Gary Torry English II July 16‚ 2013 Drill or No Drill? The National Artic Wildlife Refuge (NAWR) is home to many animals‚ such as: moose‚ caribou‚musk oxen‚wolves‚foxes‚ grizzlies‚ polar bears‚ and migratory birds. Leaders in the oil industry‚ however‚ believe that the refuge is the perfect site for the “environmentally sensitive exploration” of oil. Environmentalists are wondering: What will become of
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Chapter 1 Mom’s word stuck me like a lightning bolt. I was so shocked that I forgot to give reaction to what I had just heard. Maybe because a part of me still believed this couldn’t be true. Well‚ was it a joke? I looked back into mom’s eyes. She was still looking at me with pitiful look in her eyes‚ which showed me sympathy. I wanted to ask her if she was joking‚ but then I realised it would be hard to bear the pain if she said no. Instead I wanted for her to say something else or give a reaction
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Once upon a time there was a boy laid in a corner of a dark room‚ he was alone and silent. The only noise was that of footsteps which entered the room. "Macro! Get up you swine" said the man. His voice was very deep and menacing. He wore a redcap with a dark green army suit‚ again he shouted and the boy slowly rose from the floor. “We know that you are involved with a gang of villains called the Mad Catz but where IS your secret layer?!!” screamed the man impatiently “I don’t work with them
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In Aldous Huxley’s Brave new World‚ John the savage is undeniably the most complex character misfortunate enough to be influenced by the dystopian society illustrated in the future. The characteristics that Huxley uses to define John not only add to that complexity‚ but also reveal the inevitable demise of one who has been denatured by the dystopian society- despite moral beliefs‚ knowledge of literature to understand the world‚ and the desperation for self-exploration. In the dystopia of Western
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----------- The Mienshao opened her eyes and gasped loudly. She could instantly feel that she was sitting in a very uncomfortable position in small‚ enclosed space. The ground felt cold and metallic. It was obviously some kind of cage. The Mienshao looked down to her stomach and rubbed it‚ relieved to feel that her unborn baby was unharmed. "Richard‚ long time‚ no see buddy. How’ve you been?" a voice spoke happily. "Dr. Feinburg‚ it sure is great to see you again‚" replied a second voice
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The Chapel I sat in was lined with wooden pews‚ unadorned as befitted the sombre mood. Inside the atmosphere was oppressive and a faint mustiness hung in the air. I was vaguely aware of the murmurs and rustlings of the other mourners as they took their seats. I dabbed my eyes with the hanker-chief as the deeply moving and melancholy chords of “Amazing Grace” began to filter through the stony walls. Ahead of the pews the mahogany casket was polished to a glossy shine and adorned with pale pink
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Vacation to remember On a beautiful day in July‚ the sun shone brightly above the ocean where a sail boat leisurely floated. A pirate‚ named Nabarun who is the captain of his own boat‚ along with his friend Paandu were sailing on the coast of Vancouver. Nabarun and Paandu had come from India and had been best friends for 10 years; they had big dreams of travelling the world together because Nabarun was a pirate and owned his own sail boat which made it easier for them to travel and see family
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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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One by one‚ the raindrops fell onto my head as I looked out onto the front yard‚ eagerly waiting for the postman to make his delivery. Feeling my hair drenched and frizzing up didn’t make me flinch as it usually did. There was only one thing that could summon that feeling. In the distance I could start to hear the grumble of the postman’s bike. As my ears twitched to the nearing of the roaring sound‚ I immediately got up off the veranda and paced towards the front gate. It was only a minute later
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The Short Story History: as a form dates back to the oral tradition of the tale written tales emerge in poetic forms - Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales Boccaccio’s Decameron (1351-1353) often cited as the precursor of the short story form‚ as is the French translation of The Thousand and One Nights (1704) short story really begins to emerge as a form in the 19th century Grimm’s Fairy Tales (1824-1826) an early collection of folk stories that paved the way for the development of the genre of short
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