Morgan Swift: A Narrative Fiction

Do women have an underlying power in the 17th century? Puritan societies did not believe women should have any major role in a community. They were expected to be subservient to men and forfeit their power to the authority of men. However, In Arthur Miller’s The Crucible, women were in power because they made the story have conflict. This shows that women do have a lot of power because what they say and do has a crucial part in developing the plot despite what this puritan society thinks of them.

Sara’s arms ached from the heavy bag, full of manuscripts she must finish, as she stepped out from the office building and made her way to the company parking lot. Her earlobes tingled from the brisk evening air and buzzed from the loud noises of cars, as they spewed exhaust fumes and rushed down Seventh Avenue. She wondered where the hell were all of these people going at this time of the night.

Piggy glanced down and saw the book with its wrinkled pages in William’s hands. “What book are you reading?”

The story I’ll Give You The Sun is about two fraternal twins, Noah and his sister Jude, who, at the start of the story, are extremely close. It is split into two points of view, one of them from Noah’s point of view when he and Jude were 13 and 14 when they are close, and the other from Jude’s point of view, when they are both 16 and something horrible has come between them and their whole family is split up. In Noah’s section of the story, his family lives in the Californian coastal town of Lost Cove, the reader discovers that both he and Jude are talented artists in their own respects, considering that Jude loves to sculpt and Noah loves sketching and painting, and that they are both planning on applying to the California School of the Arts (CSA).

It was around quarter to midnight, it was so much fog that all you could see was driver’s headlights peeping through the blur. Tamara, a young college student and her toddler Christofer were on their way home from Manhattan. They lived in an urban, over populated Hispanic neighborhood in the South Bronx. Tamara was exhausted as she raised the carriage down the steep, metal, rusty, 40-step subway staircase. She had been up since 6 am to be seated in her 8 am classes at Columbia University after a 2-hour train and dropping Christofer off at the babysitters. Tamara was finally on the ground and she sighed deeply and weeped. She stood 5 foot 1 and weighed 120 pounds. Lifting and pushing the carriage through the busy metropolitan streets of NYC was tiresome. Tamara was famished as she walked

“Hold on, Seth,” Jacob said, his horse leaping up the rise in pursuit. Just as he topped the rise, he managed to reach out and rein in Promise.

James stood in the streets of downtown Hartford. A light, freezing rain soaked the wool coat. He didn’t have a hat, and his hair was covered in an increasing thick layer of ice. He stepped into the package store a few times to warm up. The clerk would have let him stay, but he caught James trying to slip a pint of blackberry brandy into his coat pocket. After that, the clerk told James to get lost or he’d call the cops. James apologized and placed the bottle back on the shelf. The clerk didn’t know that James had already successfully pilfered a bottle and slipped it into the other pocket of the wool coat.

“Please, Mr. Henderson.” Melissa tugged her shawl tighter around her shoulders despite the glow of coals from the stove inside the small brick office. Half past nine o’clock and the sun had yet to break through the morning clouds. With rain threatening, along with its tendency to turn the roads into quagmires deep enough to swallow a horse or two, she needed to persuade the banker soon.

A muscle twitched in Jake’s jaw as he reread the telegram and eased back into his leather chair. He glanced at the array of books in the study, wondering where the time had gone. For the past three years, he’d devoted his energy and resources to running the ranch, never once taking a book from its shelf.

It was an icy winter this year in the Bronx, and we all knew the weather wouldn’t let up for at least another few months. My hands and nose were already red, bitter from the cold as I wandered through the frosty morning air. White snow had fallen that previous night and was now turning to thick ice making it quite a struggle for me to maneuver my way through the loopy unheated streets and sidewalk of the dirty town without falling. My copper face was freezing but I barely noticed, my mind was busy bustling about. It bounced thoughts around each revolving around the same thing, Saki. A young eccentric girl, who I had encountered at a fest, held on Governors Island. As I trampled in the snow, through quiet icy towns, I couldn’t help myself from

As you are walking down the sidewalk in Cleveland you feel something cold hit your left ear. You look over and realize that it was only one of the many snowflakes that have begun falling from the inky blue sky. The cold chill causes you to shudder as you continue on your path down the slushy street. As cars pass, the grey mixture splashes onto your shoes. Surveying the damage the slush has done to your new sneakers, you accidentally wander off the well lit sidewalk and into a dark alleyway.

Imagine what giving a school full of middle schoolers tablets or laptops would be like. How many of them would just play games instead of doing work? Countless people believe that replacing textbooks with tablets or small computers is the future of education, despite all the negative aspects of the idea. According to the article, “Should Tablets Replace textbooks in K-12 Schools?” by procon.org, “There are many different companies that manufacture tablets, and most contract with one specific e-book seller. This means that some textbooks may not be sold across all tablets.” Doing away with textbooks has several other problems as well. The negative sides of replacing textbooks with tablets or laptops outweigh

“This is not a place for conversation or fun….it’s a classroom,”Mrs.Bowen said gesturing to the door. ”Literally the last day’’she mumbled.

On Vine Street in Coryville, a thin, short, black man stands between two buildings fighting off another Cincinnati winter. He is unshaven with a scraggly beard. His skin is rugged looking and tough. His outfit consists of a tannish-brown jacket, which clashes with his turquoise pants that are short in length. Charlie wears a pair of black, puppy dog chewed up shoes. It is winter and he is shuffling back and fourth to keep warm. His steps are