Narrative Essay: The Ink Drinker

It hurts him. Watching her stare at the back of some guy’s head. She is deep in thought. He assumes she is spinning some detailed web about the imminent, romantic first date with the back of the guy’s head. He shifts his attention to the doodle he’s been cultivating all of lecture. As he focuses on the sketch of a skull decorating the corner of his notebook, he hears some girls chuckling a few seats down from him. At what, he is not sure. Fucking troglodytes. He feels the weight of the pencil lay in the crook of his hand as he begins to darken the eye sockets of the skull. His pencil is gliding around and around making the depth of the socket stand out. He leaned back in his seat as a look of satisfaction creeps over his face. Now what was

If someone asks a group of people in a room to describe what a writer is like, the most likely response is that a writer is someone that enjoys writing and creating all kinds of stories to be shared by others. In Brock Adams Spilt Ink, Adams introduces a topic of his that is not usually ever brought up or discussed in our society. In this narrative Adams, a writer himself, expresses the deep distaste he has for writing and the many other things he would rather be doing with his time. Adams is very open with the fact that writing is a struggle and can be very hard for him sometimes. Throughout the short narrative Adams is honest in a refreshing way; using vivid imagery and sense of humor to express his profound displeasure for the writing process that so many people today can likely relate to, but never really have a way of expressing.

Angry he threw his covers off of his bed but when he threw the cover the had catapulted some book against his wall. Intrigued he picked up the book and looked at the title he couldn’t make out the faint text under the dirt. He brushed it off and read the title it said the book of Shadow. Max opened the book and began to read the book told of a dark shadowy figure that selected specific people and would feed on their fear and embarrassment. Once this figure gained enough power from the fear and embarrassment it would begin to take over the world.

The school broke out into a panic. Then I saw Bill sneaking to the back entrance of the school so I followed him. Then the thing I saw next was undelevidal Bill was letting werewolfs in.

An hour later, Sarah joined Painted Girl in the kitchen. Sarah’s suitcases towered over Painted Girl’s, ready to be loaded into the car.

When I got back, my tub water was almost all over the place. I turn my water off and took off all my school clothes and put them on the counter. Then I put my phone right next to my bath even though it might not be smart. I put my bath salts in the water, then I grab the bath bomb and put my foot in there to check the temperature. Its a tad bit too hot. Both of my feet went in the water and eventually my whole body did. I drop my bath bomb and watch it dissolve which made my bath water turn to a pale pink color. As soon as I lean back, my phone rings. It's my Aunt Jane.

I, half-dead with thirst, came upon a silver Pitcher which had once been full of water; but when I put my beak into the mouth of the silver Pitcher I found that only very little water was left in it, and that I could not reach far enough down to get at it. I tried, and I tried, but at last had to give up in despair. Then a thought came to him, and I took a pebble and dropped it into the silver Pitcher. Then I took another pebble and dropped it into the silver Pitcher. Then I took another pebble and dropped that into the Pitcher. Then I took another pebble and dropped that into

The story introduces us to a well-known chef and French restauranteur. He is a philosophical man, and profound at that. Bon-Bon has a penchant for a drink every now and again, and again, and again. On a wintery now and again evening, he hears the Devil’s voice, and moments later the Devil himself appears in apparel from what is clearly a different time and place. Standing out are his green glasses and the stylus behind his ear, as well as a large tome in his pocket.

I have always been into art, ever since I was put i to witness protection when I was four, there was a small art gallery near by our house and Id go there every day for daycare, I enjoyed looking at these masterpieces and one day decided I want my art to hand on a museum wall like that, I did get my wish. People stood in front of my masterpieces, amazing replications of raphael, picaso, even da vinchi, i had forged them all and taken the originals for my own gain.

Learning to read and write as a child was a big deal in Katelyn Howard’s life. Reading Junie B. Jones, learning her address and tracing letters in her kindergarten class was monumental. Her parents were constantly working with her and pushing her to strive for excellence. She is also continuing to grow as a writer and reader through being enrolled in college. Katelyn is the writer and reader she is today because of the teachers she had, her parents, and the competition she has with herself.

So later, Candide travels to the next town where he is suffering from starvation and a low level of energy. Luckily these two men spot Candide and notice that he is in absolute terrible condition. Graciously,

It did not take long for him to start excelling in his classes. One day Dominic was standing in line at the library to find the books be needs. He looked to his right and saw the monks in charge of handwriting copies for the students to use. St. Dominic wondered if he could buy the books he needed to study so he would have to stand in line. St. Dominic gets an idea when he sees the monks in charge of hand copying the books. He asked if he could copy the books he needed for studying. The monk told him that it takes at least two to three, months to complete a book. St. Dominic understood so the monk gave him permission. It took him awhile but after three months he finally was able to finish. In 1991 there was a great famine, Spain was destroyed. St. Dominic gave away all his money and sold all his furniture and clothes to try and help those in

Tom’s frightened faced filled the twenty-six-inch screen, his panicked gaze frantically flitting from left to right. Suddenly, his eyes bulged, a look of shock replacing his fearful expression. “DENNIS, DON’T!” he screamed.

Gabriel and his family had always been poor. The water they got was from a muddy lake outside of town, and clothes from the dumpster next to the tailors store. So one day Gabriel told his wife and three kids that he was going to America to provide money to them. His wife, Maria tried to convince him to let her and the children go with him but he always replied with "We cannot pay the smuggler for all of us and you must stay to watch the children." Every time he said this Maria would cry and he would comfort her saying saying how he would be back and would send them money monthly. That night Gabriel packed and snuck through a hole in the border fence and was smuggled into America. In the mourning Gabriel payed the smuggler and set off to find

Again, the dark laughter echoed in her head. Shit, shit, shit. She was so damn stupid, so bloody arrogant. In spite of the sunglasses she wore to lessen the risk of overstimulation to her senses, the lenses were no safeguards against the weighted stares of the people on the bus, and Tung wasn’t here acting as a buffer.