Jacob Denvy's Short Story: Aliens

The cacophonic cry of the shrieking bell alerted me to sneak forward. Silently, I strolled through the narrow hallway; taking care not to rouse anyone in their vivid dreams. I felt like an elusive rat, manoeuvring sleekly past obstacles to reach the end. The end – where I would find a succulent, luscious delight. Cheese. But this piece of cheese wouldn’t just temporarily satisfy my tastebuds. It would everlastingly arouse them, leaving a distinct, heavenly aftertaste that would remain there for the rest of my life. From here on I knew; the aroma of Duncan’s demise was nearby.

Nick’s house represents how Nick is out of place within the West Egg/East Egg society. Overlooked and forgotten, his house is similar to his treatment in West and East Egg. Nick is less important to the people surrounding him and doesn’t have the same values and makeup up as those around him. There is a sense of inability for Nick to ‘fit in’ because of this.

Can someone's life morals change in an instant? This is what happens in my extension of, “The Lady or the Tiger.” In the original story, the king has always done the same for everyone's trials. There are two doors, one with a lady behind it, the other with a tiger. It is expected that the person chooses their fate. In this particular situation, everything changes. I extended the story, because the original has a missing ending and there was a way I would have enjoyed it ending. In “King of the Rings,” I am going to show you how past experiences impact how you act on new ones.

In the short story, there will come soft rain ray Bradbury sets a somewhat post-apocalyptic and chaotic mood .He uses different literary devices to help us understand better what the atmosphere of the world is at the time.

The moon was the only witness, along with the stars. They were the only ones that would know, and they wouldn 't tell. The ground was moist from the rain that had come early in the morning, and by the fog that stayed since then. The shovel scraping against stray rocks in the ground was too loud, and I feared that someone would hear. The hole in the ground looked like a bottomless pit, where no one would ever find a body.

His feet pounded down onto the blood-stained floor, his stomps ricocheting around the desolate hallway. All around him lights flared and sirens shrieked endlessly, a visual symphony to accompany his impending doom. Shadows encapsulated every part of the room, yet his eyes still darted around, attempting to find any sign of the incoming danger. He sprinted into the confined box of the elevator, the walls around him hugging him close, as if to say he would be safe here. He slammed his hands against the flickering buttons, drops of blood sliding down the metal as he punched it again and again. Seconds passed, each one ticking by ever so slowly, battling his increasingly fast heartbeat. The once welcoming walls began to close in on him, tightening

Another day was so much like the one before, and the many before that. He walked the house and grounds, slowly, letting time pass as it must. Alone, present but not present, for can one truly be there if no one knows of it? Like the saying he’d heard more than once over the unmeasured time of his existence: If a tree falls in the forest but no one is there to hear it, does it make a sound? He ambled through the back yard, pausing under the tree from which he’d been hanged, cursing his tormentors, vowing to haunt them for all time. But it was he who was cursed, trapped here for eternity.

I see the faint shadows of towering, tall trees side by side in the forest. It 's dark out. All the critters are asleep and there are no longer the sounds of angry drivers racing down the nearby highway, or shouts of children on the playground a couple blocks down. The white, fluffy, deep snow makes it hard to walk, and my feet are numb from the cold. I have to squint my eyes to make out what 's in front of me. I can see my breath when I breathe out. I can hear the snow crunching underneath my thick wool boots and fuzzy socks, and can hear the sound of my own breathing. The faint howling of the wind sounds like ghosts swarming the city on Halloween. I notice an old abandoned, dilapidated house far off in the distance, in desperate need for a new paint job. With it’s rickety old

Winds gusting, whistling peculiar sounds in contrast to the rhythms of the air, loose screen doors pattering against neighboring houses. The air filled with a lingering stench of sewage that could suffocate your lungs. At one in the afternoon, a scenery of thick charcoal clouds coated the sky, adding a gray tint to the daylight. My once bustling and rambunctious neighborhood was now unfamiliar, appearing to be a ghost town with no one in sight. It was at that

I slowly stood up, trying not to make a single noise. I tip-toed to the door, opening it and quickly glanced around the corner.

One day a man named Mike Schmoe was going to go up to his mother’s house to pay her a visit. He never understood exactly where he had to go. In the time we let him pack we had made a plan. When he goes on his trip before school starts we will make it his worst choice. We are one, one and only one. In the end we are really I and I am the fear of being lost. I am black shape with red eyes that match my body. Surrounded in a black cloak, concealing myself in the dark nights of fog. Never has Mike been lost. He's never left his home town. Never ventured anywhere. Always had everything done for him, until now. This time he had to leave to do something. So he left into the dawn of fog and darkness.

It was Tuesday. The day we found it, it was exciting at first but soon it became a nightmare. Ben and I were hiking just a little outside Saint George in Utah. We had been hiking for about three hours already along the trail we hike at least once a year when we travel down here but this year we found ourselves off the beaten path in an unfamiliar area. Ben decided where we were at was a good stopping point. We put down our gear and decided to climb the wall about two hundred yards away for where we were standing, I regret that choice more than I can put into words.

8) It seems that the house is empty but it keeps doing a daily routine. “Hands raised to catch a ball that never came down.” There were no door slams or people walking, yet things were happening like food being cleaned up and dishes being washed. It’s almost as if everyone just left.

I awake, rubbing sleep from my eyes. My location is not my home, yet I have been here before—in another time, another life. The taps of rain from outside shake the windows, resonating over the stagnant air in the small room. It is decorated ornately—not unlike my grandparent 's house—with plush red carpets, and bright white love-seats. The room would be comforting, if not for the one

It was a bright day in Derry, Maine. The sun dancing as the leaves swayed to a song only they could understand. Shouts of joy rose up from every corner as kids left school for the last time that year. Groups of children piling out of the prison, finally free of their duties.