The Short Story Of The Beard

Featured and organized by the Metropolitan Museum of Art, Romare Bearden’s collection is one that appreciates and depicts life for what it really is. Bearden did not like abstract expressionism. Instead, he made many collages depicting life with different perspectives, allowing the viewer to see reality, but also try to figure out the true meaning that Bearden meant to portray in the collage that was not directly seen by just looking at the picture. These collages were made by “Cut and pasted printed, colored and metallic papers, photostats, pencil, ink marker, gouache, watercolor, and pen and ink on Masonite” (MET Museum). Bearden liked telling narratives within these collages involving Harlem life. Whether it was on the streets, inside

One of the former regime guards “Naji Najjar” goes into detail how his captors are now using his own

In the folktale “The Blue Beard” written by Charles Perrault, conforms to both Dworkin’s and Lurie’s representations of fairy tale heroines. Perrault states, “The fatal effects of curiosity, particularly female curiosity, have of course long seen the subject of report” (133). Andrea Dworkin author of “Women Hating” and Alison Lurie author of “Don’t Tell the Grown-Ups” explain their different views regarding the heroines in fairy tales.

He started lathering my beard, but was constantly questioning me about what I’m going to do in the day, and what we soldiers do to the rebels if any were caught. I told him that all rebels deserve to be punished. We both glanced at the clock and noticed that it was two twenty in the afternoon. He realized that the soap on my face was getting dry, which caused him to cover my beard once again. With the chilling thought in my head that this might be my last day to live, I remembered my objective of which was to find out if will kill me or not. Due to this, I must act as if I’m blind to the fact that a potential killer is behind me, and who has the perfect opportunity to slice my neck. I could not see it but I could feel that most of my beard was gone, and only the area under my chin was left. He soon began to grab the appropriate sized shaver to reach the sensitive area which was my neck. Few minutes later, the beard was completely gone and I sat up, looked at the mirror, and rubbed my hands over my new and fresh skin. I went to the hanger for my coat, pistol, and cap, then paid the barber the cost of the

Behind him, three of the soldiers got to work with a length of rough hemp rope. They tied a series of shockingly tight hitches around his naked right bicep, then dragged the coiled line under his left armpit and yanked, hard. Gruters felt muddy, cleated boot soles on the back of his neck where the soldiers were getting leverage. What the hell are they

The next morning, groggily, John and his new friend woke up to the triumphant yells of generals. The grass was damp from the night before for it had rained a thunderous rain. John’s general, General Hartford, was a stern looking man and didn’t like goofing off at all. Every time a soldier peeped a word while marching he would hit them with the end of his sword and tell them to stop talking. John marched alongside his new friend and didn’t say a word. After hours of marching they took a break and ate a small lunch of an apple and very watered-down soup. Once John started his bowl of soup a large boy walked over. He was about the age of twenty-three and had a messed up smile and didn’t talk clearly. He yelled, “Gimme your soup or I’ll beat you

requesting a shave and begins discussing his plans for the captured rebels. Furthermore, this assessment by

“Before I went in, I thought I would be polite…but when I saw them laughing and apparently indifferent to the woe which they had been instrumental in bringing upon us, I could not help being indignant. [But] seeing an enemy wounded and helpless is a different thing from him in health and

The door opened and an old man entered the room. He was going bald and what few strands of hair remaining were silver-gray. His body was lumped in a wheelchair and his face was hidden under a hat and a pair of sunglasses with pitch black shades. The bailiff escorted him to the defendant’s seat/chair amidst a frenzy of camera flashes going off and fervent boos from the crowd.

The wet mud had penetrated my boots and seeped through my socks numbing my feet. The smell of gunpowder burned my nostrils as it wafted through the air mixing with the odour of rotting plants and mud. The vines, sticks and leaves of the jungle scraped across my face trying to inflict as much pain as possible. As I drew nearer to the danger that had already wiped so many of us out I felt the adrenaline rush over me. The pounding of my footsteps echoed through my ears and I felt beads of sweat slowly start dripping down my forehead and into my eyes. The steady “rata tat tat” of gunfire pierced the otherwise quiet jungle. The fear that had left me weak and crippled slowly started to grow stronger as my body continued to approach the men that had the power to send me home in wooden

I would say that most modern historians believe that Beard went too far. Beard looks at the Framers and argues that they were acting as they did for selfish reasons. But it is possible to act in a way that promotes the interests of your class but is not selfish. If you truly believe that a system that helps your class will help everyone also, then you are not being selfish. Most historians today would argue that this is what the Framers were doing and I tend to agree with them.

While attempting to place Baldera in my patrol vehicle, she became combative and refused to have a seat. She began to shout loudly at myself and deputy Parker, Baldera refused to enter the patrol vehicle and had used her right foot to prevent the door from closing. Deputy Parker and myself continued to struggle with placing Baldera in the patrol vehicle, Parker entered the passenger side and attempted to place Baldera in the seat, she continued to resist and would not place her legs inside the door frame. SGT, B. Gindler assisted with placing Baldera in the patrol vehicle, she was issued several commands and advised to stop resisting. Baldera continued to struggle with us, and the door was eventully closed. While in transport to the GCSO, Baldera began to kick the patrol vehicle's door's and windows, she stated, "I'll show you resisting arrest, fuck you and just wait till we get to the jail, I'll put up a fight."

Both Michael Crummey’s “Heartburn” and Lisa Moore’s “The Lonely Goatherd” explore the damaging impacts the lack of communication has on a relationship. Both Carl and Anita’s relationship in “The Lonely Goatherd” as well as Georgie and Sandy’s relationship in “Heartburn” are weakened due to the lack of communication. This idea is shown in both short stories through the use of foils, specifically Hans and Carl as well as Everett and Sandy ; It is also demonstrated through the use of symbolism of Signal Hill as well as using the excuse of heartburn to cover up the dreams Sandy has; It is shown lastly through the dramatic irony used in both stories. These elements demonstrate how the lack of communication leading to the downfall of relationships.

Bluebeard, a fairytale by Perrault, is about an affluent man who is known and revered on account of his despicable blue beard. Even though he has had several wives, their whereabouts are a source of mystery. As such, Bluebeard purposes to persuade one of his neighbor’s daughters to take his hand in marriage. Eventually, his efforts pay off and he ends up tying the knot with one of his neighbor`s daughters. After some time has passed in their marital union, Bluebeard announces to his wife that he must set off on an important journey. Before commencing on his journey, he gives the castle`s keys to his wife and the liberty of having access to all the rooms apart from a single room.

A man paces within the room, his black leather boots clattering against the creaking wood over and over again. He was deeply tan, his skin an olive hue, and his head was topped with a messy mop of grey hair. His face was chiseled and angular, but not untouched by the wrinkles of age. His chin had rough stubble running as a five-o 'clock shadow. Across his left eye ran an old scar, coming from the top left and ending at the start of his nose. His other eye was a deep blue, intently looking towards the worn paint on the floor boards. He was adorned in a light leather vest, metal studs patterned across it to accommodate chainmail, if the need arose for it, and to his side was a thin sword, the hilt finely crafted with a intricate, geometric design stretching across the scratched and scuffed cage. He stands tall, easily clearing six feet, his upper body broad and well kept. He stops dead as he hears the old door creak, turning his one good eye to the new visitors with a deathly glare. "Who are you?"