The Mysterious disappearance of Mr. Jones
“Another Avalanche!” Carter yelled to his sister. Having practised avalanche evacuation drills hundreds of times they knew to go to the small village’s safe hall. The village that Carter and Sadie lived in was in the middle of snowy Alaska next to mount kompus. Running over the crunchy white snow to the hall, Thoughts where racing like nascars at full pace through my head. Will our village survive, I need to protect my younger sister, will mum and dad survive this harsh weather? Sadie and I sprinted to the hall and sat down quietly. The towns leader marked the roll, since there were only 64 people in the small village we would automatically know if someone was missing.
“Ok everyone calm down the malicious
…show more content…
Jones?!”
Scared whispers come from everyone “where is he?” Carter said to Sadie. “Probably just didn’t hear the alarm bells because he is deaf”. “Let’s go look for him now! come on,” I said to Sadie. As the two of them made their way to Mr. Jones’s man cave (A shack). Then suddenly my nostrils were inglufed by acidic scent, a scent that reminded me of a time when I was younger, when I got to go with dad to his work in his laboratory when I looked in an acidic green test tube. “Poison!! Sadie, we must go explore that abandoned shack.
…show more content…
Jones disappearance. We sprinted past the bison’s pen and jumped over the tiny frozen well my thick woolly jacket weighing me down as I ran “ahhh” Sadie had tripped on a jagged piece of ice. Her face numb and deep red scratches all over her small little body. “Are you ok?” I said speed walking back over to her. “Yeah”. They regathered their fast jog, Sadie limping ever so slightly. Once they were about 20 meters from the shack we started jogging slower so we could approach the shack with cation. The scent of poison was ever so stronger, I felt harsh Icey shards pinch my face like bull ants, our bodies were burning from all the sprinting and running. Finally, we reached the shed we knew we shouldn’t go straight through the old run downed door, but then how would we get in. “THE ROOF!” sadie suddenly shouted “Mr Jones was once giving me a tour of his beloved shack once and he showed me the roof, there is a hole in the roof from a hail storm.” Sadie and Carter climbed up the roof it was only a 7-foot-tall shack so it was easy to climb. Once they got on the roof carter gasped “The smoke machine…. It’s producing poison”. Sadie glanced through the hole and saw that on Mr. Jones bench was his cowboy hat “Mr. Jones!”. Then I realised something, a piece of paper that had something written on it. Sadie could read it because she has very good eye sight, “its
Our young, unnamed narrator sets the tone by describing his home, which is his grandfather's dirty, yellow, big-framed house. He also notes why his mother hated it. They had fleas, she said. He goes on to render how the people of Jonesville-on-the-Grande became in sync with the routine on the post at Fort Jones. At eight, the whistle from the post laundry sent our children off to school.
In order to understand the behavior and actions of the four characters in this story, the author must describe the place physical place and time where the four characters must survive. The perception of this environment is crucial for the actions of the characters to be appropriate. Clark describes some sights in this decimated prairie, “The frozen mud still bore the toothed impress of great tanks, and a wanderer on the neighboring undulations might have stumbled, in this light, into large, partially filled-in and weed-grown cavities, their banks channeled and beginning to spread into badlands. These pits were such as might have been made by falling meteors, but they were not. They were scars ...
I woke up at John Morris’ house, on his coach. As I knocked a flyaway hair out of my face I noticed my face was wet, with tears, and then it all hit me at once that my Dad and Mrs. Borden were dead. Suddenly I couldn’t breathe. I heard John Morris ask if I was alright, but that seemed like a completely different world, I responded with a meek okay, so Mr. Morris wouldn’t see me like this. That didn’t work though, I saw his tall shadowy figure ducking under the door frame with tea. As Mr. Morris sat down and put the tea on the coffee table in front of us, I turned my head and quickly wiped the tears from my eyes in hopes he wouldn’t see.
The novel ‘Jasper Jones’ written by Craig Silvey and the film ‘Dressmaker’ directed by Jocelyn Moorhouse have connected to the audience in very similar ways. The main ways that they have done this is through plot, characteristics and setting. By looking into each of these conventions it will widen the knowledge and have deeper in-depth on how authors and directors use them.
Chanie Wenjack was an Indigenous boy, who met a terrible fate after running away from a residential school in hopes of reuniting with his father. Chanie had died from exposure to the element and starvation while trying to walk 400 miles back to his home: an isolated reservation in North Ontario. Indian children commonly run away from the residential schools; consequently, they lose their toes, fingers or potential an arm or a leg to the cold. Children occasionally die, however, nobody seems to care predictively because they are Indian. On Sunday afternoon, October 16th, Chanie and his two friends decided to run away. They soon approached a walkway, leading them to a secret trail. Chanie found a map and although he didn’t know how to read English,
The Voice also seems to invite the listener into the town, when it tells us“ Hush, the babies are sleeping” it then goes into a string of images about the people of the town: “the farmers, the fishers, the tradesmen and pensioners, cobbler, schoolteacher, postman and publican”. Strings of images convey very strong feelings and can get across the atmosphere of a place very well. This particular string of images is telling the listener all the people in the town who is asleep. The effect of it is the Voice becoming friendlier with the listener and telling him/her about the town and its people.
He fig-ured that the normal half hour walk home might take as long as two hours in snow this deep. And then there was the wind and the cold to contend with. The wind was blowing across the river and up over the embankment making the snow it carried colder and wetter than the snow blanketing the ground. He would have to use every skill he’d learned, living in these hills, to complete the journey without getting lost, freezing to death, or at the very least ending up with a severe case of frostbite be-fore he made it back to Ruby.
The next story is of Colby Coombs, a 25 year old, who was vacationing in Alaska. He and his two climbing friends were caught up in an avalanche in Mt. Foraker. They were knocked 800 feet down the mountain. Coombs was knocked unconscious and woke up 6 hours later dangling from his rope. He had sustained a fractured ankle, a broken collar bone and two broken vertebrae in his neck. His 2 friends did not survive the avalanche. The next four days he struggled to climb down to their base camp and then traversed another five miles to cross a glacier before being rescued.
Usually, their home is silent, but when one day the narrator suddenly hears something inside another part of the house, the siblings escape to a smaller section, locked behind a solid oak door. In the intervening days, they become frightened and solemn; on the one hand noting that there is less housecleaning, but regretting that the interlopers have prevented them from retrieving many of their personal belongings. All the while, they can occasionally hear noises from the other
January 12, 1888, a blizzard covered the northwest part of North America that claimed many lives. This blizzard was considered to be the worst blizzard of all time, and was dubbed the “the Schoolchildren’s Blizzard”, for claiming the lives of so many school children on their way home. The death toll of this murderous blizzard rose, because of lack of preparation and being uninformed. During this time, many farmers and families were unprepared to survive a blizzard of this magnitude, by the lack of clothing they wore. Forecasters were not as accurate enough to inform people on the weather conditions. Also, shelter was a major factor in protecting themselves from the winter storms, but the shelter was not stable
(6) The suddenness of the winter storm caught people by surprise. A roar “like an approaching train” was all the warning the storm gave. (130) The roaring wind and snow brought darkness and dropping temperatures. The people who were inside when the blizzard struck faced a dilemma. Staying inside and doing nothing seemed “heartless,” but going into the storm “on a rescue mission was likely to be fatal to the rescuer and useless to the lost.” (143) The people who were unfortunate enough to be away from home, whether they were at school or working with their livestock, had to make a difficult decision. They could either risk trying to make it home or chance it out and stay where they were. Schoolteachers had to decide whether to send the children home or keep them at the school. If anyone ventured outside, he or she risked frostbite, hypothermia, and likely
“What are we going to do,” cried Stewart,” We’re all going to die!” Jill started to wail into the rumbling of the flow. “Calm down, both of you! Remember what the radio said, everything will be okay,” Mom exclaimed. The radio that had sat in their swept away living room, had ordered them to stay calm and get to high ground. Stewart continued, unfazed by his Mom’s orders,”Those boulders could tear this house apart! How are we going to be okay!?” Jill’s wailing stopped in shock, then continued even louder than before. Mom calmly answered,” We will be okay; the authorities will come for us.” At that moment the house shook ominously. A cracking sound shook the house and everyone on it to their very core. The house sagged violently to one side tossing the occupants to the edge of the
Leo exhaled, his breath twirled in the moonlight. His cool golden skin undertone was pale olive from the frigid wind. He glanced at the moon and shook his long curly dark mane that sent snowflakes upon his winter-coat and boots. He walked cautiously down a cul-de-sac he was all to familiar with. The streetlights flicker as he clenches his gun as he walks past deserted home after deserted home. These homes once housed familiar faces of friends he grew up with, now abandoned with boarded up windows and doors that creak open from gusts of wind. Cars buried in snow, windows busted and tires that are flat create a obstacle course that blockade the cracked cement road. The silence makes his skin hair stand on end and goose bumps begin to form on his back, his eyes fully dilated and the only sound is the crunch of snow beneath his feet. He pauses at a house with a hand painted sign of doom eyes watery from what he is witnessing.
I was the first person to ski off of the chairlift that day; arriving at the summit of the Blackcomb Mountain, nestled in the heart of Whistler, Canada. It was the type of day when the clouds seemed to blanket the sky, leaving no clue that the sun, with its powerful light, even existed anymore. It was not snowing, but judging by the moist, musty, stale scent in the air, I realized it would be only a short time before the white flakes overtook the mountain. As I prepared myself to make the first run, I took a moment to appreciate my surroundings. Somehow things seemed much different up here. The wind, nonexistent at the bottom, began to gust. Its cold bite found my nose and froze my toes. Its quick and sudden swirling movement kicked loose snow into my face, forcing me to zip my jacket over my chin. It is strange how the gray clouds, which seemed so far above me at the bottom, really did not appear that high anymore. As I gazed out over the landscape, the city below seemed unrecognizable. The enormous buildings which I had driven past earlier looked like dollhouses a child migh...
...t likely the oldest thing in the village. It was completely made of wood and looked like it could fall apart at any second. The windows were boarded up and the house itself looked generally creepy. Catalina knew she should have turned and walked to school. That house was honestly none of her business. And yet, she thought she heard voices. They were faint, but they were there. Catalina found her feet carrying her to the boarded windows. The voices became louder as she approached. She pressed her ear against the boards out of curiosity. "Sir, there was a mortal with us!" That was Alec's distinct voice. Mortal? What was he talking about. "Aye, I know that!" That was The Caretaker's gruff, Scottish voice. "The lass deserved a good warnin'." he said grumpily. "I do not mean to interrupt," said an abrupt voice that was cold and smooth as silk. "but we are being watched."