they acted like sisters. Shay and Leah lived together and were both in college. Shay had just gotten back from a vacation in Cuba. Shay hugged Leah and said‚ “I’m doing okay. I feel a little down lately.” Shay frowned. “Well‚ how was your trip?” asked Leah. Shay just shrugged and waved her off then went into the house. Later
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the whole book. Without the help of my group I would not been able to figure out the plot or the whole point of the story. Also throughout the story the main character change his view on the world around him‚ I however did not pick this up and when we went to go and discuss the section they helped my out. Without them I would have never been able to figure out the point in the story. During these few weeks I learned what my abilities where as a group participant. I found out that I was a good sharer
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hardly call my music ‘death metal’ mum. But I’m not going there again. What did you call me for?” Ever since my father had called‚ mum had been very snappy and got frustrated over everything‚ no matter how miniscule. Or maybe it was because in exactly 2 days it was my 17th birthday and we still hadn’t sorted anything out about me getting my P plates or my party that I had planned on having weeks ago. Either way‚ I was sick of all the little bickering arguments that had started taking place several times
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In the story‚ “The Lottery‚” by Shirley Jackson‚ the only point of view used by the author is the dramatic or objective point of view. In this point of view‚ the narrator is an unidentified speaker who reports things in great detail‚ even though the narrator does not play a role in the story. By using such point of view‚ Jackson builds an aura of uncertainty that endures until the dramatic ending of the story. From the beginning of the story‚ the knowledge about the lottery is revealed only by the
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“Hills Like White Elephants” calls to mind the “A Game of Chess” section of T. S. Eliot’s The Waste Land (1922); like Eliot’s masterpiece‚ Hemingway’s story deals with the sterility and vacuity of the modern world. The boredom of the man and the desperation of the girl reveal the emptiness of the postwar generation and the crucial necessity of taking responsibility for the quality of one’s own life. Hemingway’s characters seem to live in a world without a God‚ without traditions or clear and established
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[pic] PEN 0055 Essential English Foundation in Law ONLINE NOTES Reading 1 (Short Stories) A Rose for Emily William Faulkner | When Miss Emily Grierson died‚ our whole town went to her funeral: the men through a sort of respectful affection for a |1 | |fallen monument‚ the women mostly out of curiosity to see the inside of her house‚ which no one save an old man-servant—a | | |combined gardener and cook—had seen in at least
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A Home on the Other Side of the Mirror “Dillon‚ it’s time to go!” His father yelled from his car. His room was the only place left he could think. But maybe that was a good thing. He carried his suitcase downstairs‚ each step seeming like an inch closer to rock bottom. The door slams behind him‚ leaving the sounds of anger to echo throughout the house in despair that his mother might be listening and come running after him. She was gone now though. It had been only a few days since his mother
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The Little Mule that Could “Clip‚ clop‚ clip‚ clop‚ such a reassuring sound”‚ Jenny thought as she pulled the plow through Mr. Dawkins’ fields. Jenny could feel the soil beneath her hooves‚ and the steady beat of her lively heart. Behind her was Dave‚ the small black boy‚ who was tasked to lead Jenny through the fields. But she already knew the way; she had done it‚ day in and day out‚ for as long as she could remember. From the time she was a little mule‚ she remembered her parents had done this
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