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I woke up in a tiny, unfamiliar bed to the sound of either a gunshot or an engine backfiring. I rolled out of bed onto a cold, artificial feeling floor and squinted as the sun glinted off of the steel bars covering the room’s single window. I put on a fresh set of clothes that someone had hastily folded and dropped on the floor. I took one last look at the window, catching a glimpse of skyscrapers in the distance, and headed out of this new room. Then I stubbed my toe on a stove. The pain immediately cleared the early morning haze in my brain. I definitely wasn't in my own house, I don’t live in a city, have bars over my windows, and my bedroom certainly doesn't open directly into the kitchen. I thought to myself “Am I in jail?” I mentally …show more content…
King warns that “Thin description leaves the reader feeling bewildered and nearsighted. Overdescrption buries his or her in details and images.”(174) I tried to follow King’s advice on setting the scene by giving the reader little clues to paint a picture in their heads. I didn’t describe every little detail outright but I think that I gave the bedroom enough description so the reader can accurately “see” what I’m trying to convey. Perhaps I was a little more heavy handed when describing the main character but for the sake of space I decided to show the main character as a spoiled, rich kid as efficiently as possible. The main character in the story is very similar to me in many ways. We both grew up in a “bubble” where we don’t have to worry about when our next meal is going to be or if we can pay the power bill this month. I’m also a logical thinker, and I tend to overthink things and overlook the obvious answer. I am also a self-proclaimed “media consumption expert.” This prestigious title means that I read a lot and watch a lot of Netflix. However, unlike the character in this story, I am able to function independently without getting myself maimed or killed. I’m also not a trust fund baby and I recognize the merit of stairs. I tried to write a satirical story that shows an exaggeration of both my ambition and my
In this critic, I will be analyzing and comparing two books. The first book is “A question of Freedom a Memoir of Learning, Survival, and Coming of Age in Prison” by R. Dwayne Betts. The second book is “Newjack: Guarding Sing Sing” by Ted Conover. In this comparison will first give a short summarization of both books. Second I will be answering the fallowing questions, what prisons are discussed? What types of prisoners are there- age, race, sex, level of crime? How current is the information? What are the conditions of the prisons? How are the prisoners treated? How are the guards and their viewpoints represented? How are the prisoners and their viewpoints represented? What forms of rehabilitation are there? What are the social relationships with other inmates? What opportunities are available to occupy prisoners? What point of view is the author taking – critical, Positive, does she/he write from the viewpoint of a guard, a prisoner? What evidence is/are the author’s points based on and how is the evidence presented - for example, first hand observations, Statistics? Also what changes, if any, are proposed or discussed by the author? How does the information in this book compare with what you’ve read in the text and articles and what you have observed on a class trip? Lastly what is your opinion of the information and viewpoint expressed in the book?
Stephen King’s “On Writing,” is a memoir of the author’s experiences as a writer and serves as a guidebook for those who choose to enter the craft of writing. Stephen King writes about his childhood and young adulthood, relating stories that made him the writer he has become. Stephen King then moves into the mechanics of writing, offering advice and insight into a successful career that has worked so well for him but remains distant for thousands of others.
All he could see was red, pure anger seeping through every one of his actions. He kicked and kicked in a brutal rhythm, not thinking about anything other than the fact that he hadn't been there when it happened. What if Amaimon had found out, said something and then been hurt because the other him lashed out in anger. He would hate himself forever. What if Amaimon had been killed? What if he'd come home to that? He couldn't stand the thought. In the end he may have been hitting the other him for touching his brother, for being here and convincing him he was his mate. But really it was his anger at himself that drove most of his actions. He could understand the other trying to cover things up to try and avoid any time line mishaps, deep down
“Go to jail. Go directly to jail. Do not pass Go, do not collect $200.” It’s the most unfortunate and inconvenient rule in the book, triggering paralysis while the other players are free to use their $200 to taunt you while “just visiting” you in the slammer.
I woke up to the sound of footsteps and voices pacing back and forth. From what I could establish I was in an industrialized room, which consisted only of a small bed and bathroom. I moved my eyes down and found myself wrapped in blankets. I yanked the blanket off only to discover bandages covering my arms and legs. Where am I? I asked myself. I began to hear keys rattling I shifted my head towards the steel door, as it suddenly opened. A broad, muscular man dressed in a navy officer uniform abruptly said “You’re Ralph, yes?” I instantly felt a strange sense of security hearing a mature voice.
“I love crime, I love mysteries, and I love ghost” (Stephen King). This is one of Stephen King’s most notorious quotes and one of my favorites. The Old Jail is a popular, historic place to visit in Charleston, and is on 21 Magazine street. From 1802 to 1939 it was a home for many Civil War Federal prisoners and corrupt criminals. Although it is not an acceptable place the features entrust an ancient, castle look and is even angelic at times. The ghost stories about the penitentiary became so universal, the cast for Ghost Adventures filmed in the building. This jail is interesting to me because of its mysterious history and the effect it has on Charlestonians and tourist alike.
The morning could not come early enough for young Charles, who awoke before anyone else in the small cabin had roused from sleep. At first light, he noticed that the sky was dark and dreary when he returned from the outhouse. Bluish-black, weighty clouds hung low on the horizon and thunder rumbled in the distance. In his mind, Charles saw him and his mother walking through a storm- it was thundering and lightning; rain fell so heavily, they could barely see five feet in front of them. Crestfallen, Charles surely thought it was going to be a stormy, rain-swept day as he waited on the front porch for his mother to wake and the sun to continue rising. When it did, the dark clouds dissipated and the sky turned brilliant blue. A very mild breeze blew; with it, it carried a bouquet of honeysuckle, Ligustrum, and crepe jasmine… It was going to be a beautiful day on the mountain; Charles smiled.
Ow. My head hurts. It has been lying against this wall for at least an hour now. I scratched the back of my head to move around my dark, curly hair. It was beginning to feel plastered against my scalp. It was a bit tangled from not brushing it for a day and my fingers did not run through it with ease; nevertheless, it felt good to keep the blood flowing. I was lying on a thin, light blue mat on the floor. My head was propped up against the cold wall as if it were a concrete pillow. My chin dug into my chest and I could feel the soft, warm material from my sleeveless sweater cushioning my jaw. I looked down. I could see the ends of my hair cascading over my shoulders. The red highlights matched quite nicely with my maroon sweater. My arms were folded over my belly and they appeared more pale than usual. My knees were bent, shooting upward like two cliffs. My baggy blue jeans covered the backs of my fake brown leather shoes. ("Christy, let me borrow your pants, the baggy ones with the big pockets. I can hide more stuff in those.")
You could feel the small draft coming from the long cement hallway, as Eric lay on the hard cot, staring at the ceiling. After lying there for two minutes, trying to figure out where he was, it soon came to his attention that he was in a jail cell. Eric sat up quickly; there were so many questions running through his head. Where was he? Why was he in jail? And what happened last night? As he paced around the cell he noticed hieroglyphics carved on the walls. Then an even more important question filled him with dread. " Where, exactly, am I?"
she always used to wish for a way to escape her life. She saw memories
I woke up to the pungent smell of hospital disinfect, invading my nostrils. The room was silent apart from my heavy breathing and the beep beep sound you often hear in hospitals that indicates you're alive. I slowly opened my eyes, squinting in attempt to sharpen the blurred images before me. I glanced around and took in the deserted, blue and white colour schemed hospital bedroom. How long have I been here? I shut my eyes, trying to remember what had exactly happened. Then it all hits me with a bang. The memory of it all starts to occupy my thoughts.
attire stood up and with her little boy in tow, took a deep breath and
It was a dark and foggy night I can hear the wind howl and screams in the distance but I kept running it's not safe it never was safe. It was a foolish idea to try to convince them it was the end. I ran by the graveyard right next to my house picked up the pace I slammed open the door and made myself upstairs I locked the door behind me and close all the blinds I turned off all the lights and turn on a candle. I looked around the house looking for a weapon. I went to the kitchen get a knife until something stopped me at my tracks I heard voices outside my house and they kept getting louder indicating they were getting closer. “Those filthy beggars deserve to die” I heard a man cackle as more follow presuit “You should have seen the boy cry
“The scariest moment is always just before you start.” This quote is one of the most well known sayings from the famous creative writer, Stephen King. American history has been filled with hundreds of great and influential authors, starting from the creators of the first books in Ancient Rome to the stack of books in public libraries around the world. Throughout all of the famous and inspirational authors, Stephen King holds a spot in the modern world of literature. King has inspired thousands with his words and determination to carry on. He had a desire to be a writer as a child and never lost the interest even with age (“Growing up Believing in God”).
There were two men who were framed of murder and have been sended to jail one of them was named Weasel and his buddy named Hank. The person who framed them are unknown, and no one will believe them and when they tried to say it wasn’t them. They would be in jail for 40 years and when years have past they would be 60 years old.Weasel and Hank did not want to spend their youth in jail. So what Weasel said to Hank “Hey Hank we have to escape the prison and find prove that we are innocent.” Hank replied “ Yes but how do we escape?” Weasel replied “I don’t have an idea yet, we have to study the area first.” So as they study the the giant prison that was surrounded by the ocean. They have been building a boat in secret and making