Tiburón: A Short Story

“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.

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

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.

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

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

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

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?”

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 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.

Deep below the arena, within a small cell made of 3 walls of stone and one wall of iron, with a heavily armored guard weilding a morning start outside sat a lone human among two dozen orcs also in the cage... "Outlander" they called him, the few other non-orcs there referred to him as "Offworlder" though his name was not important. Months in the cage had left his skin pale, his eyes sunken, his head was bald exposing intricate patterns of tattoos across the top of his head. he leaned against the rear stone wall, his knees pressed up to his chest, his wrists laying on his knees with his hands hanging down. as the crowd above went silent and the echoes ceased, so to did the chattering of the imprissoned cease, till finally, from a young male,

Steele opened the front door and walked over the threshold. Oddly, no one greeted him upon his entry because the two men that usually did were dead. Their bodies rested motionless on the floor, lacking the pleasant liveliness Steele knew. Steele approached the two door guards lying facedown on the floor and then carefully examined their bodies, hoping that he would find what killed his comrades. But their bodies lacked bullet and stab wounds, and there was no blood staining their black suits and pants. Even the wooden walls and floor remained immaculate.

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.

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

In the doorway, a petite, hairless dog laid either asleep or dead. Upon entering, an employee asked us to tie a colorful silk wrap around our waists to cover our legs out of reverence. We complied and entered the cathedral. The ceilings were lofty, and the altar was composed of marble trimmed in gold and ornamented with statues of saints and paintings of cherubs. As I was taking it all in, Jose hurried us out. Once again, we marched the streets of Havana in the sweltering heat. The sweat beaded on my forehead as we hiked, for what seemed to be miles, to a cigar bar in the heart of Havana’s historic district.

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.”