One day‚ an old man named Shaul said to his grandson Simeon "It is time you learned the story of our people. I want to tell you about a tragic time for the Israelites‚ the time we spent in Egypt. and a great man named Moses who saved us from slavery. "I was only a boy then‚ just about your age‚" Shaul started. "All of the Israelites were slaves to the terrible Pharaoh‚ ruler of Egypt. Everyone‚ even the children‚ worked all day and into the night‚ making bricks to build Pharaoh’s city. "One day I
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middle of hurricane katrina. A few days ago President Bush issued a warning‚ to make things even worse for us Mayor Nagin issued a mandatory evacuation order. We ignored it and that’s how we ended up where we are. Most people decided to leave‚ the news had said that less than 100‚000 decided to stay. Me and my family decided to stay with our house until the last possible second. Once we couldn’t stay anymore we left but the only place to go was the superdome. Thats where we are setting in the superdome
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a slamming door. Wendy followed behind trying to calm her daughter down until she was standing face-to-face with the closed door. “Stevie‚ let me in now. I want to help. Please just let me know what’s going on‚ I can’t help unless you talk to me.” Wendy pleaded behind the door “Leave me alone Mum‚ I don’t want to talk about it‚ I just want to be on my own.” Sobbed Stevie in reply “Darling please let me in…. I have chocolate.” The door slowly opened and Stevie stood their red-nosed and puffy-eyed
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Belonging Nowhere Willa Cather does a tolerable job shaping the story of “The Sculptor’s Funeral.” There are many characters with hidden meanings that flow through the story. Set in the early 1920’s‚ Cather tells of a young artist’s deceased body adventuring home with a mysterious follower. She speaks of the hidden meanings of the townspeople. Although the beginning is somewhat dry and slow‚ the scheme shifts toward the middle and end. Cather begins the story by outlining the men awaiting
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Though‚ Castiel had never seen the man reading a book‚ it was odd to say the least; coming to a place made for books but not read a book. Castiel didn’t think much about the issue‚ he was usually daydreaming about how it would feel to touch that honey like hair or how it would be the man’s reaction if he ever caught him staring. Castiel presumed that the man only accompanied someone to the library and was always waiting for them to comeback‚ and Castiel never stuck around to see who it may be. Perhaps
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While on patrol‚ I was dispatched to the main entrance for a Veteran acting unusual. Upon arrive Ofc Montejano had already made contact with Veteran Sean Ridley. I came round through the canteen just out of sight of Ridley‚ so as not to agitate him more. I observed Ridley become ever agitated towards Ofc Montejano when he try to explain to Ridley why we were there. Ridley told stated to Ofc Montejano that he has an appointment and he going to make it to his appointment. Ofc Montejano stated “We are
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David turned his head and spat off the front porch. It had been a long day. It was good to be home. He turned the key‚ his brain releasing a little squirt of dopamine at the familiar sound of the coming relaxation‚ and waited on the next of the two sounds he heard every day at 5:30: Scruff banging against the door. There was no banging‚ though. No panting‚ either. Nothing at all to signify to dog even knew he was there. After a decade of driveway-key-door-dog‚ it was easy to notice the silence
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air. Take Angela for example‚ she grew up in a small village in South America with a mouth full of dreams and an ocean filled with overgrown seaweeds that were hungry for the light that her dreams emitted* from her own eyes. Her dream was to become a famous writer‚ but when her parents could not provide their family with basic necessities‚ Angela had to leave school and find a way to help support her family. When every turn seemed to lead more into a worthless cause‚ she came across an opportunity that
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branches. Dainty leaves would be released from the tips after a brief gust of wind and float gracefully onto the brick roof. Thick branches would tangle together‚ rejoicing in unison‚ sharing trails of ivy between the tiny gaps. It doesn’t do that anymore. Adara always made an effort to keep everything in pristine condition. She was careful to line the frail bushes parallel to the trodden path‚ creating an inviting atmosphere for when guests came and visited. In the summer she would load up the lawn mower
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horse had been spooked by the storm‚ but they trudged along. Macduff had fought harder battles against real enemies‚ no storm‚ no matter how harsh‚ was going to stop his progress. There were rumors whispered in eager ears‚ suspicions‚ that Macbeth had murdered many men‚ including Duncan‚ to claim the throne. “Help!” A woman’s desperate cry pierced the trees to his left. Macduff wasn’t
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