The worn brass saxophone buzzed with arcane energy as I picked it up for the first time. Verdigris and rust crept out from underneath the joints binding the horn together and pockmarked the body of the instrument. Dark pits and long, deep scratches, like scars on a battleworn samurai of the Yamaha clan, covered the keys. The lacquer had been stripped off the body of the horn, but not the keywork, which created an odd, slightly unsettling contrast between the matte and shiny finishes. I almost thought that a vigorous rub would cause a genie to unfurl from the bell.
Arika and Tim would meet up all the time and I noticed. Mentally I began to break down. I became a junior detective. I began to be suspicious of everything she did and said. She lied to me non-stop.
Audrey had just arrived to her work at the Carilion Roanoke Memorial Hospital. As she walked into the building, she could feel other people were watching her. Her rust colored bodycon dress fit her short, petite body just right as she elegantly walked through the door. She had her shoulder length, black hair pinned up nicely. She looked perfectly ready to start her day as Dr. Lane.
“Nam qui dabat olim / imperium, fasces, legiones, omnia, nunc se / continet atque duas tantum res anxius optat, panem et circenses” - Juvenal Smoke rose from citizens’ homes and workplaces, wisps of darkness floating higher and higher in the sky like the souls of the dead, signals to spread the destruction that had occurred only a few days ago. Bloodied bodies, dead and alive, lay there too. In their inaction - the anticipation that followed shock - they seemed to be spectators, stunned after a cacophony of destruction, played by an orchestra controlled by some far away conductor. Yet they themselves seemed to play music, mindless buzzing as their not-so-empty heads attempted to filter their surroundings and figure out what had happened to
The story “Where Are You Going, Where Have You Been?” had people in history asking questions of good and evil. Why do people have to suffer in the world? Arnold Friend is more than just an individual. He is a strong symbol of death, happiness, and everything that opposes the life we live in. This story was set in the context of the 1960s and the 1970s America and shows how strong violence is built into society (Laura Kalpakian).
Ava Modin 4th hour LINC Escape The pouring rain crashed down onto the dark, cold grounds and smashed against anything in it’s path. It was a monster which would soak anything and the poor dog was a victim. Rufus laid upon the doubtful and depressing ground of the dark and gloomy alley as the hunger and bitter emptiness clenched his stomach like a fist pounding up against the inside of him. The dog hadn’t eaten in over a week and was starving.
The song played in the background of his mind as he leaned back in his chair, idly flipping the pages of his upcoming patient's background and he could not for the life of him get it out of his head. He was an 80's buff, there was no doubt about that, and hearing the haunting notes of a Def Leppard song as he gazed at the sad eyes of the young woman in the dossier seemed to hint already at the emotions her gaze engendered inside of him. His own eyes held perhaps a measure of the same sadness, a loneliness that was bone deep, but it was not something he thought about overlong as he sat there. His fingers traced along the papers to once more review, his other hand coming to pick up his pen to make a few notations on the notepad next to him. His hand was sure and steady, the letters written in cursive and boldly expressed, the type of handwriting given to either the supremely confident or the quietly self-assured.
The Road to Bondra Thywyn 's lips cut across his face like a dusky scar. He lifted a shaky hand to wipe the sweat beading on his forehead. "Haleal, I am sure it 's not contagious. Look at our children, they 're still strong. . .
One Saturday in 1965 I happened to be walking past the National Archives buil~ling in Washington. Across the interim years I had thought of Grandma's old stories-otherwise I can't think what diverted me up the Archives' steps. And when a main reading room desk attendant asked if he could help me. I wouldn't have dreamed of admitting to him some curiosity hanging on from boyhood about my slave forebears. I kind of bumbled that I was interested in census records of Alamance County, North Carolina, just after the Civil War.
In this essay, we will examine and analyze the various themes and motifs present in the album to gain a deeper understanding of its overall
The Raid Angry shouts shook the waking kingdom as the mob of unclean villagers were stoning the King’s Palace because of his new weapon rules. “How are we going to defend ourselves if you confiscate our blacksmith weapons!?” exclaimed a villager. Sir Gerald smelt burning wood, smelly manure and odours from the unclean villagers as he was overlooking them at the King’s palace. He saw pitch black figures rapidly marching towards the palace and exclaimed “Bandits! I need to warn the villagers!”
The 914 Ear-piercing sounds of cogs churning and steel pistons gliding up their shafts, could faintly be heard just over the crest of the hill. All the patrons eagerly rose as the bus made its grand entrance beside the wrinkled road. Whistling and shooting out smoke like a boiling kettle, the unfamiliar shriek startled me as it did every morning. Watching on as each passenger boarded the bus, the driver turned towards me and muffled through his dense untidy beard, ‘you going to sit there all day or are you getting on?’ ‘Is this the 914, The Arncliffe line?’
An amnesiac? There was the chance he’d get back his memories at any time, making another issue she’d have to deal with. Then again when he was off her hands, it’d be their issue to deal with. Depending on the buy that sort of uncertainty could increase or decrease in value; nonetheless, his story was still weird. Woke up in a crevice covered in blood?
The faint buzzing of an old street light in the distance was the only sound that filled the air. The loud dogs that paced yellow lawns and fenced in porches were deep asleep. It was as melancholy as it could get. My hand trembled, I looked down at the paper weapon clasped between my fingers. I lifted my hand and pressed the cold cigarette to my chapped lips, long ago accepting the fact that I 'd never remember the taste of his mouth, in the same way I didn 't remember the last time my life wasn 't anything more than a huge fucking shit show.
Darkness Awaiting “Pressure, keep your hand on your side, and apply pressure! Don’t let the blood pool out! We’re almost back to base...just 500 yards to safety...away from the cannons...stay with me buddy...stay with me!” The ringing from the cannons mitigated as the world began to stop in John’s eyes.
