Short Story : The History Of Man

Anne: I’m trying. Really, I am. (She lies back more relaxed.)Every night before I go to sleep, I think back over all the things I did that day that were wrong - like putting the wet mop in Mr. Dussel’s bed - and this thing now with mother. I day to myself, that was wrong. I make up my mind, I’m never going to do that again. Never! Of course I may do something worse - but at least I’ll never do that again. (The medicine begins to work. She becomes relaxed and drowsy.) I have a nicer side, Father - a sweeter, nicer side. But I’m scared to show it.

“Has your energy depleted Bridgette?” Amiable, despite the apparent lack of care he was affording either her or her visage, his thumb trailing across one of the faces blinking up at him from that page. Rubbed half-semi-circle into that image, lips pressed together with a fondness that didn't translate properly onto his features. “Should you prefer, at any point, we can further discuss things- your conversation has always been anything but engaging darling, perhaps you'd rather conserve your strength for the latter?” Was a slow swivel, his nail pressing into the very center of that face, eyebrows just barely lifted as to the conversation he was verbally carrying out, that 'no' just near beneath the decibel needed for the utterance at all. Paused, in his own reply, slow roll of his eyes upwards to that back that was presented him- whisper of something behind that reflection of his eyes just before she shifted her weight from one foot to the other. [I] “No sir.”[/i] Better- tap of his fingers against his table his only response as his gaze fell once more- that barely recognized rip within those pages from where that crescent shaped nail had dug into it... irritated, that flick of the paper over, face now covered

The next to die was a woman in her early twenties, her voice creaking in despair with every step she took like the old wood beneath her. Armand glanced at her as the pack in front all drooled thirsty for the satisfaction of her demise. “I’ve seen this woman before.” Armand murmured, scouring his mind, trying to match her face to that of the many

"I'm fine baby, it was you I was worried about." With his arms on her shoulders, Richard peered into Lexi's eyes, and gritted his teeth at the tears that dripped down his cheeks. What happened to her whilst he'd been fucking around, waiting for darkness to come?" Now wasn't the time to ask, and although a rage, directed at Karl Williams, exacerbated by the memories of his own treatment at the hands of the many many years ago, consumed him, and led to the thought of , despited his questions and fears, of streaming through the closed door, and confronting him and Blair Huntington to demand their freedom. However, common-sense overrode emotions and with Lexi clutching on to his hand, he wiped a tear gently from her cheek, and followed her to the

She kept asking if she should cook dinner, but he wouldn’t answer her or talk to her. Mary noticed he wasn’t acting the same and that he was zoned out all the time. She was furious with him, and she left the room to figure out what she should do. She left to go to the kitchen, but she felt light and sick about what he did.

Africans migrated from Africa to other places around the world over the past 50,000 years. The reason for this was that they needed a better life. This is similar to the reason why a lot of others around the world migrated. More specifically they migrated because of global changes, in other words the ice age. The ice age didn’t necessarily mean that there was a lot of water, but instead this global change caused Africa to get very dry, which damaged their agriculture.

As Earlene held Augustine, the guilt that she had carried seemed to have begun to stab her repeatedly, she feels a little better telling the child somewhat of the truth. Whyyyyyy? Why did they have to kill my mother? said Augustine still is crying heavily. Earlene at the moment a loss of words at this point, looked at Augustine, and said you know you have a family that cares, and loves you they treat you as if you were their own. No, they don't. Augustine replied fiercely. They have lied to me this entire time. Augustine would then pull away from Earlene, and would begin to slowly walk backward. Now, remember, you promised me you wouldn't go to act out on what I have told you, said Earlene now basically pleading with Augustine. Augustine would then look at Earlene with her eyes glazed over, all she could feel now was immense hurt, and pain and she didn't know how to tend to it. Augustine would afterward turn around, and run out the room; dart passes everyone in the house and makes her way outside. Joseph, and Elizabeth both saw this. They would both look at one another, as they knew at the moment that Augustine had found out the very thing they tried for so long to keep a secret had now been

Perspective. Something that shapes and molds people's worlds based on where they are born, grow and age fixes their view of the place where we live. In the short story , "Where the world began" by Margret Laurence, she discusses her experience of living in the prairies and where her world began has shaped her identity today. Our place of residence maybe another place for someone else, although there are strong feelings, beliefs and parts of personality that can be associated with a community.

It was a cold December 10th morning, Mavis sat at her desk, looking over the case that was just set other desk, the court date was set for set for January 19th, nearly a month away. Mavis shuffled the case papers together and sighed, it was another of Zeref’s cases. “Lucy Heartfilia,” Mavis whispered as she looked over the papers, “The poor girl… She has been through a lot, why does Zeref have to put her through this…”

He was trying to piece together a town plot all the while thinking how ludicrous that is when it hit him: he was in Mrs. Walker’s class too! He had written a letter with the rest of the class. What he couldn't remember was what it said. The more he tried to access his childhood, the more it eluded him. He remembered Mrs. Walker. He could recall how much trouble he was always in. He even unlocked the recollection of Amy Kessler: the first girl he had ever kissed. But the letter or what was written on it ran from his struggling mind. As he battled to remember, he glanced down at the lock, now twisting and flipping in his nervous hands. The violet glow was growing stronger. Why was everything different after Flemming read the letters? Why was his best friend not here? Why was Mike rich? Questions began swirling around faster and faster. Tom had to grab the stage to steady his weakening knees. He closed his eyes in an attempt to calm his mind and nerves. The questions still dug at the back of his mind like gnawing

Purple bruises were scattered across her frail wrist like grotesque, swollen beetles. Her knee jutted out awkwardly to her side. Her bleeding, cracked lips were shrunken to a tiny buttonhole. Her tongue stuck out between her teeth like a piece of rubber. Her eyelids fluttered feebly as she lay there - defeated, defenseless, and desolate. Her chest heaved up and down, as her lungs fought for breath – she was barely alive. A caked, muddy trail of shoeprints followed him out the door. He had gotten away again. Tears prickled at the back of my eyes. My throat swelled up as my steely resolve began to dissolve. Grief shook my shoulders like an inner earthquake, the world around me crashing down. A nauseating mixture of relief and horror clenched tightly onto my loins – like when you finally stop an itch, only to realize that you’ve ripped a hole in your

Rae took a deep breath and fell back onto the bed. After everything from last night then waking in hysterics it was too much. She lay there taking deep breaths trying to calm down. Rae felt someone lay down next to her and when she opened her eyes she saw her mother. “Rae, use the breathing technique I taught you.”

My eyes drifted around the room before settling on the tea, now lukewarm in my hands. Maudie’s nonchalant face came to mind, and her firm, strong voice commanding Jean Louise and I back into the kitchen played in my head. The sudden news of Tom’s death had upset her, but she revealed nothing as such. She said to Jean Louise to stop her shaking and instructed me to control myself. Maudie maintained her composure, and assisted in upholding mine. I wondered how she had done it, but nevertheless I was grateful.

It’s gone, the escape ship. My last chance at getting home slips away from my finger tips, every breath I take the closer it gets to getting home where where I’m supposed to be. Mia turned away from the air tight window, and let her heavy body fall to floor. You know the feeling of ‘“a punch in the gut?” Thats exactly how Mia was feeling right now. Except it wasn’t her her gut, it was like a fast moving bruse encasing her entire body. Her limbs turning numb, her head shaking further and further into her body. Her head drooped and Mia Mia felt the hot wars begin to flow down to her face, burning the cuts that had ravaged her face. She didn’t to think about that thing stepping on one foot on the earth she

In his recent book, Shakespeare: The Invention of the Human (1998), Harold Bloom argues that Shakespeare’s characters provide the full measure of his continuing legacy. Shakespeare, Bloom maintains, created self-conscious characters who breathe life. Shakespeare’s characters are so alive, possess such "interiority," that they catch themselves looking at themselves. This quality is the essence of becoming human—to know we know, to be aware we are aware, to sense our own presence on the stage of life.