Essay : Chapter 1

“Her expression changed then, becoming fearful rather than merely pained. It was the look you get when facing a sudden and

He slowly got on his knees as tears started to flow from his eyes. She was visibly disgusted at the sight of his crying, sending a powerful kick towards his stomach, causing him to cough up spit. He coughed violently as he held onto his stomach. She looked down at him shaking her head as she pulled him up by his head.

"Adela is a lady of high standing. Do you mean to say she is involved?" Laughter ensued.

“You seem to be an exciting candidate for this position.” the secretary said with a smirk and pushed up her glasses. “Can you start flight training and classes tomorrow, honey?” she said with her southern drawl.

She'd reacted as hoped, and when her second hand lay over his, he felt the compassion and sympathy in that touch. "Thank you, Mirella." He'd whispered, with lips trembling, before he managed to shake off the memories of his lost beloved, and continued. Pickett's gaze didn't leave the young woman's for a second, and neither did his brain stop ticking. The man was curious to see her reaction to his revelation, expecting it to be dramatic, and he wasn't in the least

While she regarded him so thoroughly he barely looked at her, except to make eye contact and give her a complete grimace so she would truly understand his mood. In the coming months he will wish he had taken more notice of her, had created more of a mental image with which he could remember her. Her mousy face, and dull brown hair. He honestly couldn't recall what color her eyes were. Deep down he knew it wasn't his fault, how could he have known this would be the last time he would see her?

"You may come in," The voice no doubt belonged to the queen as Issac turned the doorknob and entered the room, to be greeted with a rather normal sight, so common that it was almost eerie. Cleopatra was simply sitting in front of the mirror, in the same clothing that she wore yesterday, casually combing her hair. It seems that she was still somewhat amazed at the piece of glass reflecting her image, it also appeared that she was already personalizing her room. Her bed was done in a rather odd way; it seemed the cover was removed completely, and just the sheets remained.

In literature, one of the most critical concepts we are faced with is interpretation. A reader must interpret what they have read to make sense of the story and can only do so by using elements of the plot, typically presented by the narrator. A reliable and unreliable narrator provide the reader with different, possible versions of the tale, which makes narration a crucial part of the story. An unreliable narrator is a narrator who’s credibility is put into question due to them being either biased, obscure, or unhinged. In most of Edgar Allan Poe’s short stories, the narrator tends to be unreliable as they are portrayed as insane, fanatic psychopaths.

She gauged his reactions. She could see the twin tides between them; the question of which one would wash over the other. Her eyes met his. She tensed her legs waiting for the right second. Then she leapt into the air propelling herself into a powerful kick. Her foot struck Drachneg’s chest driving him from his horse and into a nearby tree. She watched him stagger to his feet. “You really don’t want to do that.”

Matty’s face dropped suddenly, he took a deep breath and shut his eyes. He quickly covered his eyes with the palm of his hands and massaged his temples. He was clearly on the verge of tears.

Elizabeth's anger now turned on herself. To have behaved so in front of her host and his guests – to have demonstrated to the proud Mr Darcy just how far beneath him she really was – to have allowed Caroline Bingley the satisfaction of provoking her to anger… Oh! It was all too much. With a final glare at Miss Bingley, Elizabeth had turned on her heel and stalked from the room and the house without a further word.

She held back a lot of anger, and let it come out in an aggressive manner.

“The vest protected you from the brunt of the stun attacks, but I wish Dr. Torance were here to give you a full medical scan, plus a nanite injection for your head wounds and the effects of the cuffs.” She ripped open a packet of NewSkin gloves, tossed them at Mark. “Put these on while I get a GelPack for your face.” Her hands felt light as falling snow as she applied surgical glue to his lip and salves to his face. Eva’s hands lingered on his shoulder, her eyes showed genuine concern. “Sure you don’t need a sanity check after being in those cuffs?”

The movement had caught her, embarrassingly enough, off guard -- which was why the breath was knocked out of her lungs and her head smacked the stone ground with an audible noise. But whether the kick landed or not, she didn’t know, because she was too intent on the next move. On executing her next

Assured that the spirit could hear that her heart rate pounding in her ears, Proserpina forced her sob down and refused to cry out in agony. Damned to this land just as much as she was, Pluto’s return came as no shock. She just thought she had a few more days free of her husband, king, and tormentor. Not for the first time her anger for Jupiter burned in her heart, for surely he would have control over Pluto enough to force her release, but no the gods were powerless. Not for the first time, Proserpina wished she would have died slowly instead of eating those seeds prolonging her suffering.