The Road To Doctor Livesey's House Short Story

Throughout the story the theme that actions have serious consequences is evident. In the moment the sniper is ready and eager to shoot at the enemy. But after the moment is over, the sniper realizes just how awful his actions are.

Caption---------- pounces with his into his attack on the carriage. He takes a shot at the driver wiping the horse and misses. The police not too far behind the carriage and hear the gunshots and gallop past the moving trees towards the gunshots.

Rainsford heard a shot in the far distance and was curious about where it had come from, another shot came about and it had originated from Ship-Trap Island, Rainsford thoroughly paced himself to the edge of the yacht and wondered "Who could be on that Island?," a slight breeze had taken up Rainsford's cigar, and flew in the far distance to where Rainsford could no longer see where it had gone. Rainsford then fell off the deck and into the blood warming water and another shot had gone off, Rainsford paced himself to the shot and was now on Ship-Trap Island unconscious through the night. When he had woken up, he had found animal and human tracks and decided to follow them so Rainsford did. Rainsford met a tall man named General Zaroff who was very kind, respectful and well educated and also was a hunter. General Zaroff liked hunting humans and Rainsford had contemplated that was preposterous. General Zaroff and Rainsford had very different dissents about each others

I stood petrified. What had happened to me? My father had just been struck, in front of me, and I had not even blinked. I had watched and kept silent. Only yesterday, I would have dug my nails into this criminal's flesh. Had I changed that much? So fast? Remorse began to gnaw at me. All I could think was: I shall never forgive them for this.

Meanwhile, several counties over, Henry was about to get into some mischief, of his own. The last name had been drawn out of the hat, and again, he had failed to make the cut. This was the third county he‘d gone to, with no luck. He was growing more and more discouraged. He felt that he was letting his family down. When the grizzled old man offered him a drink of whiskey, he took the jug and swigged down several big gulps. Henry had never before imbibed spirits; the hot liquid sliding down his throat and into his stomach felt good. And, after several more large swigs, so did Henry!

Finally looking at them he stared and slowly placed the paper at the top of his cluttered desk, turning to the two men and sighed the first words, "More of this madness.” Gazing out the window he continued, “For months this town has been unsettled and upset because of these damn requests and these damn ships. Were you present yesterday at the fight at the waterfront?” They shook their head no. “Over the most unbelievable thing,” he shook his head as if scolding school boys. “It seems that one of the sailors, a questionable man he must be, to go on this voyage and perhaps with a bit too much drink in him, told your Captain that,” here the shop keeper played the part of a drunk, “Aye, the 'La Gallega' was a most awkward ship for such a voyage!”

He ran into the clearing, where he heard the horse, with revolver drawn anticipating a fight but all he saw was Captain O’neill stood over a still, lifeless body. “Captain! What happened? Are you alright?” Even shouting it looked like the Captain didn’t hear Samuel. “ Captain! What happened?” Samuel was slowly approaching the Captain now, revolver still drawn.

Nathaniel sat on his horse beside the local ironmonger's shop. There wasn't a light on in the whole street, but he would see it coming. Most had decided to make it an early night but some, those who also knew of its route, were peering out from windows. Constantly parting gaps in the curtains, where several faces gawked. The elderly, curious children. Families peering out as though they knew something awful, yet sickeningly festive, to their community was on the verge of passing their properties. Everyone was waiting for it and they knew of Nathaniel's intentions of trapping, hopefully killing, the mischievous being. Not everybody was happy to

“Demaris was shot.” He stopped. “I’m sorry.” Then he left without saying anything else. After we heard the slam of the door, I fell to the ground. My mother and I laid there the rest of the night and cried ourselves to sleep.

When the gunshot rang through my ears, I, as well as everyone around me was stunned in confusion, fear, and lack of comprehension. They looked around to see where the bullet had landed and noticed him, a man in his late forties looking down at his stomach. The hand that covered the area was stained with a thick, dark red color that coated his clothing. The crowd drew away from him as he fell to his knees, just realizing that he’d been shot and he was going to die. When he looked up at the police, they looked away, ashamed of their actions and unaware of the impact his death would have on his family, his friends.

Poetry Essay Worksheet Violence occurs all over the world to people who least expect it. Sometimes people are at the wrong place at the right time, or right place and right time. Strangers often inflict pain, and sometimes death on the most random of people without reason. The most mind-wrenching would be getting harmed or killed by someone who is thought of as a friend, someone that is trusted. Not too often do people expect to be murdered by a loved one.

People kept saying how a sweet, innocent, young lady died that evening not in my eyes one very guilty, gross, homewrecker was murdered that night and the look on Nicole’s face when she felt the knife sliding in and out of her made it all worth while. How would I know this you ask? Because I am the murderer. When I was finished I smiled and watched drops of her blood fall from my knife. I was almost in some kind of daze like a dream but I was well aware what I had just done and I knew exactly how I would get out of it too.

Three shots fired, Not seen nor heard. Two of the bullets embedded themselves in each of the lover’s hearts. The last bullet connected with their intertwined hands.

I was given a special task: to “persuade” a businessman named Carl to buy more of our alcohol so he could sell it in his bar. Everyone made it seem like a simple enough task, so I did not worry too much. The man’s neighborhood was deserted. No one in sight and no one in ear shot. This was familiar; it reminded me of my own neighborhood. I knew the kind of amount of fear felt to clear the roads when gangsters were coming. The thought of the fear in those people’s minds; so much fear, they decided to hide away in their homes and practically lock their business doors; sent chills up and down my entire being, especially because I have known that fear all too well. The roads were so deserted I could hear the sound of my own heartbeat, which was racing unlike any other. When we finally arrived at our destination, my heart seemed to slow, as if the only thing worrying me was the drive over.

The writer of “An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge,” Ambrose Bierce, uses various literary devices and drives the plot forward in a fashion that builds suspense. Bierce paints a clear picture of the pain and feelings that Farquhar goes through in regards to the constriction of the noose and the heat of the bullets. While Farquhar is swimming, he is being berated with bullets and he somehow dodges them all. While this is happening, Bierce uses imagery and inner dialog to build suspense and make the reader anticipate whether Farquhar will be shot or not. This suspense is relieved when Farquhar makes it to the river’s edge.