Flashing light

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    hundreds of stinky skunk apes foraged for plum-colored worms in grassy fields rippling with pink and white wild flowers. They were at least ten feet tall, with bowed legs, gorilla like arms, and orange matted fur that glinted gold in threads of midday light. Some were dressed for the hunt in jungle camouflage fatigues—taupe, tan, and olive—and safari hats. “This is too easy,” I mused aloud. “We just need to cross the bridge, hike up the ridge, then down into the valley.” “Suppose their guardians.”

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    City Of God Research Paper

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    Cosmetics of Poverty: Use of Color and Light in City of God Colors are the visual ingredients that make up the things we see and to an extent, feel in life. They are simple representations of emotions, making up the visual aspect of life. If color represents emotion, light is the meter by which we feel certain emotions. “Color and light go closely together. Colors are the components of light” (Magrin-Chagnolleau). Dim light is romantic while white light is confrontational. Together these go hand

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    “Liam Young! You are under arrest! Freeze!” Their voices screamed after me as I ran blindly down the street. I glanced down at the tiny clear zip-lock bag filled with the reason why I was involved in this great escape. I smothered it in a tight grasp. I had to get rid of it some how. I shoved it in my mouth and swallowed. It burned and cut my already dry throat as it pushed its way into my stomach. My eyes burned and tears drenched my cheeks. I turned the corner. I had to hide, but where? I ran down

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    It was another sunny midday in Fortunatus. Explosions of noise echoed from the main city pub, as most had arrived to enjoy hot pub lunch and cold beverages. Everyone was conversing except for Derek McNeal, who was rather interested in the flashing images on a small TV screen. The news was on, a reporter was reading out a recent occurring event. It was another ‘incident.’ It was the destruction of the bridge connecting districts 4 and 5, that which was close to the lands hosted by the refugees known

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    Essay On Crime Scene

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    (-- removed HTML --) ext. park - crime scene - night time. (-- removed HTML --) (-- removed HTML --) The sky, overlaid with the slow whup-whup-whup of West Midlands Police cars flashing through the night, here and there, close and far. (-- removed HTML --) (-- removed HTML --) West Midlands Police officer transmitters crackling like static currents, surrounded by noises of clapping note boards, note pads flapping and paper ripping. (-- removed HTML --) (-- removed HTML --) A detectives voice echoing

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    Blood Brothers Evaluation Last week we went to the Phoenix Theatre in Leister Square to see Blood Brothers. When we walked into the theatre, I noticed that the proscenium arch stage was slanted which put everything on the stage in perspective. There was no live orchestra, and all the sound travelled easily throughout the room as it was quite a small theatre. Before the play, I had been told that the story was based in Liverpool and I had high expectations as it is one of the longest-running musicals

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    Personal Narrative

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    The flame from Nick's lighter danced in the darkness as he lit his cigarette. I faintly heard an aged man speak from the television "2 found dead in New York apartment..." I turned my attention towards the TV out of curiosity. "Autopsy shows the couple died of starvation, this is now the tenth time we have seen this similar situation..." Nick cleared his throat to speak, a puff of smoke escaped his lips and disappeared into the darkness of the room. I shifted my gaze towards him awaiting his thought

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    Personal Narrative

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    students to take care of. It always feels a little cramped, but I have gotten used to it. I walk through the giant glass doors, and walk through the tight and crowded halls. The smooth white tiles glistening the light from the lights over head. It gets a little deffing sometimes. The bright lights, and white floors. Sometimes I feel like the only thing keeping me from insanity here is the fact that the student’s clothes are different

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    9/11 Short Stories

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    expected. Quickening his pace he made his way to the nearby cafe. Lucas strolled toward the building. Looking through the window he saw himself. He wore a red sweater with jeans. Lucas mumbled about the overpriced cafe in front of him, clear displeasure flashing across his face. He pushed open the door and entered. Only a few people were there and after scanning the room for a seat he froze when his eyes crossed a certain lady. “Y-you!” He stuttered pointing to the lady in

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    The shattering of a lamp’s empty, lifeless bulb. The man sat alone in his house, only him. He walked upstairs towards the noise. He passed a picture of his mother, something he struggled to look at after she disowned him five years ago. His mother hated him due to his deformed cognitive abilities. He walked up the stairs, into the attic, where he had heard the sound come from. The front door opened, but the man continued searching in the attic for the source of the noise. The front door slammed

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