Animal War Narrative

Dalton took the bat and sat down on his uncomfortable, worn out, brown leather couch. He stared blankly at the black television screen waiting, he was waiting for the unknown, he was waiting for the being that was on the other side of the wall. Thoughts floated through his mind all night. “When is he going to come?” “Why didn’t he come yet?” “What happened to Linda?”. When morning finally came he tried to call sick to work but it didn’t ring once and decided to take a look at Linda’s house and when he was leaving his house he noticed something weird. He wasn’t in his apartment building any more.His apartment looked like it had been taken out of the building and put into the field behind where his apartment used to be. Out of nowhere he heard strange noises he looked around and saw nothing, until out of the corner of his eye he saw something, something that didn’t belong and it saw him. He started to run. He saw a patch of trees, he ran towards it. He ran through the trees for an hour, he started hearing cars in the distance so he knew he was close to

Silence. It was too quiet for a Manhattan neighborhood. My eyes slowly opened, welcoming sunlight in, as I looked around my room, I strained my ears to catch for any sounds. I decided to get up and figure out why our usually bustling neighborhood went from noisy to quiet. Walking down the stairs, I was welcomed to a totally destroyed living area, all my furniture against the door, all my windows boarded up with multiple nails pierced into the board. Creeping towards my kitchen, all my belonging looked as though it had not been touched. Opening the oak cabinets, I noticed all my food was in place, including my box of chocolate granola bars, with four left. Grabbing one, I leaned against the counter, my eyes glancing towards the daily newspaper crumpled on the floor. Bending down

For my reflective piece I chose to do a comparative report. It shows how the Burma Prisoners of War were much like the animals from 'Animal Farm'. The prisoners refer to the 'dumber' animals, and the Japanese guards were much like the pigs. The purpose of this is to show the similarities between 'Animal Farm' and the Prisoners of War at Burma. The audience for this piece would be anyone with a understanding of 'Animal Farm' and the Prisoners of War and what they endured. The style of writing is formal as it is a informative factual report. This comparative report shows how the prisoners were poorly treated, how they lived a life of fear and how hard they worked. These ideas are related to strongly connected to 'Animal

When I arrived home, nobody was there. The street was still as a statue. I was too scared to even think about what could’ve happened to my parents. I hid in the basement for four and a half hours while I prayed my family was still alive. Sitting there waiting seemed like it lasted an eternity. I was curious what was going on. I walked upstairs only to see the house completely ransacked. I heard nothing though I knew they had been here, but they didn’t find me. I had been able to survive the invasion but my family and the rest of my friends are gone and I am alone.

Dave had gone out for the day. I can’t even remember what he was doing. But I can definitely remember what I was doing. I had one more chapter of the book. The book that could show the world what it was like to have no freedom. Then I heard some noise coming from the back of the house. I thought it was one of the security men coming to check if I was alright. I never thought that anyone else could be in the house. Then the door opened I felt sick as if someone had just punched me in the stomach.

I clinch my bedsheets as the shots sound one, then another, then another. Strangely, I am still alarmed at the gunshots after thirteen years of living here. Walter, my cat, jumps into my lap, slightly twitching as he walks over and across the trash surrounding my mattress. I shove him out of the way and lift my body forward, the streaks of sore pulsing pain into every nerve in my body. I kick my way through an Elmo toy, pieces of paper, and my only pair of shoes. Nearing to the bathroom, I lift my only real possession, my Bible, from underneath my mattress. I swing open the door and start my daily hygienic process: a washing and drying with paper towels and small bar of soap I stole from the convenience store down the street. I look into the mirror. If only I had lighter skin, someone one would care for me as their own. The alarm of my phone triggers a sense of anxiety as I now realize it’s three minutes before the bus arrives. I quickly slide on my shirt,

A fabulous woman struts down the streets of New York. Her chin is angled skyward and she is garbed in a type of luminescent empowerment. Her heels click against the pavement, resounding a message of, no, not oppression, but instead an awareness of one’s value and strength. Her eyes don’t frantically scan the crush of people rushing to and from wherever in a daze of paranoia, her gaze is direct and fearless. She does not wonder who her next assailant is, she only seeks out fulfilment that in another time would be vehemently denied her. Weaving an untouched and unimpeded path, she stops at a gently-hipster building designed to appeal to a 21st century woman such as herself. “Now that’s new and certainly progressive” she thinks.

Earlier this month on our Animal Farm, there was a war between the Animals, Mr Jones and his men. It was a very frightening sight for all us animals, but we got through it together. We all fought for each other, and we all stood up for each other as well. Eventually, we sent Mr. Jones and his men away. Even though we sent him away, us animals still lost this battle between us and the humans. This all happened because according to other animals on the farm, Jones and his men were very upset with our actions on the farm, and wanted to take over once again. It took me by shock, and I've decided to speak to all my fellow comrades

Thump, thump, thump. I hear my footsteps as I walk down the block. I’m tired and hungry, usual for after school, and I can’t wait to get home. All I have to do is walk my neighbor Julie’s dog; that shouldn't take long. As I continue to walk I head toward her court yard, a beautiful lawn of lush, green grass, surrounded by a wall of homes. I inhale a strong fragrance of food, so strong I can almost taste it. I pull the house key from my back pocket. I feel a twinge of pain as the key scrapes my finger. I insert the key, and hear the door click open. Not even a second passes before the dog bolts out of the door. Without thinking I begin to sprint as fast as a cheetah. I weave through the maze-like streets, and my mind races on where she could

Taking one, last long look around the dilapidated old cabin, Charity’s heart was so heavy she felt it might stop beating. When she was finally able to move, she walked to the door, then stopped to look once more at her home- Above the mantle hung a painting that her grandfather said his mother, her namesake painted when he was a boy- it was of Heath Mynd, a mountain near his village of birth, Norbury, which he said was in Shropshire, England. When her eyes left the painting, they landed on her grandmother 's old corncob pipe lying on the mantle. She went over and picked the pipe up. Lovingly, she fingered it, feeling the smoothness of the bowl and stem from years of use; she dropped it and the pouch of tobacco in her coat pocket. She thought she might just take up smoking it, the way her grandmother did.

That day seemed good. Mom and dad went out, I fell asleep. What went wrong? The feeling of people watching your house. Seeing something’s not right. My mom, running, jumped to the nearest room. Dogs panicking at 3:00 in the morning. Millions of cops, surrounding my house. Me, analyzing all the jackets that had four letters on them. SWAT.

I step outside; the air is like a warm blanket around me, completely still, it is slightly relaxing. The sky is completely black, again. I cannot remember what the sun looks like, all I seem to recall is the darkness of night, and the soft, but yet artificial radiance that is fluorescent lights. I walk amongst these abandon city streets. Signs broken in half, buildings with massive jagged holes through them, sidewalks completely torn down the middle, almost as though it was waves crashing against seashore. Once again, I was reminded that I am alone; it is by the poster of photo shopped friends holding hands, smiling, laughing, and feeling this joy that is in togetherness. There is a feeling that stirs up in one’s heart, and in the upmost depths of their bodies. Some call it the mark of injustice, when something is not right. We as humans feel it as our sole purpose to make it right.

The most exciting element in this book is that it is set in a post-apocalyptic setting in a country that resembles that of American. The themes in the book are exaggerations of many of the same characteristics that can be found in today's society such as oppression, inequality, use of religion for political advantage, violence, and many more. The similarities that are found in the setting of the book and what is happening in the world around us work to draw the reader in and make the story more plausible and realistic. It also provides an illustration of a society in which the "balance of power" has been tipped to one group exclusively.

Throughout history it is shown that humans can either be sympathetic towards each other or go with their animal instincts and be cruel and harmful to each other sadly most people go with their animal instincts. In the 3 books Animal Farm, All Quiet On The Western Front, and A Christmas Carol these stories show how neglect can ultimately ruin people Authority Figures, corruption of power, and human ignorance can lead to the breakdown of humanity

One thing new in the novel is that here his canvas has grown larger. He turns his focus from the private to the public. Instead of his pre-occupation with the existentialist predicament of an individual, here he deals with the socio- political and existentialist crisis of the entire "City" and thus of the whole humanity itself. In this novel, too, he takes up his favourite existentialist issues of faith, commitment, choice, responsibility and identity but the way he handles them is somewhat different from that of his earlier novels. Here he looks into these issues with the spectacles of politics, an equipment he has not been used to, raising the novel to the level of political allegorical