The Third Week Of Fall : A Short Story

Having knocked at door of the youth’s room, the girl was waiting for a response for quite a long time and eventually it sounded, when Timothy opened the door slowly, standing with a towel wrapped around his waist, and was mopping his wet head with another towel. His hair was still not dry after a shower, and he looked awesome. The young man’s belly was flat and muscled and Veronica noticed a scar which apparently remained after the rally just below his

La Chute translated The Fall, was published in 1956 by Albert Camus '. The Fall is Camus’ last completed novel according to the Nobel Prize in Literature. The Fall can be seen as complex. At times, interpreting and analyzing can be difficult to some when attempting to understand the novel. However, according to Referential Anxiety in Contemporary French Fiction by David R. Ellison, there is no right or wrong way to interpret The Fall because Camus never had the chance to explain it himself. David R. Ellison argues that "It seems as if no real progress has been made in deciphering the text’s central enigmas" due to this. For the reader, this is good or bad news. The bad news is that no one can tell you with any real authority exactly how to

Going into the fall 2014 semester, my family was not in a good place financially, and I was not mentally. Our income had been reduced, meaning I had to step up to help my family. This caused my already weakened mental state to become even more strained and took a toll on me physically. I was not able to concentrate on anything at school, work, and home, it was almost in a blur. When I resigned from the fall 2014 semester, I knew it was something that was needed to make sure I stayed healthy, mentally and physically. Two years went by and I found myself in a better place. Going into the fall 2016 semester, I found the perfect balance between studying, work, and home life. In the end I exceeded all the expectations I had set for myself in every

“What?” he barked as he finally turned towards her. As he loomed over her, standing at the foot of their bed, buried in his cellphone, she got her first good look at him for the day. She took in his ragged demeanor; his dirty worn out clothes too large for his scrawny frame. Through a tear in his pants she could see a cut on his leg, no doubt attained by begging on the streets of St. Louis. She never saw him do it anymore but there was no doubt in her mind that he had kept that habit, among others. His disheveled black hair was covered by a grimy nondescript

He has always lurked inside of me, a malevolent entity that crawled beneath my skin. The boy stared back, his lips pulled back to expose his canine teeth, leering at the sight of me. His fathomless black, pebble-like eyes were sunken in his skull. His mouth snarled at me, a

“Hey, you’ve come to visit your old man!” he’d called as my brother and I approached the gate. “You came all the way from Scotland? For a holiday?” He grabbed for support that wasn’t there as he stood up with difficulty from a chair on the porch, colourless, tortured and washed out. I’d been warned it was bad, but I hadn’t expected this.

Arna Bontemps wrote “A Summer Tragedy” in 1933, four years into the Great Depression. A native of Louisiana, Bontemps’ family moved West when he was a very small child due to racial tension and segregation in the South (p. 278). The setting of “A Summer Tragedy,” the Mississippi River Delta during the Depression, in the days when black sharecroppers farmed the land surrounding the great river, reflects Bontemps’ own heritage and childhood experiences, as well as plays a key role in the story. “A Summer Tragedy” uses a sad, weary, solemn tone in the third-person limited point-of-view to tell the story of Old Jeff Patton, a black sharecropper, and his blind wife, Jennie. It tells a story of deep sorrrow and suffering, but also of courage and resignation, by painting a picture in the reader’s mind with descriptive imagery, foreshadowing throughout the story of the tragedy to come, the simultaneous account of both an internal and an external conflict, and motifs repeated throughout the story.

Fall is fast approaching and that means it's time for sweaters, scarves and boots! I love Fall, the temperature is perfection. The heat and I do not get along, however the cool, crisp air and I are BFF.

Autumn's Pov Today is the day Alpha Asher came to our pack, we are the last pack he checked because we are the smallest and weakest pack in the country. Everybody was rushing around trying to make things perfect, Alpha Micheal was organizing people in to groups, mates one one side

Suddenly and only for a brief moment the wind ceased, the curtain disappeared and the figure was fully visible. It was a boy, a small, slim boy. She couldn’t really tell how old he was, but not older than 6 years-old. He was covered only by a thin, dirty blanket that was no better than a piece of old, broken cloth and had ripped jeans. Nothing else shielded him from the rough wind while he sat in the middle of the sidewalk. The gloves that were supposed to protect his hands were completely useless, as they had an abundant amount

She had arrived to school and looked a little pale and shaky. This was an indication that something was up, but she kept yelling,“ I am fine!”

A perfect fall day would take place on a cool, Saturday evening in October. Preparations would start early in the afternoon with a visit to the store. Like a kid in a candy store, I would go through the Kroger aisles buying popcorn, s’mores supplies, and hot chocolate. I would carefully check that each white, fluffy marshmallow was not squashed and I would buy whip cream to top off each mug of rich, creamy hot chocolate. Final stop would be the big, shiny Redbox kiosk for a movie. My kids say I take forever picking a movie!

Monologue- Creative Writing The slow rays of the first morning light begin to peak pleasantly through the gap between the two linen curtains. Although my eyes are severely tiered and the light stings, I can’t help but stare at how beautiful it looks. I begin to stroke the pure

Misty dew covers the entire surface of the field. The yellowing corn stalks stand erect and proud until my grandpas tractor comes to end their growth. Autumn slowly weaves its way in and leaves a stain of brilliant color in its wake. Not everyone enjoys such colors, but when you

Joy looks around her and you can tell she doesn’t want to be there. But still nods at him.