Tiburón: A Short Story

I found this passage interesting because it left me thinking and analyzing it for some time. I didn’t quite understand it at first, especially the screaming part. Initially I thought it was the prisoner's form of suicide, but after a while I realized that it was only after he stared at his reflection for a couple seconds, that he let out the blood curdling scream. This lead me to conclude, that the man yelled out of shock and fear because he no longer recognized himself. When we

“It’s not everyday we get company around here,” I reminded myself, “we haven’t shown our chateau in ages.” As we walked down the elegant staircase, each step creaked one by one. My hand-held lamp with the bright, burning fire was in clutch as we walked around the dusty furniture until we saw some of my men. They were silent, but you could see the fear in their eyes - almost like the fear in Rainsford’s. One had the guts to come up, and offer another light looking for a way to impress me with his concern, but I quickly declined.

Three boisterous knocks echoed against the walls of my cell as my security guard proceeded to let himself in. The tight grip of the guards hands on my bare skin sent blood pulsating up my entire arm as we made our way down the musty, gray corridor to the television

He had just managed to stumble to his feet resting his back against the wall. The only light was in the room was from a small opening where the ceiling and wall met, covered with bars. Bahauddin had reached for his neck and a sense of anxiousness rushed through his body. There was no metal there, no keys, no nothing. He had peeked his head through the cell bars to examine the lock and everything around him. “Hello?” Bahauddin yelled, waiting for a response. Coughing had came from the cell next to him. “Hello,” he repeated, “who’s there?”

He did not want to scare her away. His footfalls are audible in the silent night, reaching out to her, each step bringing them closer together. Their turmoil of emotions rivals a hurricane, fear, fury and rage but most of all love shines in her eyes. Pure adoration is reflected in his. One foot forward, step by step, the space between them ceased to exist. Prowling forward, pushing her backwards into the building and onto the elevator, he corners her. Unnerved, she stands still in disbelief, doubting that he is really here. Staring at his face, his chiseled jaw, the definition in his shoulders, it seemed that wherever he went he had been worked hard. A calloused hand comes up and brushes a strand of hair from her face.

This is Andrea Wrenn, I am the youngest sister of Anastasia and I graduated from TWS in 2014. My mother informed me that you needed a house sitter during spring break and I would love to help you out! If you don't already have any takers my number is (520)275-4984 and we can text or call to figure out some stuff.

As I stood there, propped up against the chair, waiting for Carrie to finish packing up her belongings, I was overwhelmed at the thought of Civitan not being the same. I stared off at the chipped, peeling, uneven paint, the stained carpet, the emptiness of the office.

He shook the wardrobe apprehensively causing it to collapse. This was bad. Very bad. I panicked as I heard multiple footsteps rapidly move toward. I would've told Doran to hid under the small bed bu t the problem was he couldn't walk unless I carried him. It was too late for that anyway. The Nazi soldiers kicked open the bedroom door and grabbed Doran and I by the necks of our shirts. The heat rushed over all me as I struggled rigorously to get out of his grasp. “You're not going anywhere!”the soldier said. My father suddenly came from behind and yelled in a demanding tone, “Stop! Just stop it!” No, no, my father is the wold who has to stop. He can't be doing this unless he wanted to get himself killed. The Nazis began laughing hysterically which disturbed so much and gave me anxiety that I started to shed tears. “Kneel down!” one of the soldiers ordered, his tone full of domination. However, my Father refused his command. “I said kneel down! Or I kill your whole family without

Please permit me the honor of escorting you and your retinue to your accommodations" he recited when the time came. The warlord returned the courtesy with a nod as from his seat upon his horse as another samurai lead a detachment of spearmen through the gates. Toranoske didn't know who the man was, but his movements were cautious and his body language lacked ostentation. He stood at a minimum of ten feet from him at all times, bearing himself in profile and facing him with his weapon side. The way he appraised Toranosuke and the way his hand rested near the tsuba of his sword showed the situational awareness of one experienced in combat. His accent marked him as a man from Satsuma as he gave out orders, shoulders often rolling as if unaccustomed to the lightness of silken garb alone. Whoever he was he was deadly and as a man of possibly forty years he lived quite long in a career where most die young and

This poor man was being treated as if was not even human. The guards crowded him as if he was going to take off and run. “It was like men handling a fish which is still alive and may jump back into the water” (Orwell 1). The prisoner just sat there in silence and did not pay any mind to what was going on. The prisoner is struggling to hold on to his dignity because he trying to ignore what is happening to him.

Scuttling innocently through the twisting corridors I bore the same expression; head down, shoulders hunched, avoiding any eye contact - my desperate attempts to deter the despot for one day at least. Despite my efforts, there was no escape, as seemingly within the second of having that naively optimistic thought, a cruel, callous voice demanded I surrender my broach. Fear spiked, as it always did, but with it came something else, an alien emotion ... Looking back now, I see that it must have been the cumulative effect of months of torment that brought me to the realisation that at this point I had reached the nadir of my life. Deriding cackles pierced my ears and this time I recognised the emotion, fury. It burned through my veins, along with the memories of the past to form a feeling of overwhelming power. I met the daggers that would usually invoke terror, and calmly, I said “No.”

The next few days, Zimbardo observed that the relationship between the guards and prisoners changed. The prisoners become more attached and dependent, the guards became more scornful towards them. The guards despise to the prisoners grew then prisoners became more submissive. The guards start to took full control of the prisoners. The prisoners show rebellion such as barricading themselves inside the cell by putting their beds against the doors. These make the guards enter each cell, stripped the prisoners naked and took the bed out. After that, the guards began to bully and intimidate the prisoners.

This whole story varies on the edge of life and death. The themes of determination and bravery are portrayed strongly in this story. Within the story the narrator is faced with many trials, but he stays determined through all these trials to escape the prison. He states towards the beginning of the story, “I saw

General Poppy this way" said one of the doctors. Poppy follow them with Teemo in her hands as they follow the doctors and found themself in a room in no time. "General Poppy may you please remove your armor so we can exam you please" said one of the doctors. "No doctors you misunderstood i dont need help, its this kid i found his name is Teemo". "General Poppy i dont understand your clearly have wounds" as the doctor exam her arm which had a blood stain on it. "Ill be fine help the kid"said Poppy. " But General your". "Its a order" comanded Poppy As she cut them off. The doctor did as they was told to do. "Hows Teemo"asked Poppy. "General Poppy he is fine he just need some rest thats it. " General Poppy I am more worried about your wound so

She was a cute redhead who filled out her uniform nicely. Like many people, she never looked directly at him when speaking. Others, couldn't seem to look away from the wrecked visage. Sergeant Urizzi had shivers down her spine when looking at the Captain. He sat in a chair, rifle between his knees, zoning out. The General, not a morning person, passed through the room not speaking. The old man would have his morning brew before taking care of business. At last, the gate keeper let the officer pass into the inner sanctum.