Death Valley: A Short Story

A tragedy in its own right must evoke emotion and a response from the audience through effective use of several elements evident in Shakespeare’s and Aristotle’s style of tragic writing. The plot progression of a tragedy should be rather specific under the idea which leads, ultimately, to the downfall of the protagonist. Despite the sorrowful story behind Richard Van Camp’s short story “Mermaids,” the exclusion of several core elements from both styles of writing prevent this piece from being classified a tragedy. “Mermaids” lacked the development of a tragic flaw in the main character, Torchy, and furthermore did not lead the character to their tragic demise, Van Camp also excluded the idea of isolating him over time and rather brought him closer to those around him to get over his inner conflict, which is unlike a tragedy.

It 's a dreary morning, the sky was blocked by clouds that looked like they were about to pour on

There she was, waiting anxiously and quietly with fear, laid Kathy McGray. She was fourteen and was a straight A student who had never held any grudges against anyone. She was always polite and kind to others. But right now she wondered. Why? Why would anyone want her?

One of the few things we learned this year that can be related to this book are the bones and skin. We learned about how the skin heals itself when it's wounded or injured in many

The book, Death’s Acre: Inside the Legendary Forensic Lab the Body Farm Where the Dead Do Tell Tales written by Dr. Bill Bass and Jon Jefferson, tells of the life of Bill Bass and his forensic cases and adventures as a forensic anthropologist. He studies bones and human corpses to aid the law enforcement in identifying bones from unknown bodies or people. Dr. Bill Bass has also developed and built his own forensic lab, which he named “The Body Farm”. The Body Farm allows his him study the decomposition of dead bodies to better determine information that can be used to help solve crimes. Dr. Bill Bass has lived many places in his life. He lived in Kansas and taught there during the sixties. He also lived in South Dakota where he excavated Indian

San Francisco to pick up me my mom and my little sister. We drove down to San Diego to rest

It was a warm December day when I found the footprints in the snow by my front door. Even though it was thirty degrees outside, the snow was still a few feet deep from the snowfall last Thursday. I had looked outside my door, making sure my car was there and not vandalized and instead saw the footprints across my front yard. I owned a home with a small yard and most of it comprised of a concrete driveway. The prints were visible, about the size of large dogs, but the details about the tracks caught my eyes. I had to bend over and get a closer view at their bizarre shape.

I felt the drops begin to fall, and yelled, “Hurry! Help Me get the fly on!” We hoisted on the fly, then realizing the tent was going to blow away, put in some extra stakes. The next morning we woke up, dazed by the nights’ events, but excited and ready for adventure. We began our journey into the Tetons, heading to Jenny Lake, where frigid waters dared us to jump in. We began our journey up the mountain shortly after a quick breakfast, during which a man from the next campsite over gave us some extra pancake mix, which at the moment we had no time to use, and threw in the back of the car. Little did we know the lights in the car had stayed on while we went up the mountain. I headed the trip for a while, then fell to the back, drained by trying to stay in the lead and by lack of oxygen. We had to take breaks every few minutes because of the dispersed and unsatisfying amount of air we were able to breath in. All of the sudden, like flashes of lightning, Kurtis and Allison took the

Buzz! Buzz! Buzz! I roll over and shut off my alarm. My body aches from the lack of sleep and yesterday’s workout. I threw on my gym clothes and headed out the door. There was work to be done.

It was a boring, hot afternoon in Blood Gulch. Grif and Simmons were talking like usual, the Blues were spying on them like usual, and Doc was talking to himself in a cave like usual. The only thing out of the ordinary was the plan that Doc was unwillingly being forced to do.

“You know why this whole assignment sucks?” Maria asked her partner as she turned the black car down the suburban road.

Ticktock, another second goes by can’t breathe. Looking at the bottom of the pool, seeing her face as she strips the gas to her mouth and knowing that I can’t bring her back. Four more laps to go, won’t stop to grasp for air. Blacking out, body paralyzed, nearly collapsing and the pain inside me is taking my consciousness away. She took her life and abandoned me in this world with meaningless dreams of a tomorrow that don’t matter. Taking another stroke and pushing forward.

What do you do? What do you do as you walk down the thousands of rows of graves at Arlington National Cemetery? What do you do as your father pauses to gaze at his best friend’s grave? What do you do while you watch him break for the first time you can consciously remember? What do you do when you start to walk again and he pauses? What do you do? What do you do when he looks at the gravestone planted about six feet to the left and comments “I remember when she was blown up by an RPG?” And what do you do when as you get ready to leave and he returns to her grave just to watch the unchanging headstone? I watched in heartache, but also in envy. I did not envy the hurt. I did not envy the pain. I envied the brotherhood. I envied the pride. I

The journey of escaping your claws is not as exhausting as it may seem because I just have to hide in the jungle until you eventually find me. If we ever switched places I wouldn't have eaten

So I escaped, the zoo, and I saw a sign that said "Cat on trip ta bed, (Caution Cliff Ahead)" "Cats on trips! Yay kitties going to find their beds! I wanna go! I wanna go! Pick me, pick me! Pick me teacher! I want a kitty! Kitties!!!" but of course ya know, I'm dyslexic so like I couldn't actually read it; I nearly fell off and killed myself... Ohh... Caution Cliff Ahead. Anyways, point being, I escaped, and this nice old man walked up to me and said "Halloa there, old chap! Voudriez-vous des bonbons?" He just asked me if I wanted candy. I looked at the wrapper, it was a blank white sheet of paper...boring! He pointed to a piece of paper, it said: P-E-E-C-H (Speed). Oooh, peach flavored candy! Yum! And it was in such a beautiful, boring, white