Fo Bak Alone Alternate Ending

It is universally known that dreams are full of meanings and emotions. In Freud’s theory, all dreams are wish fulfillments or at least attempts at wish fulfillment. The dreams are usually presented in an unrecognizable form because the wishes are repressed. Freud proposes there are two levels in the structure of dreams, the manifest contents and the latent dream-thoughts. The manifest dream, a dream

In my opinion, the ending wasn’t satisfying. It wasn’t satisfying because I was expecting a little bit more. For example, when the whole entire band shaved their hair I was surprised. But, I was wondering as to why the girls didn’t do it as well, I was hoping that they’d shave their hair as well. Also, when Jeffery got sick and Steven couldn’t perform, but in the end he received an award for his drums. But, he didn’t even perform and he got the award, I thought that it was unfair for the other people that played the instruments. Also, when Steven went to Sam and she died I was heartbroken. So, I would’ve kept her alive, I would have let her meet her sister. I would let them have a reunion, then later on she would give some more advice to

“Well,” Mrs. Johnson interrupted, “how about we settled down and talk about our plans for the morning?” Everyone agreed and sat in a circle discussing their ideas. Next, they decided they should head to bed due to the early times they would have to wake in the morning. As they woke up, they put on their layers of clothes, grabbed their bags, and headed for the Johnsons’ business. They would be staying in an attic, which luckily had a bathroom, but would have to sleep all in one room. They set up their belongings and set rules which they would have to follow to stay safe.

Memories of the night before became a vivid memory in the recesses of his dimly lit mind, underneath the sunlight's intruding yet blissful gaze and the sensation of silk against his bare skin felt like a euphoria, a river of midnight encased his slender figure and with the scrunch of his refined nose and furrowed knit of his thin eyebrows, he rose from his slumber. Delicate fingertips leisurely danced across the silken sheets which lost its assuaging warmth only to discern that he was gone, Padding through the spacious house far too big for two alone to fill, and too much of a burden for one to find comfort in. To see his lover, clad in a suit that managed to take his breath away immediately

Watching the trio disappeared, Akki walked back to the alleyway. Finishing his last piece of bread, he slid down on the brick wall. Rest is head on the wall, Akki decided to sleep, closing his eyes he fell asleep.

Throughout the book, the man wakes up from fragmented dreams. “What is it, Papa? Nothing. We're okay. Go to sleep.

“Off, off, off!”Fluke the fat, lazy, black sea lion barked at the lonely sea lion, Gerald. “Yeah, off, Gerald!” barked Fluke’s copycat sea lion, Rudder. Fluke then pushed me off the island. “I’ll get you back one day, Fluke!” Gerald barked as he sunk into the water.

In David B’s Novel, Epileptic, violence is a prominent theme throughout the piece of literature. Epileptic is a story of a brother’s epilepsy that carries on sporadically and creates more and more violence into a fantasy. To be exact, violence is behavior involving physical force intended to hurt, damage, or kill someone or something. In other words, violence is anything that involves hurting in a vicious natural act. His brother’s actions erupt into the violent seizures of war.

In the dream it matters terribly that he touched it, as if death were contagious, the spade to be thrown away, his hands stained, water washing on and on, down the same gutter. The lizard springs at me from behind succulents the colour of aubergines, hisses by the tricycle wheels, its tongue never still. Butterflies waft in plumbago.

experiences is extreme and he tries to block it out of his memory, yet the trauma finds unconscious expression through his dreams.

He finds himself alone, like a shadow he swallows the light, and tosses back that last of his reality.

Some nights he even let himself imagine what it would be like to fall asleep next to someone again, they arms around him or their head on his chest, the warmth of them holding onto him, fingers interlaced as they slept. Sam thought about what it would be like to be touched, and while it made him ache, it comforted him enough to let him fall

He decides to keep the story of his dream to himself as he fears he might make a fool of himself if he tells

That night should be like his other night; when he let his mind blurring between reality and illusion, and whether he’s awakened or dreaming felt quite the same. He sprawled shirtless on the cold tile floor, among the paint tubes, brushes, and his piece of painted canvas. He had just swallowed his night medicine minutes before, even the paint on his canvas hadn’t dried yet when he saw a face appeared in front of his window. The pallid face emerged just after midnight, crawling out of the still darkness like all the nightmares do. It’s an incredibly pale face with a streak of blood slashed across his

They are pleasant dreams, but he always wakes up feeling horribly guilty. As he curls up between the cool sheets, feeling the throbbing delight ease away, he tells himself that he is despicable to feel this way, as despicable as the man who used to use them like toys. It is only in sleep that his constant, careful self-control slips, but he hates himself even for that.