Run Karen Monologue

After a while we heard some shots fired. Those shots killed eleven men! three of them were dead slowly. A lot of people were running away! “We should go from here right now! Or we are going to die.” I said. “Let’s go!” One of my friends said. We ran away from the crowd. I saw a lot of blood covering the ground and mothers are crying and children are running away too. I left my friends and went to my house. “Mom! are you okay?” I said. “No. I’m not okay! What was going on in King Street? My mom said crying. “A lot of people were shoting and throwing things at each other. But we should leave from here!” I said. “Why? What if we don’t leave? I can’t leave this house! Remember this is our house!” My mom said. “Mom! if

She’s the lady that designed all this wonderful training and information and put it together for all of us, not to mention having the patients of the gods.

The USS Maine explodes in Havana Harbor, Cuba, due to an unknown origin. The investigation of the cause is being explored. Yesterday, February 15, 1898 at 9:40pm, 260 officers died out of a 400 man crew. This morning’s recovery efforts only revealed dilapidated parts of the warship’s superstructure floating in the harbor. The people of Havana have been thrown into a state of panic after the explosion shook the city. The Maine had previously been sent to Cuba to protect the interests of Americans after rebellion broke out against Spanish rule in Havana in January. The warship weighed more than 6,000 tons and was built at a cost of more than $2 million.

Andrew Davidson uses several rhetorical strategies throughout “Following my accident...,” an excerpt from The Gargoyle. These add great amounts of emotional depth, AND SOMETHING ELSE. In the opening paragraph, Davidson describes the doctor’s incisions to release a “secret inner being”(line 4), a “thing of engorged flesh”(6). This introduces a divide between the narrator, and his body; establishing it as it’s own entity. Personification is continued throughout the excerpt, such as when the narrator’s immune system is said to “[stagger] under [...] strain”(12), and when his “body’s defences [...] just barely [function]”(15). This creates a very detached tone, seemingly removing emotion from the narrator. However, this results in the creation of a much larger emotional impact. The lack of emotion in the narration makes each description seem more believable, it doesn’t seem exaggerated.

I hug her knowing that this will be our last. Tears are streaming uncontrollably down my cheeks, staining her shirt. I'm not ready to say goodbye. I don't understand why this is happening. Out all of the 7.28 billion people in the world, why did it have to be her?

One thing haunts me from that day more than anything else. The scream of crippling pain and horror Mother made when the Nazis shot my father.The memory of that sound aches more than the old bullet hole in my back, and stings more than the day I received it. I was holding my breath and squeezing my knees to my chest as I watched through a crack in my bedroom door all those years ago. I never understood why they shot him. One minute they were both on their knees, in our small, quiet living room, begging for the Nazis ' mercy, and the next my father was blown backwards. Then my mother screamed that scream, the variety of sound that makes your eyes burn and your soul wince. The next thing I knew I was bursting out the kitchen door, running from that sound. I didn’t know where I was running to, I just knew I had to get out there before I saw my mother shot, or get killed

The genuine concern inflected in his friend’s voice completely caught Tom off guard, and he could feel himself losing control. Choking back a sob, he turned and stumbled toward the door, but before he made it halfway across the room, two muscular arms wrapped him in a tight embrace. He immediately struggled against the unexpected contact, but Penhall held him firm, and eventually he gave up the fight. With a sob, he collapsed against his friend’s broad chest and allowed all his pent up pain and torment to flow through his tears.

Imagine if you were being hunted down in your own country by an army who wanted you dead. What would you do? Would you run away and hide from the danger or would you accept the situation you were in and let yourself be killed? Some lucky people got the choice between both options, and I was one of them. I chose to hide from the danger present in front of me, purely because of a promise made between my father and a man named Hans Hubermann.

Something terrible has just happened. You received a call earlier this afternoon from your mother she informed you that your father has had a terrible accident. He was outside on the tractor doing his daily afternoon chores when something bizarre happened. Your mother found him sitting there unconscious and unresponsive. Fast forward. You’re sitting outside the emergency room of Virginia Mason Memorial waiting on news, any kind of news. It’s packed. There are families everywhere. Everything is loud and noisy—voices everywhere. Children and spouses crying. When all of a sudden you hear frantic voices behind those double doors yelling ‘CODE BLUE, I HAVE A CODE BLUE IN ROOM SIX’. You blanch. Your dad is in room six. You stand suddenly, knowing

It 's been a 5 months since the attack on New York. I barely made it out of there alive. I went into the battle nervous but excited my friends by my side Arnold Pennywise, and George Cream. We were ready to face the battle head on. We did not expect them to be so many. I don’t even know if Arnold and George survived it was a massacre. The first five minutes into the battle we we getting slaughtered. By the end of the battle I had lost site of George and Arnold. I was shot in the leg and was crawling to get away. If it wasn’t for this nice family that took me in I know i would have died. A month later I was healed and back with the Continental army. I’ve been training ever since. But now we are going into the battle of Trenton. I was freezing cold. I didn 't even know at time that it was Christmas. Commander George had me and a group of soldiers go into camp to spy.

It was a hot, humid day in July. The kind that makes your hair frizz and your pits stink. My dad’s softball tournament was in full swing. They were in the bottom of the fifth with two outs, and his team was up by four. “It’s candy time!” The kids would scream, and off we’d go.

My lungs were burning, my knees stung, and my legs screamed with every step. I knew I had to keep on running. The crowd was roaring, but my breathing was loud enough to drown out the noise. Suddenly out of nowhere there was a girl at my side, I remembered her, and she played dirty. Keeping my temper in check I tried to push on, but she didn’t give up and sent me crashing to the ground. Pain blooms on the right side of my body. Truthfully I was glad for the break, the pain was manageable. Having paused for a moment, I slowly pulled myself to my feet and check my body for damage. My teammate asked if I was okay, I nodded. A shout from a familiar voice brought my head back into the game. I started jogging to where I was supposed to be even though

As I read what Zafon wrote about how some images and words had found its way into his heart, I had similar feelings as I read Fever 1793. The novels describes how a fourteen-year-old girl gradually becomes a young woman as she been through the horrible fever that flush through the city of Philadelphia and witness her grandfather’s death. She had once had a harmony family, but suddenly the yellow fever took her friend’s live, and then neighbors. Her mother was sick, too. Eventually she couldn’t do anything but to run away to another city with her grandfather. As I read here, I was asking myself, whether I have the courage and determination to leave my ill mother alone and run away. As I proceed, as she and her grandfather run toward the city, the rubbery killed her grandfather. I don’t know the feeling of seeing your own and probably last family members in the world been killed by a knife. I thought, as a girl of fourteen, she will probably went crazy or desperate, but she didn’t. In the end of the story, she backed to her house and restarted the restaurant her family owned.

All of my life, I had known nothing, but Snellville, Georgia. Snellville was a very small city in Northwest Georgia, weighing in with a population of about 20,000. Since Snellville was where I was born and raised, I was used to what the city had to offer, even though it wasn't very much. My family and I had never traveled outside of the state for two reasons: we weren't in a financial position to do so and my father could not get the time off from work. It was the beginning of July in the summer of 02', when my parents completely surprised my brother and I with round-trip plane tickets for a two week stay in Greece.

When I reached America, I started to remember my childhood. I was the youngest of 4 children. I had a sister and two brothers. We were all crammed into a small hut. We all slept on one blanket on the floors made of cow poop. The roof was not very good either. It was made of palm leaves and when it rained, water dripped into the hut. Our house was only lit by a candle light. My mother always fed the other children who were just like me. They were poor and hungry. She is the most generous person I have ever met. My father has always motivated me to be the best. I was the best in the college I attended. I was the first in the rankings and everyone praised me. I thought that the Americans were better educated and smarter than me. I was not very confident