“MR HERO” Crashing into the room, hair dishevelled and a fearing look in her eyes, she catches the hem of her skirt on the door handle, tumbling to the floor with a crack. “Please help us” snotty tears mixes with her bloodied face as she looks at the languid figure rocking in the shadows. That shadow, rocking on two legs of a chair with the all the calmness in the universe, sighing with a world weariness of an elder beyond his years, ale lapping tasteless into his mouth…is me. “Why help now when tomorrow you will ask the same thing? Why aid those who can do so themselves?” “They’re dying, they’re DYING. Can ya not hear the screams?!!” Ghastly like a ghoul, she crawls towards me, unkempt dirty blond hair hiding more than half her …show more content…
…… ….. …. … .. . I’m thirsty. Dragging myself to my feet and stumbling to the door, just about catching the handle, I swing it open into a human in full swat, black-ops looking gear pointing a machine-gun between my eyes. *Bang* “…ow” completely deadpan I look through his night-vision goggles, seeing dreading eyes behind them. Crushing his head before he can shoot another bullet into my head, I get assaulted by a blue screen. Hello again, it’s been a long fucking while blue screen. Thank you for joining The Games in sector FS3-X41, Roy the Hero. Enemies left: 475 Allies left: 13 If I could roll my eyes further to the back of my head I could. *BRATATATAT* *Dingdingding* Oh that is going to get annoying. Wobbling down the shot up wooden stairs, nursing my favourite tankard, right into the crosshairs of a dozen swat looking soldiers, I cast a simple air slash before they can riddle me with enough holes to become swiss bloody cheese. *Dingdingdingdingdingdingdingdingdingdingdingding* Honestly the bullets might be less annoying. Strolling to the bar, dammit they even shot the casks. To the cellar and god dammit soldiers why do you have to shoot all the ale? *Dingding* Pain in the ass, all I want is a drink. Luckily the cellar is pretty big, so after a good twenty minutes of searching and killing the dozen soldiers that came in locked and loaded, before they could shoot up the
Richard Blanco is a Cuban- American poet who was given the oppurunity to write an inaugaration poem for Barack Obama's second swearing-in. He wrote a poem titled "One Today" that praised the good and unique things about the United States and also the everyday people who's daily routines help to make America the proud country that it is.
In this essay I am going to compare and contrast ‘When we two parted’ a poem of George Gordon, Lord Byron’s written in 1815 and Letitia Elizabeth Landon’s ‘Love’s last lesson’ written in c1838, both poets are British and of the romantic period.
the soldiers . . . some well behaved persons asked me if the guns were charged [loaded] and I
Prompt: Read the following two poems very carefully, noting that the second includes an allusion to the first. Then write a well-organized essay in which you discuss their similarities and differences. In your essay, be sure to consider both theme and style.
Reflections Within is a non-traditional stanzaic poem made up of five stanzas containing thirty-four lines that do not form a specific metrical pattern. Rather it is supported by its thematic structure. Each of the five stanzas vary in the amount of lines that each contain. The first stanza is a sestet containing six lines. The same can be observed of the second stanza. The third stanza contains eight lines or an octave. Stanzas four and five are oddly in that their number of lines which are five and nine.
14. More soldiers then took them to the basement under the pretext of being “protected from the impending chaos of advancing counterrevolutionaries” (Biography.com).
She lays there holding her head in pain, Her eyes wide open, fear covering her features. Time flies by and suddenly minutes later she slowly and
Mom was at the door. She swiftly raise her hand to mouth, a mother’s call for her child. Alice hugs me tightly, and runs into the house. Dad jumps at her. Alice screams and then beautiful laugh.
I hear yelling over the bombardment. I turn my head and see countless people staring at me, guns poised, ready to shoot. I try to shoot and retaliate, but realize there’s no ammo left. Frustrated, I leap over broken glass, now only able to dodge the oncoming rainstorm of rounds heading my way.
Poetry allows responders to explore universal issues which will shape their perceptions of the world.
The door bursts open, and a volley of bullets fly toward me. I notice that there are eight of them. I dive toward the desk,
He starts walking towards me, and unholsters his gun affixed with a suppressor, lifting it up and pointing it at me. Oh crap. My heart starts pounding. Then, I make a run for the door. Pifff. I feel the air escape my lungs as I hit the ground and my vision
Trying to stem the sobs that threatened to overflow, you looked at the gun in your hand. You had planned for this. You refused to be one of those things currently pounding against the door.
An arm appears out of nowhere, clotheslining me into the stone floor. I gasp, my lip throbbing and the wind knocked out of my precious lungs. A boot to my hand and my gun scatters away.
I am a tall girl with chestnut hair, forest green eyes and sun-tanned skin. My physique sets me apart from the 7.4 billion other people on our planet. If, however, I were an identical twin, physical characteristics alone would not suffice to distinguish between my sister and me. Even though we would look the same, we would clearly be two different people. Therefore, we can conclude that a mere description of our physique cannot be considered a universal and comprehensive response to the question at hand, as it neglects other aspects of our identity.