Killing is Easy, Living is Hard
I did my best to kill Bobby Ackerman late one April night when we were both seventeen.
We were speeding down a two-lane highway, a narrow trail of asphalt that sailed off a ridge and down into a long, sweeping right-hand turn and then rushed past a white stucco house with a tile roof, a house that crowned the hill beyond a quaint covered bridge over a dry creek bed running parallel to the road. We were descending toward a little town named Crane, and we were flying.
"Geez, man," Bobby said. I looked toward the passenger seat as the Plymouth dug into the arc of the curve. Bobby’s eyes were wide.
"Slow down, slow down."
Bobby grasped the armrest with one hand and braced his left leg against the hump in the floorboard. I could smell the beer on his breath as he fought to stay in the seat.
The old sedan wallowed back toward the right lane.
It was the first time I'd driven his car. But it wasn't Bobby's car, really. It was his dad's. His dad was a railroad engineer, complete with the traditional bib overalls and cloth cap.
Bobby was my friend, trapped like me in the last year of high school. But he was different. I was secretive, sullen, and sarcastic, but Bobby was outgoing, with an ever-present desire to please sometimes amplified by a brittle manic energy. I liked beer, the drug of choice for our generation, but Bobby liked beer too much. That night he needed someone to drive him home.
Now I had the old car racing down the road and off the ridge at something close to 80 mph simply because that was all the speed I could wring out of it. I'd made one turn, but there was one more ahead before we entered the valley and the town that lay astraddle a creek. The next turn was a sharp, banking left-hander, edged by a dozen or so white posts laced together by steel cables, and oncoming traffic was obscured by a little hill.
I caught a glimpse of a yellow sign ahead, one marked with a black arrow curving around the words 35 mph, but I didn't lift my foot from the accelerator. My hands chased the steering wheel, persuading, begging the car to stay off the limestone bluff to the right, and the old sedan was reluctant, never steady, demanding one correction after another.
Two brothers, Lyman and Henry, had very little in common other than their blood. One day they decided to catch a ride to Winnipeg. The car was introduced while these two were doing some sightseeing in the city. They spotted the red Oldsmobile convertible. Lyman, the storyteller, almost made the car a living thing when he said, "There it was, parked, large as life. Really as if it were alive." (461) The brothers used all of the money they had, less some change for gas to get home, to buy the car. The car's significance was the bond that it created between the brothers. The purchase of the vehicle brought these two together with a common interest: the car. Once the bond was formed, the brothers became inseparable, at least for a while. The boys spent the whole summer in the car. They explored new places; met new people and furthered the bond that the car had created. When they returned from their trip, Henry was sent to war. He left the car with Lyman. While Henry was gone, Lyman spent his time pampering and fixing the car. Lyman saw the car as an extension of Henry. Lyman used the car to maintain an emotional bond with his brother who was thousands of miles away.
The drive to cross the Kentucky border had taken hours and hours of strenuous patience to finally arrive in another state. The view was by far country like as hints of cow manure could be smelled far from a distance. We drive through small towns, half the size of our hometown of Glen Ellyn had been the biggest town we've seen if not smaller. The scenery had overwhelmed us, as lumps of Earth from a great distance turned to perfectly molded hills, but as we got closer and closer to our destination the hills no longer were hills anymore, instead the hills had transformed to massive mountains of various sizes. These mountains surrounded our every view as if we had sunken into a great big deep hole of green pastures. Our path of direction was seen, as the trails of our road that had followed for numerous hours ended up winding up the mountainous mountains in a corkscrew dizzy-like matter.
"Hey boy where are you going?" the driver shouted at Bill while he stretched his arms across the opening to prevent myself from stepping down. I stood waiting. "Where do you think your going?" he asked, his heavy cheeks quivering with each word. "I'd like to go to the rest room." I smiled and moved to step down. He tightened his grip on the
on a car as it passed them. A skeleton of a car went in and after each
Applebaum believes that torture should not be used as a means of gaining information from suspects. Applebaum's opinion is supported through details that the practice has not been proven optimally successful. After debating the topic, I have deliberated on agreeing with Applebaum's stance towards the torture policy. I personally agree with the thought to discontinue the practice of torture as a means of acquiring intel. I find it unacceptable that under the Bush Administration, the President decided prisoners to be considered exceptions to the Geneva Convention. As far as moral and ethical consideration, I do not believe that it is anyone's right to harm anyone else, especially if the tactic is not proven successful. After concluding an interview with Academic, Darius Rejali, Applebaum inserted that he had “recently trolled through French archives, found no clear examples of how torture helped the French in Algeria -- and they lost that war anyway.” There are alternative...
The author then looks back upon the time in his life when her mother decided to drive Hunter Jordan’s old car. However, she didn’t know how to drive, and was generally afraid to get behind the wheel. On that day, she drove crazily on the road, and declared to never drive again. James McBride also reflected on his life up to a teenager, who knew that bad things would occur in the not too distant future if he didn’t change his ways and behavior.
Gilgamesh, The Epic of. Vol. A. The Norton Anthology of World Literature. Ed. Martin Puchner, et al. 3rd ed. New York: W. W. Norton and Company, 2012. 95-150. Print.
The Epic of Gilgamesh. Trans. Benjamin R. Foster. Text. Martin Puncher. New York: W.W and Company, 2013.Print.
In many literary works we see significant transitions in the hero's character as the story is developed. This is also true in the Epic of Gilgamesh with its hero, Gilgamesh. In this narrative poem, we get glimpses of who Gilgamesh is and what his purposes and goals are. We see Gilgamesh act in many different ways -- as an overbearing ruler resented by his people, a courageous and strong fighter, a deflated, depressed man, and finally as a man who seems content with what he's accomplished. Through all of these transitions, we see Gilgamesh's attitude toward life change. The goals he has for his own life alter dramatically, and it is in these goals that we see Gilgamesh's transition from being a shallow, ruthless ruler to being an introspective, content man.
We continued down the infinitely long interstate towards our destination. Thunder clouds continued to rumble in, like an ocean tide rolling closer and closer to the beach front. Within minutes the entire landscape was calm and dark. It looked like a total eclipse of the sun, and the once ...
Logan was on his way home from an evening at the local bar. He and some friends had gone out to have a couple beers. As he sped down the road, he blinked vigorously to try to clear his vision. Although it was a perfectly clear summer night, Logan’s vision was blurred from the alcohol. “As long as I keep this car on my side of the road, I’ll be fine,” he thought to himself. He was doing a decent job of obtaining control over the vehicle, or so he thought. Only three miles from his country home, he became unaware of his position on the road as it began to curve. As he continued around the familiar curve in the road, a truck came out of nowhere at hit Logan’s small Toyota Camry head on. The big F-350 pickup truck was no comparison to the little
Disappointment, disbelief and fear filled my mind as I lye on my side, sandwiched between the cold, soft dirt and the hot, slick metal of the car. The weight of the car pressed down on the lower half of my body with monster force. It did not hurt, my body was numb. All I could feel was the car hood's mass stamping my body father and farther into the ground. My lungs felt pinched shut and air would neither enter nor escape them. My mind was buzzing. What had just happened? In the distance, on that cursed road, I saw cars driving by completely unaware of what happened, how I felt. I tried to yell but my voice was unheard. All I could do was wait. Wait for someone to help me or wait to die.
Life is a precious thing, death is the great evil”, said by Heinrich Heine who is a famous poet. So we can know that life is the most important thing for every single life entity. There are a lot of words that can modify life, such as important, precious, formidable and so on. The reason why there are so many good vocabulary can modify life is nobody want to lose their own life. It is clear that not only human, but also animals cherish their own life. According to the utterance which Heine said, we should not kill anyone. However, the life is also cruel. Crime is happens every day and some of them can’t be excused. People may do some wicked things for some reasons. In this case, the death penalty is the way that can punish them and caution other people and it is necessary to have death penalty.
Unsuccessful in trying to get me out of his car; he began to drive mystically and made a sharp left turn. My reaction was to reach and grab the wheel and turn left. Big mistake. This day will always haunt my memories.
I had driven home this way a thousand times before, but today would be different. The misty rain made the road slick as I steered the car through the slow, wide curve. It may have been the setting sun in my eyes, but it was probably a combination of the loud song on the radio and the slight yawn that escaped from my mouth. Regardless, a momentary distraction was all it took as the tires hit the damp gravel. The wet rubber and slick stones triggered the car to slide off the road to the right. In a panic, I jerked the wheel to the left, over-correcting the slide. Swerving across oncoming traffic, my car jumped over the drainage ditch and smashed down into a neighbor’s front yard. Continuing its dangerous journey, the car destroyed a lamp