Duckie Monologue

The scene starts off by Spongebob and Patrick screaming as they are being pulled out of the fish tank they are being held captive in. The scuba-diver, Spongebob and Patrick in hand, marches over to a table lit with a lamb, each step thumbing across the wooden floor. Spongebob and Patrick, the lamps intense heat bearing down on them, begin to sweat and dry up. The scuba-diver laughs menacingly. He then proceeds to take a book and close the door to the bathroom. As they lay in the gift shop, shriveling up from the heat of lamp, Spongebob and Patrick realise that they have made it to Shell City. Overcome with joy, they began to sniffle and a single tear forms in an eye from both. Spongebob and Patrick sing as loud as they can, “I’m a goofy goober,

The novel ‘Nanberry’ written by Jackie French is a novel which talks about how a native boy is adopted by the first Australian Surgeon and settles with a complexed family. Of these, the surgeon, however presented as a victor but ultimately the villain, on the other hand, the native boy is shown as a victim, though it could be argued that he is something of a victor.

To start this off, i'm lost. I know i'm an idiot, but i'm going to try and make things right. What happened was me and the boys went out for our patrol earlier this morning. We were all so excited for Saturday that we weren't focusing on the job at hand. Without knowing we were attacked by a mob of Infected from behind, there was no other option but for all of us to split up. Now i'm here, I dont even know where here is. All the training we had just gone to waste. I would do anything to just go back in time and somehow just fix this all, but I can't and it’s tearing my heart to pieces. The suspense is terrible, I have no clue if anyone survived. I dont know if I could live with myself if anyone doesn't make it, explaining to their families that I killed their son. The amount of pain I have when a I write that is unmeasurable. Regret is all that I feel, and it's not going to fade away anytime soon.

About two years ago my sister had taken in a dog named Morgan. At first I didn’t exactly agree with this because she already had a dog that she hardly took care of. When my sister brought Morgan home she was about two months old. I could still hold her in on had. And as I spent more time with her, she became my baby.

The music’s volume lowered as a familiar song was playing. A baby! It’s shrill shrieks filled the air and a group of many. Just like all new babies, they are all born with something. This new baby had a maraca, a small ball attached to a stick painted every color except green. That WAS me, but I’m not a baby. I’m 12 Earth years, whatever that place is, but let’s go back to when I was born. My parents gave birth to me like how normal people give birth. I had no name like how normal people are. Just like everyday normal people, I farmed Meeshan Blobs native to my hometown, the Green Cushion, where I farm green and yellow blobs. I was young then.

back up, and once again I felt with certainty that it was all a masquerade she was performing--but I was also struck by how intensely she performed, as though lives--not just our lives, or even the lives in this small, sometimes sleepy Massachusetts town, but all life, everywhere, from the worms beneath our feet that blindly dug their myriad and vermicular tunnels to the vast and tenuous astromorphs that feed on clouds of nebulae like earthly cetaceans sieve plankton and krill through their baleens--depended on her performance. She looked up at me, and said: "What were once billions of cycles about your small sun have now diminished over the aeons to an infinitesimal remnant; mere planetary revolutions, in fact. There are still

Listening to the blacksmith stammer in wonder of how Nixie could have managed to damage a sword so badly, her gaze shifted to the side and down at nothing in particular. Even in all the years that she pretended to practice with that sword, she mostly used it in ways she shouldn’t have. Using it in her travels to roast fish, or whatever she manged to scrounge up, in her travels. It made a great spit when she couldn’t bother to find anything more suitable. When she wasn’t using it to cook, she used it to push burning wood around in its pit. Generally she considered it an all purpose tool more than an actual weapon to defend herself with. If the edges were dull enough, she could even use it as a makeshift fishing pole!

The drive in was empty that night like usual. I was there propped on some abandoned car watching a rerun of Star Wars. I blew smoke out into the air and looked up at the stars as i wondered about things. I wished that ponyboy was here with me but him and Darry had went out to the store. I sat up as the movie and began the walk home.

With such achievable ways of prevention why is Heart Disease still the number one killer in the United States? How can this disease be prevented? Are there ways to treat this condition once it is present? Is second-hand smoke a contributor to this disease? Are forms of birth control a contributor? Does heredity play a role? Can stress worsen

The beast that they are talking about, I wonder if it’s real? I wonder if it has a body? Jack is always talking about how the beast is trying to hurt us. I haven’t even seen this so-called beast before, does it even exist? It must exist, that’s why everyone is terrified… haven’t you noticed, haven’t you? They’re frightened! I mean the way things are, they dream and you can hear them, have you been awake at night? They talk and scream. The littuns, even some of the others. As if… as if this isn’t a good island. As if the beastie, the beastie or the snake – thing is real. Maybe there is a beast?

PROLOGUE Before our existence there were horrible, terrifying creatures called Monsters. Theses creatures may have been monstrous but they were not soulless. Savage indeed but not without morals. These so called monsters may not have lived lawlessly but they lived with a love like no other. Then when man was made from earth and women from bone, everything changed.

‘’your very first princess sumit’’ said Applejack ‘’You must be over the moon twilight’’ ‘’ I am excited but to be honest i'm a little nervous to’’ said twilight ‘’ your nervous cited’’ said pinkie pie ‘’ its like you want to jump up and down and yell yay me!’’ ‘’but you also want curl up into a tiny ball and hide at the same time. We all’ve been there” “i’m almost there everyday” fluttershy insisted. ‘’You got no reason to fret twilight everything is gonna be just-” applejack was inturrupted by rairty. “Twilight, sorry darling but i just noticed your not wearing your crown, you haven’t forgotten it in ponyville have you?” rairty was panicked. “Its in my bag.”

His rumbling purr shattered the night and her dream fell away. The king must be fed. Figures, why would I ever get a real day off, anyway? Groggily, she got out of bed and filled his bowl full of his new, vet-recommended food as he rudely weaved in and out of her legs, no doubt trying to trip her. Sadistic little bastard.

"Right. There's been too much drama. We all need our rest," he said, holding back the impulsive yawns, all the while his brain working on a capture and kill scenario.

You sit in your dark room, the only source of light seemed to be your lunchtop illuminating its dull light. You have lost track of the time, it would undoubtedly be past 10 PM, you’d confirm the time if you had the energy to look up at the clock. Or the digital clock on the lunchtop. You let out a long sigh, massaging your temples, only a while longer until Rose gets on. You tap a slow steady rhythm on the base of the laptop, staring blankly at the screen as if expecting that to prompt Rose’s log on message to ping up. Why are you so worked up over such a little game? Because, as news has it, the world stands on its last few months, and this game has said to be the last resort to a more comfortable life. If the idea of a ‘comfortable