Fletcher Monologue

Buttercup experiences a realization on page 171. She has just been captured by three men who plan to kill her. Than a fourth man comes to her rescue. As he runs away with her she gets suspicious, so she pushes him down the ravine. As he is lying there he takes off his mask revealing his true self. This is where Buttercup realizes her true love has come for her, so she jumps down the ravine to be with him. This shows us something about Buttercup’s character; she will go to the extreme for her true love. Buttercup no longer has to marry the prince, so she can follow her heart and marry Westley.

When Stanley first got to Camp Green Lake he was timid, apprehensive, and hesitant, but now he’s dauntless, sympathetic, and worthy.

I was a productive woman, and I wanted people to see it in me. I wanted them to see it in the way I walked. I wanted them to see it in the way I talked. I wanted them to see it in the way I worked late every night to make my patients, and the world, a healthier, better place. Most importantly, though, my productivity was expressed in the way that I raised my boy. I wanted Eugene to be as perfect as I was, and I worked my hardest to keep all distractions from him. Still, he always managed to slide his face into the pages of his books every chance he got. I didn’t see the point in it. He had the top marks out of everyone in his class, so what was the point in reading books that didn’t improve his grades? I didn’t

Poetry, more than any other writing style, is filled to the brim with literary devices. These devices are used by the author to communicate their story. Mary Oliver’s, “Crossing the Swamp,” is a tale of one person’s struggles in crossing a swamp. Mary uses the techniques of descriptive language, metaphors, and personification to develop the relationship between the speaker and the swamp.

On 05/14/17, I was dispatched to 2440 W. Madison in reference to an assault that occurred at the location.

Deb and I were thinking about you, and the "AZ HEAT". I remember patching and painting the house in July, and frankly it was miserable!

Yesterday, at approximately 9am, the streets of Verona faced its third civil brawl from two feuding families: the Capulets and Montagues.

In Spokane County, the Spokane Blabbity’s reporter, Alex Seder, has fo3wng und out that Henry Berry and his two nephews were lit on fire, but one of the two nephews died later after he was lit afire. The cause being of two other black men. After the incident Henry Berry now lives in a little shack, in very little condition, with his wife, where he is still scarred with burns and could never talk again.

Marcus creeps up, slowly dribbling the ball looking at me like I’m his prey. He shoots.

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.

“What do you think of it, Mr. Jennison?” An about fifty-year-old neighbor, Mr. Lawrence, spoke to me as he looked around the suddenly empty storage room.

Inspector Male, I just wanted to reach out and let you know the amazing efforts of Andrew Crowe and Greg MacArthur on Monday December 28th. Sorry for the long winded e-mail but I think it’s necessary.

The hot, arid air burned into my soul as millions of needles pricked my delicate skin. Beads of sweat coursed down my face as I turned towards the window facing the barren desert surrounding me. My family and I were on an ever sought vacation to the Grand Canyon, yet we had to drive from New York to Arizona and I radiated impatience throughout the journey. Walls of heat shrouded me as I gasped for air, yet my efforts were fruitless, swallowing nothing but fire. As my lungs collapsed, I looked out the window and into the heart of the looming sun, taunting me from afar. Suddenly, my eyes gave out and sweat and tears engulfed them till they took their true form. A forest blanketed with soft and gleaming snow, blemished by the phrase: “Only 10 more minutes.” However, I was awakened from my revery by a vehement cry as I gazed into the eyes of tattered vultures, of every discrepancy, with an unforgettably shrill voice. “Who dares enter our land!” they screeched dissonantly. Trembling, my eyes flashed over the sun and I was standing in a perpetual desert, with vulture's eyes glued to me. I froze with fear, though the sun baked my skin.

Merry Christmas! It has been a while Morgan! I’m sure you must miss me – how long has it been? Twenty? Thirty years? Do you remember me Morgan? I was your neighbour back in Townsville and we went to Manorfield Primary School together. I’m sure you don’t know (or remember) a lot about me, but lately, I’ve been hearing a lot from you! Rest assured, its good news. You were promoted to ‘Constable’ just a few months ago right? Heard you’re doing a damn good job. Must be nice, having a good income, a nice little family and generally living a happy and enjoyable life. Brings me back to our days when we were just kids who didn’t know or care how the world revolved. I’m sure you don’t remember me (I already said that) that well so I’ll give you a little

I was broken. I had nothing left inside of me, my life was slowly disappearing and I couldn’t stop it. As I lied on the cold wooden floor of my room the pain from where he had hit me was erupting inside of me. Every part of my body ached in agony, I struggled to suck in air. As my eyes flooded with tears and I looked at myself in the mirror I was horrified at the person looking back at me. Blood was running off my face and onto my nightdress. Deep purple welts had already started to form across my fragile body from the forceful impact of his rough fists that consistently made contact with my small figure. But living day and night in this torture couldn’t hurt me anymore than it already has, but what does is that it was him that did this to