How To Kill A Monster: A Narrative Fiction

He could see the image perfectly in his mind; the cemetery quiet, crows singing harshly in the distance, the sun's light illuminating the tombs as it baid the day farewell, orange leaves nestled near the stones resting on the grave, Hannibal young and sharp-minded, settling in this new country, paying his respects to the past as he took in the present. Maybe he had traveled here for the sake of his studies, or because the small suburb in which he'd grown up had grown too banal, and it was time, now, to stretch to the world. Or perhaps he had simply been visiting. But he could see it, young Hannibal in a navy blue windbreaker, or a too-large sweater, less together and experienced than now, taking in the sight as if heaven sent to him, the sun sneaking through and lighting not just the nameplates nestled in the grass but the features of Hannibal's face. He could see himself finding Hannibal there, his sister on his arm, pausing to stare at the man encapsulated at the sight, Will and his sister encapsulated by the man. Approaching him, and then the three of them, standing together in silence, the sun casting orange-yellow light and pulling blue shadows on all of them, the tears dried on his sister's face not unlike the shadows of rain on Hannibal's now. When they turned to look at each other, the their eyes drifting to each others', they would be silent, and his sister would smile, and he'd smile, and Hannibal's eyes would shine the way they were shining

P.1. In “Monsters and the Moral Imagination” Stephen Asman believes monsters are lurking everywhere. But some fear of monsters are long gone past our times, but believes that monsters can send us fear instead of physical harm, and why do we call monsters, monsters if they're not real. But does believe that monsters have been on the rise over time. The rise of monsters could be tragedies that have happened in real life like 9/11 and believes that stress and trauma could be a huge role in the growth of monsters.

With funding support by Ohio Humanities, Madeline Muntersbjorn, PhD, will lead the discussion, Why Monsters Matter, 7 p.m. Wed. Oct. 26, at the Way Public Library, 101 E. Indiana Ave., Perrysburg. Muntersbjorn is an associate professor of philosophy with the University of Toledo. The discussion will examine how and why humans create monsters; and, if over time, are there common themes and purposes other than to scare. The 30-45 minute discussion is free as is parking.

“Fine,” she looked up as a man with a scar running down his cheek smiled sinisterly. She didn’t trust him, she moved to try to get out of his reach but he pulled his arm out. Her eyes widened in horror as his fist came forward, she had stopped crying, watching the fist as if it was coming at her slowly. When it hit her face she barely registered it, it didn’t hurt, only stung and sent a shock through her body. Another fist came, then another. Her vision was going blurry, she heard them say something but she couldn’t make out what it was as her body fell limp against the seat and her eyes shut, unable to handle the pain in her

In the article “Monsters and the Moral Imagination,” Stephen Asma, a professor of Philosophy and Distinguished Scholar at Columbia College Chicago, argues that the existence of monsters have a purpose in our lives. It is not only to reveal our deepest fears, but to question our moral instincts. Being attacked by fictional monsters seems impractical, however, chaos and disasters do happen and exist in the real world. The creation of monsters is due to our reaction of our fears and the inability to control the world we live in.

“Please, Scott.” You felt a ball forming in your throat—you didn’t want to cry but you couldn’t help it. You felt a tear stream down your face, “I’m scared...”

I walked closely to Stiles and Scott as I listened to Scott I rant about what had happened during the lacrosse practice earlier. I will have to say that after the practice Scott was for sure going to play start. I stepped over a huge rock as I moved closer to the boys to hear what they yapping about now , I rolled my eyes as they begin to talking the whole thing still. I just want to find the inhaler and get of the woods.

“I’m so sorry.” I say as I turn to run. I run to my briefcase hidden in the bushes to grab my phone. I dial 911, only to hang up each time the operator picks up. I take a deep breath, and dial one last time.

I asked him what was wrong and he said that his horse had stepped on a thorn and he had to get it out before we could go further. Barry jumped down off the horse and before I could say ‘plum pudding’ he grabbed my hands and twisted them behind my back pulling me to the ground from the horse. He grabbed his handkerchief and tied my hands with it. I looked into his piercing green eyes that flashed with violence as he demanded the map. I told him that I would never give it to him. He pulled out his knife and informed me about how he had really gotten his scar. ‘’The captain who stayed at your inn is my father. He gave me this scar when I was eight years old because I didn’t do as I was told! So now anytime anyone else doesn’t do as I tell them, they receive this scar!’’ He angrily pushed me to the ground. ‘’ And you’re not doing as I told you, are you?” he asked. He then promptly demanded me to hand over the map, but I still refused, even though my heart felt like it would beat out of my chest. He gave me the most hateful look I have ever seen on a human face as he leaned close to me and whispered, ‘’If you wake up from what I’m about to do to you, make sure you show them what happens when Mr. B gets angered.’’ He smacked my head with his fist and as I slowly slipped out of consciousness, I felt the cool blade of his knife pierce the top of my forehead and as warm blood began to trickle down my face, I prayed for someone to save

“I’m sorry to ask this again Ms.Fink, but could you please restate what happened the night of the murders?” I knew what they were doing. It didn’t take a mastermind to figure out that they are trying to pin the murders on me, anyone who had ever watched a crime show in their life would have caught on. “I got home from work, my mom was cooking in the kitchen, my dad was watching football in the living room, and my sister and brother were wrestling down the stairs. I hopped into the shower and began to sing, just as I always do. The yelling and screaming grew louder, but I just figured that mom and dad were fighting again. After I finished showering, to my disbelief my sister was lying dead, surrounded by her own blood, on the floor. A few steps and there was my brother, also dead. By then time had

Now, as I stand upon the soon to break limb, I regret everything. Seeing the river below sent a stream of tingles down my spine. I’ve never been afraid of heights until now. The river, a disturbing mossy green, appeared cold to the touch. Even with it being Summer, the depths of the river looked like a cold shower I never wanted to take. I would, in a certain degree, rather get ratted out by one of the teacher’s inside than jump from this ungodly tree. From my peripheral vision, the two boys were hollering. Finny more than Gene. Consistently, Gene loved the thrill and excitement of danger. With every fiber of my being I praise God that the two boys didn’t dare invite anyone else to the impending doom of my death. Below, I hear the noise of a nearby toad. It’s mouth depicting a loud ribbit. Perhaps predicting my impediment that was soon to come. I glance towards Gene. Silently asking if this was an exceptional idea. He looked at me with a pointed look before proclaiming “you’ll be fine” and turning towards Finny “won’t she?”. Finn thought for a second “Notwithstanding, Kristen is a girl. For the same reason, she won’t! She’s invariably schlemiel.” Anger flashed in my eyes and by the looks of it Gene could tell. With a searing eyeroll and quick turn of my stature, I was

I couldn’t leave the only brother I ever had. Tears were streaming down my face. I had kept my composure all throughout this hellish event. But now, I couldn’t lose my brother. I was trying to rip the debris up to somehow form an exit for him. He grabbed my hand and gave me his badge and his lucky necklace. I screamed that I wasn’t leaving him. I was going to die with my brother. His exact words were, “Get out and take care of Shelly (his wife) and Kate(His daughter). Tell them Daddy loves them very much and will see them when they come to heaven. Rus, it has been a good run for me. I love you man. You were the best brother any man could have. Take care of my wife and daughter. Make sure she gets to college and marries a good man. Now go! You need to survive to take care of them and your kids!” Tears streaming down my face I told him he has a deal and took off running. I got to lobby of the building when the most horrific sound emerged from the ceiling. The building was coming down and I had seconds to exit if I was going to keep John’s promise. With his necklace and badge clutched in my fist, I sprinted to the door and as far as i could go.

“It’s not me, it’s Jonathan. I think he’s really sick,” I say, tears coming to my eyes. I follow them as they make their way to Jonathan’s room. That’s when I hear my mother gasp and rush to his side. I quickly notice that his condition was worse than before and his skin was so hot it was turning red. My Father hurried to get the doctor and we set Jonathan back on the bed as I kept putting more wet rags on him. That evening when my Father got home, he had no doctor. “The soldiers arrested him because he couldn't pay the bills,” my father says hopelessly. The next morning, we had the terrible task of burying Jonathan, my loving, sweet, pesky-at-times, twin brother. That evening nobody really talked. Suddenly, there was a bang on the door and my cousin, Benjamin ran in. “They’re after me! Please

The monster giggles while I silently cry. It has curly short brown hair and blue eyes. Its nose is oval with giant, hairy NOSTRILS! Some parts of its skin are bright pink while others beige. It holds me with its two bulging hands, but I can barely endure it. It sits on the moist grass and holds me between its legs. It’s a shame that I had to be captured on such a sunny day.

How to Fight Monsters by Sherman Alexis is about an Indian boy who explains from his point of view what it’s like to go to attend a white people high school while being the only Native American. Arnold Spirit Jr. or Junior for short, had transferred from his reservation high school to the Reardan high school which was full of white people. He came from a very poor family, while his classmates wore fancy branded clothes, he carried his books on a garbage bag. He was looked down by his classmates just for being an Indian, leading to being called various racist nicknames. Junior followed a set of rules that dictated when you had to fight someone, which basically is when anyone insults you or anything you love. Considering he followed this set