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How violence is used as a tool in literature
Violence is a prominent theme throughout many works of literature
How violence is used as a tool in literature
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“Esthetic means for appearances, neophyte is a beginner…” Trunk’s jaw dropped, stopping his explanation of the words. In front of them was Orson. He looked badly beaten to Gilbert. Trunk rushed over to him, followed by Gilbert. Gilbert surveyed the area around, there was a crowd gathering in closer, curiously. Trunk caught Orson before he hit the ground. His face was bloody, one eye already puffy. A stream of blood flowed out of his nostril. “I got it. I got the horn,” he muttered. “Prod fought hard but I managed to take it away. He didn’t like what I did to his Safe House. Those wealthy kids of his have a surprise in store for them. I hope you like it, Trunk. I did it for Gilbert’s family.” He slumped into Trunks arms. When Gilbert inched close to Orson and Trunk, he screamed. “NO!” The sound waves he made stopped everyone where they stood, frozen by his words. He dropped to Orson’s side. Orson looked up at Gilbert’s pained face, while putting Bark’s wand in Gilbert’s gray cassock pocket. Trunk’s eyes followed the wand put into Gilbert’s care. “A souvenir, as part of your wand stockpile of treasures. My job is done. I can…” Orson’s words trailed off. “ N o o o o o o o ! ” screeched Gilbert, fearing his friend was dying. The space above them buckled. The floating lantern globes heaved upward to the enchanted night sky by the power of his words. The lamps up and down The District shattered, along with every window popping inward. Even a couple of fire hydrants took notice of his might by exploding up many stories high. Wizards, Warlocks and anyone else within the range of his voice dropped to the ground onto their knees. Their hands clasped their ears, heads bowed in pain as they grimaced. Looking up to Gilbert, Orson’s eyes opened... ... middle of paper ... ...’re burning up. You sure you don’t need any help?” he asked. “I’m quite sure. What is it you would like to ask?” “Let’s move over here where there’s no one to hear us.” Frank followed the officer into the section between the baggage claim and the exit from the Southwest Gates. His hands were ready to flame upon contact if the man was going to attempt anything. Frank kept his eyes from showing the flaming firebird symbol, which Gilbert noticed appeared before Frank ignited. Frank’s head ached from the strain, but remained calmer than usual. He needed to get to his destination and fast. “You know, you have to move fast or face the consequences,” said the officer after a dozen passengers moved out of earshot. Frank’s head shook in disbelief. Eyes were everywhere. He played cool. He hated the way the officer smelled, like wet dirty clothes worn for more than they should.
Lars Eighner's short essay, "Dumpster Diving," reveals the stereotypes about homelessness in America. In order to confirm these known stereotypes about American culture, Eighner includes autobiographical accounts of the economically inferior class, as well as revealing his elitist rules that governs the life of a homeless person. According to Eighner, homeless people fall into the following categories, 'can scroungers', 'Dumpster divers', and 'scavengers.' (Eighner, 1993). In addition, Eighner's blatant demonstration of his superiority to the people he scavenges from reveals his true character of snobbery.
Gottlieb’s men instantly spun around, dashing toward him, but are abruptly halted by the forest’s floor violently shaking underneath them,
The author, Lars Eighner explains in his informative narrative, “On Dumpster Diving” the lifestyle of living out of a dumpster. Eighner describes the necessary steps to effectively scavenge through dumpsters based on his own anecdotes as he began dumpster diving a year before he became homeless. The lessons he learned from being a dumpster diver was in being complacent to only grab what he needs and not what he wants, because in the end all those things will go to waste. Eighner shares his ideas mainly towards two direct audiences. One of them is directed to people who are dumpster divers themselves, and the other, to individuals who are unaware of how much trash we throw away and waste. However, the author does more than direct how much trash
“Oh I’m good. I came to help. What happened to you?” Tom asked, with a worried expression on his face. His eyes met Fred’s, and he could see the humor, and strength of Fred’s heart in Fred’s warm, chocolate brown eyes. To Tom, the eyes were a window to the soul.
Homelessness is increasing every year and effecting Americans of different age, ethnicity and religion. In Lars Eighner “On Dumpster Diving” he explains what he went through while being homeless. He describes how and what foods someone should be looking for and to always be conscious of what one is eating because there is always a reason why something has been thrown out. He continues to go into detail about other items that can be found in the dumpster like sheets to sleep on and pieces of paper to write on. Things that can keep him busy through the day. Eighner carefully explains to his readers how being a dumpster diver has become a life style for the homeless and this is how they survive. It’s a way of living and they are comfortable doing it. “I began dumpster diving about a year before I became homeless” (Eighner 713). He tries to bring us into the world of being homeless. It is hard to imagine what it would be like in that situation, and how could surviving as a dumpster diver be a way of survival? As a dumpster diver, Eighner is able to tell us what is ok to eat and have and what is not ok for your health. His essay starts by uttering some guidelines of what is and is not safe to eat. “Eating safely from the dumpsters involves three principles: using common sense for evaluating the food, knowing the dumpsters of the given areas and always ask, “Why was this discarded?” (Eighner 714).
“Dragon! Why have you done this? You promised to keep the field here and not hurt any of the animals! At least give me my magic wand so I can fix this.” And with that, the dragon snapped the wand and threw it at her feet.
The kid, convinced he is with law enforcement, says with authority “Now get the hell out and don’t come back,” Shocked with his punk worthy attitude Freddie is about to smack this little hooligan upside his head, but spots a group of older boys coming from across the street. Not wanting any trouble and pressed for time, he pushes the cart to the sidewalk and hurries down the street.
Then I saw him. In the middle of the church half swamped by the blood, he lay. I struggled to my feet and wadded with great difficulty through the coagulating blood. It was definitely him and he had a faint pulse. I dragged him by his arm outside and yelled. The gargoyles that adorned the front of the church were peering down at me. At that moment I saw movement out of the corner of my eye again, but I was startled by the claxon sound warning of a bombing raid.
Robert’s father stood blankly on the pedestal, unresponsive to the celebration. To him it seemed the sound had lasted several minutes too long, and he was angry. In a steady voice that seemed even parts whisper and growl, he called for silence, and the audience recoiled as if hit by a
His body quivered and shook, his eyes were wide, but he saw nothing. He was too cold, his
His deep voice took on an animated and captivating tone as he paced ahead. It drew Bryn in, pulling him away from his swirling mind.
“Over there!” A voice said. “We have to drive him out.” This time the voice the voice was so close, Rainsford could hear the hoarse whisper, “Come on boy, and keep your voice down. Ah! Your useless thing!” It hissed. Then an abrupt silence fell, so complete that Rainsford’s breath seemed like canon fire. He slowly turned his head to look below him.
The air that was left in his lungs had fled from his body as he took his last breath. His chest rose and fell for the last time. He was gone. His eyes glazed over and his heart had stopped beating. I closed his eyes. The wounds from the attack were far too big for his fragile body, he couldn’t hold on any longer. He fought so well but even then he wouldn’t have been able to overcome something that was as horrific as this.
The King was dead. Those four words shook me to my very core and made feel like a could collapse where I stood from the mere shock of the words. I gazed around and stared at the hectic city street all around me while eying the people who carried on through their day, unaware of the travesty that would affect all of they're lives as they knew it.
No one answered. Thomas looked down an almost vomited. There was a metal alloy through has stomach. Blood was