Short Story

A clay pot cracking, a hut burning down or sickness can all be connected to their beliefs in what we call supernatural. A craftsman in one of the villages told Evans-Pritchard that when his stools or bowls split, he could be absolutely sure that it was witchcraft, and that it was the jealousy of his neighbours that caused the bowls to split. He answered that the craftsman was mistaken. Evans-Pritchard has been critiqued for his view that witchcraft cannot exist. Winch argued against Evans-Pritchard’s distinction between the supernatural and scientific notions and argues that “science – like witchcraft – is not inherently meaningful, but makes sense only within a particular, culturally created frame of reference” (Eriksen, 2010, p. 243).

it is life, Mama!” Mama: “Oh—so now its life. Money is life. Once upon a

“I saw—with shut eyes, but acute mental vision—I saw the pale student of unhallowed arts kneeling beside the thing he had put together. I saw the hideous phantasm of a man stretched out, and then, on the working of some powerful engine, show signs of life and stir with an uneasy, half-vital motion. Frightful must it be, for supremely frightful would be the effect of any human endeavor to mock the stupendous mechanism of the

When he discusses how to make cotton candy, he uses scientific vocabulary such as “centrifugal force” when describing the more tedious process, thus further proving that he knows what he is talking about when it comes to craft confectionery. Another example of the use of scientific vocabulary is when the speaker discusses how caramel is made through a process called

He felt the pull of an invisible force dragging him, similar to a tractor beam, through the light. Any attempt to struggle against this unseen force was pointless. His limbs dangled lifelessly at his side. As his body continued forward, Murphy’s isolation was interrupted by a voice that seemed to originate from within him. At first he thought the voice was his imagination; a simple representation of his personal failure to escape this predicament. The voice kept repeating the same gibberish, “Et non ad protegat eius!” The hair on his body stood erect as if a bolt of lightning were about to strike, the air potent with danger. He tried to rationalize this experience by squeezing his eyes shut and telling himself it was only a dream; that he would awaken from this nightmare safe in his bed. Without warning, an agonizing pain erupted just above both his elbows, causing his eyes to vent streams of salty tears. He opened his eyes to investigate the cause of this searing pain and immediately regretted doing so. Before him stood an inferno of white heat that rose from far below the invisible floor and crowned into a football shaped head high above him.

"Here I thought this was cramped when I was stuck in here alone," Cat mutters, voice barely above a whisper. If they're on schedule they're still more than half an hour away from inspection, but old habits die hard and it's better to be safe than sorry.

“The novelty of these things, as well as some consequences which followed from them in contradiction to the physical notions … as if I had placed these things in the sky with my own hands in order to upset nature and overturn the sciences.”

“I’ve almost breached their valve wall,” Killian’s fingers briefly stilled as she listened to the Eleven’s voice on the other end of the small device in her ear, before continuing their furious movements across the laptop. “I’m tracking her progress through the hospital.” She said in response to whatever had been said on the other end of the transmitter, adding in a clipped tone before Eleven could comment again. “She isn’t in any real danger at the moment, so stop interrupting and let me finish this.” Eleven of course knew that Killian was stretching the truth to suit her needs (in this instance getting her to stop with the inane question), but she also knew that if there was any real imminent danger Killian wouldn’t have started the hack

4.What could have once been a lovely rose garden was now a hostile thorn bush, and the swings where children used to spend moments of joy and innocent childhood were now creaking in the most haunted way... What terrified me the most was its isolation. I was alone. Uncovered. Exposed to an unknown edifice that stared at me in return. As I lifted my head to defy its insubstantial stare, something caught my eye. I had not made the observation until now, as the infinitely long walls made it almost impossible to see: there was no ceiling. Where had it

Just like the alchemists of old, scientists have a regrettable tendency to "vaile their secrets with mistie speech". Science, John Keats sulked, "will clip an Angel 's wings, / Conquer all mysteries by rule and line." Bryson turns this on its head by blaming the messenger rather than the message. Robbing nature of its mystery is what he thinks most science books do best. But, unlike Keats, he doesn 't believe that this is at all necessary. We may be living in societies less ready to believe in magic, miracles or afterlives, but the sublime remains. Rather as Richard Dawkins has argued, Bryson insists that the results of scientific study can be wondrous and very often are so. The trick is to write about them in a way that makes them comprehensible without crushing nature 's mystique.

Flash-forward to me, the confused teenager, and that science seemed ever-so-real. Sitting silently in my bedroom staring at the white walls, a cacophonous symphony soon began, at home and in my mind. What seemed like excruciating minutiae devolved into yelling and screaming matches punctuated with the slamming of doors, and inevitably, my head became heavy-weighted

“Miss. Singer, I have no doubt that you have a deep faith in your superstitions. But in the scientific community. We rely on cold, hard facts not faith.” Mr. McLaren then said to me in a series of little head shakes. Like belittling me was somehow going to shut me up, and not just piss me off.

My cross country team had a meet in Statesboro, Georgia. The bus rumbled into the grass parking lot of an old golf course. As the wheels screeched to a stop, an awkward silence fell over the team like a sheet. Nervous looks were shared as we all clambered off. Stepping down from the last step, I slammed into the suffocating stale blazing air like a brick wall. It took my eyes a few seconds to adjust, the fiery globe glaring at me from the sky. There were some white cotton candy clouds in the distance, but they weren’t too intimidating. Behind me strode Alex, her eyes narrowed into slits. Alex was one of the best runners on the team. She always stayed ahead of me. Today, she had her short brown hair drawn back into a ponytail and was

Louis laid completely still on his stomach pretending to be asleep. He kept his right leg bent and moved his left leg so it laid straight on the lumpy mattress. There was a hand lightly rubbing circles on his back. He knew it was Sterling but he didn’t have the energy to push the alpha away. He only closed his eyes pretending it was one of the alpha's back at the cabin.

Harry slowly opened the door and frowned immediately. For the past ten minutes he had been searching the house for Louis and he found the omega lying naked on his bed. Louis perked his head up and grinned at Harry.