The Knife

It was the morning of August 15, 1944, though to Edgar Tratt, it seemed like any other morning, any other day. The breakfast laid on the table, not a sip or bite was taken. The meal was light with bread spread with jelly and the coffee just waiting to be consumed on the table. After a while from looking out the window, he sat on the table and ate his breakfast. The bread was tasteless and unappetizing; the jelly spread on being the only saving grace. The coffee was bland and tasted like a boiled

The home was fully alarmed and had sentries deliberately posted inside and out, but it made no difference to him. He slipped from shadow to shadow, silently advancing toward his prey with the slyness of a cougar. Small arsenals of weapons were at his disposal and hung from the compartment around his waist slightly open and ready. Soft shoes and an even softer step made his approach silently and deadly. His dark clothing, years of training and experience gave him a distinct

Try to find the easiest and safest route by foot. It would be best to travel light and only bring the necessities, such as a few extra clothes, first aid, and food. Canned foods or non perishables foods would be best. One might also bring a utility knife, for it’s multipurpose properties and diversity of tools and gadgets. Finding resting places would also be wise. Depending on where one is, or where one is going, resources should provide easy ways to make shelter and obtain food. If one chooses to

the terrible sickness one calls living. The dark, black door easily slid open with the slightest push of my cold hands. The three hound lay silently by the door, deep bloody cuts covering their bodies, not like that of claws, but like that of a long knife. In the middle of the room, right where I had laid her, she laid, not a scratch on her body, aside from the deep wound stabbing through her back and out her chest. Her body was soaked in crimson, like the deep, red petals of an autumn rose. However

quickly of a plan, some sort of scapegoat. The bandit was closing in, and the man's heart began to beat faster and louder. It was all he could hear. Come on grab your knife! His arms were disobedient. They wouldn't move. The throwing of the initial knives had taken their toll, and now he is facing the consequences. The bandit lifts his knife up high, and a spark lights in the mans mind. Mistake. The man kicks off from the ground sending dirt towards the bandit and sending the man backwards far enough

As he screams, I aim a punch at his face. My fist crunches into his nose and blood spurts onto the ground, as he falls to his knees. What happens next is a blur. I grab the knife by the blade, then whirl around and throw the knife so fast, my shoulder socket burns. The knife hits him hard in the shoulder, where two seams of the armor meet and he falls hard to the ground. I turn and head back to the truck, when I hear a gunshot. The pain is at once sudden and intense, beginning

I loved Bob with all my heart, or as much as you could love someone in 1252 in England as a female. I have told you about Bob before, haven’t I? He knew everything about me-from my favorite color to my deepest secrets. We did everything together, too; we went to the pond together, we went to the market together, we even ate together. We always exchanged “I love you” whenever we saw each other, and everyone thought we would eventually get married. He cared about me, and I cared about him. We

Andrew crashes into his parents as they are running. The knife was still in his hand but had blood on it. “What did you do, son?!” His dad said. Who created and helped build community. He was number one. Andrew didn’t say anything He took thee knife and stabbed it in his dad’s chest. The he sliced his mom’s neck. Monica just stood there in shock. “Oh my god.” she said. They ran out of the Tory. But

happened to slip and fall on the knife in my hand, which killed her instantly. However, I am the only one that knows the truth. After all, how could an awkward ten year old, undeveloped boy obtain the power to murder another being? On my parent’s fifth anniversary, seven years ago, they went out for a romantic night. Rosetta, our nanny, was taking too long to make my dinner. I got impatient. Without her noticing, I walked to the utensil drawer, pulled out a knife, and plunged it into her back. Blood

The primary literary strategy in Emily Dickinson’s “My Life Had Stood – a Loaded Gun”, is a metaphor of a gun and its master which is used to represent a wife and her husband. This metaphor is used to illustrate an unbalanced relationship where the wife is objectified and lacks agency. The wife reduced to an object which is at the disposal of her hunter/master/husband. The gun narrates the poem and it takes pleasure in expressing its power to kill. The poem presents the challenge of identifying