The Death Of The Girl

War is generally characterized by extreme aggression, destruction and mortality. Although killing in war isn't strange, the killings of innocent civilians, however is unjustified by the War Crimes Act. A war crime is defined as "any grave breach of the Geneva Convention". War crimes are unjustified by military necessity, and killing civilians is one of them. The legitimate question is who should be held responsible, morally or legally for the acts they commit throughout war time. Officials should be held responsible for crimes committed during wartime, yet the ones delivering those orders should not suffer the consequences.

“In the state of nature, Profit is the measure of Right”(Hobbes). This quote is talking about the nature people, and how they measure if something is “right” based on how profitable it is for them. As Thomas Hobbes did, I believe that people are generally selfish and will only try to benefit themselves as shown in the article “The Dying Girl No One Helped” where a girl was stabbed and no one helped her even though people saw her dying.

His head began ringing from the sound, his body tensed up and warm tears began to drop from his face. Soon after, he fell unconsciousness and escaped the sounds that haunted him. He felt something warm brush his hand and a whisper in his ear.” Stay... strong... my darling” and his body suddenly felt calm. The warmness drifted away from his hand and He regained consciousness. He found himself still suffering from the shrieks of the fallen. He eyes opened wide, set up, leaned against his sister’s bed and sighed. He pulled his legs to his chest and wrapped his arms around his leg waiting for the screams to stop. In that moment, area fell into a loud silence.

Nothing I did worked. His skin, so close, so warm against my own, did it distract me? Was that it? I had done my best to free myself from the darkness he had encompassed around me, but my efforts did next to nothing in getting him away. He evaded it all. I was floundering amidst my own failure, but he was still there, still overshadowing me.

For days he stayed there, curled up by the wall. The sun would rise, somewhere, illumine the mouth of his pitiful den, grace the cold rock in front of him with a soft blue sheen, and set again, immersing his life in empty darkness. One day, two, three, he stopped counting, buried his mind in the chambers of his soul where a soft dim warmth still glowed. Waves of grief passed through, turned him over in riptides of hungriest despair, roaring death pounded nightly at his door, and then, hearing no answer, tore away again, letting warm comfort envelop him and soothe his damaged

Katie wakes up in an unfamiliar room with two men debating whether or not to kill her. Currently she does not know her name and is completely unable to ruminate. To give herself a chance at survival she needs to be tacit and try to remember who she is and how she got where she is. The author April Henry created a novel, The Girl Who Was Supposed To Die, with a perfect title that accumulates and captures the importance of her character’s struggle. The titles importance displays Katie’s possible death, hiding, and potential communication.

Bewildered, she found herself not in the kitchen, but in the attic. For as long as she could remember, her parents had expressly forbidden her from entering the mysterious room. Now she understood why; At the far end of the room, among all of the clutter and jumble, was a door. In the light of day, Avery would not have given it a second glance, but in the half-light that emanated from her feeble candle, the door seemed different; Somehow eerie and sinister. Despite its great craftsmanship, years of wear had nevertheless taken their toll on the once delicate frame, and scratches etched their way across the old wooden panelling. Strings of whispers surrounded her, guiding her to towards the door. Slowly, she reached out one trembling hand, knowing that despite her fears, she must open it. What horrors, what wonders, lay on the other side? Avery pushed open the door and stepped

In the shooting death of Anthony Lamar Smith, Jason Stockley was deemed not guilty of first-degree murder by Judge Timothy Wilson. As a result of the acquittal of a white police officer who shot and killed a black suspect, protestors in St. Louis are taking action. The struggling, tense relationship between the police and minority groups, such as African Americans, in the U.S. seeps into people’s view and trust towards law enforcement and the criminal justice system. Cady’s failed cry for help to the police had similarity to the difficulties that African Americans are facing with law enforcement in St. Louis.

I wanted to thank him for being there, but my heart was damaged, with no space for gratitude. My lips were slightly cracked, my fingers were worn down from the constantly holding onto his apparel. Abruptly I lifted my face to his, speaking to him the only way I knew how. My lips intermingled with his, he didn't move, even I was unwelcome there. Impossible stillness. For a moment there was a suspended second of nothingness before colliding again. I didn't care if he didn't want me the I wanted him, I needed to feel the sensations I had felt with him before. I only cared about myself, how everything would affect me, but I let myself fall back on his lips. He was uncertain as I guided his fingers to the lining of my face. His stubble scratched at my skin gently, unraveling my itch for him. His faithless lips responded to mine. He staggers foward, pulling me closer, placing me on his lap. My mouth opened in slight shock, but it is greeted with his lips again. I safely lean my back against the steering wheel, cautious not to sound the alarm. He kissed me until the space between his lips drew out the blue in my blood. With a slight tug, I easily came tumbling down onto him, warm sugar huddled at his fingertips. My precious bag had fell to the floor, but I didn't care enough to notice. His body was pressed against me, firmer than I had imagined, which frightened and excited me. One of his hands stroked my upper thigh, my body

He heard the voice in his head again. He still didn't know the language, but somehow he knew it was asking who he was.

Me & Earl & the Dying Girl sounds like the type of book you would read as a warm-up for some of the classics such as Shakespeare or Lewis; however, it is one of the most complicatedly simple books that I have read. In a way, you could say it is better than the greats. It is not sugar-coated to sell more copies; it is real. It is beautifully honest.

I started to say hi, but suddenly my entire body felt like it was on fire. Arching my back, I tried to gulp air. I felt arms under my legs and he whispered "please." I fought to stay conscious, but the darkness grabbed me and dragged me

Inside the small house it was pitch black and completely silent. So dark, in fact, that one could not see their own hand in front of their face. The deeper into the house, the darker it became. Now into the family room and up the stairs.A distinct sound of scratching emanated from the door at the end of the hall. Inside, the room seemed to belong to a young girl, but only because the little girl nestled in bed deemed it so.

A morbid melancholy stole over me. Anxiety gnawed at my heart. I was a living corpse. There was a feeling of chill in the air every day as I felt. I faked illness so as not to go to school. Despair hangs heavy in the stifling air. It was a dreary day for me , cold and without sunshine. I dread people and always avoid people. The door was locked from the inside. A cold grey light crept under the curtains. The windows were secured with locks and bars. The room felt cold and sterile.The flowers faded for want of water. A single lamp was suspended from the ceiling. The clock ticked louder and louder in a quiet room. I regarded the room as a refuge from the outside

Touched by fading moonlight, the girl looked pale as a ghost, distressed and sorrowful. Great drops fell from her eyes; the heavy rain clouds in her mind let loose their turbulent nature. She felt the muscle of her chin trembled like a small child, again, she looked toward the window as if the darkness outside could soothe her. However, she tried to keep her sobbing down by biting her lips, afraid the woman would “visit” again. Meanwhile, in the hallway, there was only deadly silence, creating an overwhelming sense of emptiness.