It’s them sycamores I remember. An’ the river, runnin’ deep and green, tinkling jus’ like the way Aunt Clara’s house keys used to when she was out on the porch about to unlock the front door. I’d hide my mouse in my pocket whene’er I heard them jinglin’ keys, because Aunt Clara ne’er liked ’em rodents hangin’ around her house. I was a smart boy, I really was.
My name is Mayella Ewell. I belong to the lowest of the low amongst the whites in Maycomb. I grew up in a poor family and never received any proper education. The only I have is probably being white. My dad and I want to have a better life, but dad doesn’t want to put any effort into doing so. My mom died when I was young and I became a surrogate wife for my dad. I wish I could have gone to school, but I have to take care of my children. My dad loves to go out and drink for the whole day. When he comes home, he often drunk and this is when he would rape me.
“Look Lennie, I want you to look around here. You can remember this place, can’t you? The ranch is about a quarter of a mile up that way. Just follow the river.” “If you just happen to get In trouble like you always done before, I want you to come right here an’ hide in the brush. Till I come for you can you remember that?” Then as George told Lennie before and he did what he was told Lennie came back to the river after he accidentally killed Curley’s wife and the pup. George didn't want Lennie to suffer so he did he job himself, he wanted Lennie to be happy when he went away so he told him to face the river and think about the farm they wanted to live on and then George killed Lennie so he didn't have to suffer. Mercy killing/ euthanasia
I started to walk away from the tournament, I wanted to get away, to think. No one ever seems to care how I felt. I walk to the barn slowly so Curly wouldn't notice I was leaving when I saw Lennie. I needed to talk to someone, to actually have a really conversation with someone. I kept to my slow pace til he looked up at me. Then, he covered something up in the hay.
Today was the worst day of my life. The boys in the bunkhouse decided that my old girl had lived long enough. They took her from me in the night and put her down. There was utter silence for the longest time and then I heard a shot in the distance. I would have happily taken her spot as this world just doesn’t have a lot to offer for me anymore. I knew she was getting old and had trouble getting around but that was my baby. And they just took her away like she didn’t even matter. The boy’s said I could pick any of Slim’s dog’s to replace my old girl, but I don’t think I have the time or the patience. We got a couple new ranch hands today, George and Lennie they seem nice enough, George is definetly the brains of that duo and what Lennie lacks
I am writing to you on the behalf of the terrible accident that happened the other day with me and your darling son Theodore. I just wanted to clear this up for you, so you don’t have to report it to the state generals office. Here is what actually happened...
Thornton Wilder, a Wisconsin native, is the writer of the Pulitzer Prize winner play Our Town. In Our Town, Wilder tells the story of a town in Grover’s Corners, New Hampshire, and the daily lives of the inhabitants. In the play, the author uses minimal props and scenery as well as including a main character known as the Stage Manager that has the ability to break the fourth wall, allowing him to talk to the audience. This factor of talking to the audience is a major component of making the public a part of the town. Throughout the play, there are many instances in which the Stage Manager uses various cues as well as dialogues to incorporate the audience and develop an intimate relationship to create a true sense of “our town”.
The air reeked of alcohol, the intoxicated breaths of young people colliding together over drunken slurs to create one distinct scent. She kept her head low as she made her way through the maze made by the seemingly endless crowd. Full of regrets, she was doing all she could to get out of there, the distraction turning out to be nothing more than a few drinks with people who didn't even know when her birthday was. The song finished abruptly, followed by simultaneous cheering. She kept moving, weaving in and out of people with fierce determination until she walked right into him. She murmured a quick apology and went to continue when the familiarity of the figure in front of her hit. She hesitantly looked up, heart dropping into her stomach at the mere sight of him.
Bright rays from the sun seemed to make the band around her finger glow as it shielded her from turning into a pile of ashes. Instead of crumbling away, her delicate skin begged for the shine the sun granted to her barely covered frame. Long locks cascading down her back to end just above her rear, small gusts of breeze swaying it slightly. The years had been generous to the youthful Shae Hoffman — at least, visibly youthful. Over a thousand years old and you wouldn't know it unless you asked, but most with the ability to get this knowledge were either dead or similar to her in deeper ways than you could ever imagine. Even with ages on her, her soul was still active and always managed to reach out to one familiar male — one
So, we arrived at Hell. It’s so beautiful! It has lovely green trees that dangle over you as you walk. As you walk past you could feel the soft leaves brush against your shoulders. As I sniffed the fresh air, it smelt of Eucalyptus trees and Jasmine flowers. All you could hear was the sweet sound of silence. I’ve never loved silence so much. It was pretty nice for Hell. Except for the mystical creatures that lurked around there…Speaking of mystical creatures, there was a snake in Homer’s sleeping bag! I was so terrified! So I quickly scuttled into the nearby lake to make sure that the horrid creature could not reach me, but it turns out, snakes can swim! How can they swim? They don’t have legs! How are they supposed to swim? I didn’t understand…
The world went to hell at eleven thirty, Wednesday on the eighth of June, 2003. Maggie wasn’t quite sure why she remembered the exact time and day, perhaps it was because her class always had English at eleven thirty on Wednesdays.
I connect mostly to this passage because August knew he was sick but he still went to Amsterdam with Hazel. He did not let his sickness or his parents stop him from doing something he wanted to do like travel. I was once told that I could not do something but it was not by my parents and it was not related to my health it was my education. Through my whole year in kindergarten I had my teacher say that I had a problem with my learning skills that I as dumb. This stopped in first grade but started again in fifth grade . My teacher would always say that I would not be able to go the 6th grade and that made me feel bad about myself. At that point I got tired of teacher saying that i'm not cable of doing this and that because I don’t grasp the content as quickly as the other students. When she told me this I wouldnt say anything because I was scared that maybe that would happen to me. That I would repeat the grade again and I thought if that did happen how would I live with myself, I would be a failure to my whole
“BELLA!!!” Tommy yelled in my ear. “What?!” I snapped back. We are almost about to be to Ellis Island! Get up!” Tommy yelled to me. I leaned up and saw everyone was ready to go. “Mother, Father. I’m sorry I stole your bed.” I apologized to them. “It’s okay. It was your tur anyway.” Mother replied, and smiled again. I looked to see what time it was and it was 2:46. “I’ll be back! I’m going to go say back to Oliver!” I grabbed my sweater and ran out the door. “Oliver told me to tell you that he was…” my grandmother yelled to me as I ran down the hall. But I didn’t want to miss seeing Oliver. I ran and was pulling my long brown hair u at the same time. I reached the stairs and he was standing there waiting. “OLIVER!” I yelled. “BELLA!” he