A Random Idiotic Story Supplying No Real Purpose
Trebor observed his messy office. He needed to get out of this diminutive space. He did not know why, but something impelled him to get out of his room. As he turned the doorknob, he felt a chill that took over his body. When the door opened, Trebor realized he was in a cubicle. The bleak room gave him a languid feeling. Trevor was skeptical of what he was seeing. As he turned around to exit this incredulous room, he noticed the door was gone. Where the door had once stood was a window. Trebor heard a voice whispering to him, but could not make out what it was saying over the rasping sound, which began to escalate. The noise impaired his hearing so he put his hands over his ears. As he looked
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Most of the people outside were lined up in straight lines with an auxiliary force near by. As soon as he thought he was hindered in this room, a grievous man came forward.
The tag on his uniform was inscribed with "Korby". He had a candid expression on his face. He rendered, "I'm Korby -agent number 4248, an envoy of our invincible government." "Invincible government? You've got to be kidding with me! This sounds like something straight out of the movies." Trebor's stolid expression Trebor Visits the New World: 3020 A.D. said it all. He is lost in this world; incredulous about his surroundings. He asked himself where he was and told himself it has got to be just a dream, but it couldn't cure his anxiety. "What year is this?" "This is 3020," replied Korby. With this Korby went into a monologue, which seemed like an eternity to listen to. It was only the preamble to the rugged history of this futuristic world. "It all fell apart", explained Korby. "Democracy and stability
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One man controls the computer and the droids. His name is Monty, and we intend to bring him down. That's where you come in." Trebor in complete shock asked, " What can I possibly do in this god awful mess? I'm just a divorced computer programmer." "You're the one who created the machines with brains," responded Korby. "That's why we need you. You have the skills to shut down the droids and save our world." "Me? I was never adept at what I did. I was a very careless worker. My programs were often erroneous," admitted Trebor. "How did I create such an intelligent computer program?" With an extemporaneous answer Korby said, "You did, and that's all you need to know now. So let's get to work." They walked through the wall to reach the computer lab. It was a small damp room filled with a few dozen people. Korby spoke, "This, Trebor, is what we have left. It is here where you will use your Trebor
The man’s eyes grudgingly opened to a blinding and distorted light staring back at him. A soft intangible whisper could be heard that slowly increased in volume as his eyes start to focus on his surroundings. He came to realize he was lying down, and saw two people talking in the hallway, as his focus became clearer, he was able to distinguish their features. With her back toward him, he saw a short lady in a white uniform, talking in an unpleasant tone to the man facing him. “I don’t care, we’re wasting precious time, and it is of the most important that we speak to him NOW.”
...h narrators see more horror than they could imagine was possible. Each day is quite likely to be their last and they are under no illusions what sort of horrific death could be lurking over the top of the next attack.
When he arrived at the home the servant who took his hoarse and directed him to the room that Mr. Usher was in greeted him. Inside the house was also very ornate, but it to had also been left alone for to long. The entire house had a gloomy atmosphere that would put a chill down most people’s spines. When he entered the room his friend was staying in he was warmly welcomed. He could not believe the changes that his dear childhood friend had endured.
SCREECH! Subsequently, we were through the first and second door of the demonic horror land, eventually arriving at the gate of the third. Like transparent ghosts, we slid through the thick curtain as the doors repeatedly slammed behind us. A figure wrapped in linen cloth came chasing after us and I willed the vehicle to go faster, but it slowed against my control. Thus, I sat grasping the railing tightly in case something even horrid should rise unexpectedly through the depths of the floorboards. "I'm going to have nightmares!" My sister whimpered.
Imagine my trepidation, then, when I walked into this church, with its high, vaulted ceilings and an enormous, emaciated, and slightly malicious-looking Christ figure suspended thirty feet among my head. As I came through the entrance, the prelude began. It sounded like nothing less than the soundtrack to a horror movie, as the slasher is about to leap out and dice an innocent schoolgirl. The organ wailed in threatening, building minor chords and did nothing to allay my trepidation.
Time slowed. Men surrounded our bed and glared down at us. There was a collective breath. Then they reached for us. I tried to fight, but it only loosened my hold on Phibe, and she was ripped out of my arms like a doll from a child. My screams were probably heard all the way across the sea, in the old English town that I’d left for a better life. Phibe reached for me, her screams matching my own, but the man that held her snatched her arm back. There was a stomach-churning crack. Phibe screamed until her voice
My eyes follow the jet black hands on my watch that creep more and more nigh five past six. As the big hands of the clock pass the minutes go by that guarantee relief from agony. The more that time expires, the flowers begin to wither like the hope in my heart that Hester with arriving at the cathedral due to the notice is given by the letter. The wind howls and slams into the cathedral doors giving me false hope that the women of my dreams will be walking through the door. Bending at the waist, and praying to god Hester will come to greet me I feel a breeze hit the back of my neck and reawaken from my concentration in God. As I rise from the pew, I see small women walk through the doors with a black clock and a candle whose burning wax drips down the sides, casting light that guides the way to me. Thine figure in the black cloak hands me a letter and runs away without my response.
The deathly ringing of the clock resonated throughout the chambers and faded away like they always had. But this time, the festivities did not flare back to life, for the new figure had control over the attention of everyone. This unique figure was shrouded in a robe as black as a void that covered all of his body except for his face, which was concealed by a peculiar mask. Contrary to the darkness of the robes, the lean mask was a pure, ghostly white with two blood red, curved lines, thicker at the top of the mask and thinner towards the bottom, through the eyes which were void holes. The air around him was cold and stale, like death lingered around him, waiting for its next victim. From the outskirts of the crowd, he moved in closer to the revelers, with each step echoing unnaturally loud. People shuffled away from him, afraid some terrible fate may befall them if they get close in proximity to him, as he strolled toward some unknown destination.
(1) As humans search for meaning and purpose in their lives, the constant changes of everyday life that they encounter can be overwhelming and frustrating. E. B. White gives us an example of this in his story "The Door." The theme of this story is that too much awareness and analysis of life’s frustrations can drive human kind insane and render them powerless.
11:14 p.m.-I slowly ascend from my small wooden chair, and throw another blank sheet of paper on the already covered desk as I make my way to the door. Almost instantaneously I feel wiped of all energy and for a brief second that small bed, which I often complain of, looks homey and very welcoming. I shrug off the tiredness and sluggishly drag my feet behind me those few brief steps. Eyes blurry from weariness, I focus on a now bare area of my door which had previously been covered by a picture of something that was once funny or memorable, but now I can't seem to remember what it was. Either way, it's gone now and with pathetic intentions of finishing my homework I go to close the door. I take a peek down the hall just to assure myself one final time that there is nothing I would rather be doing and when there is nothing worth investigating, aside from a few laughs a couple rooms down, I continue to shut the door.
He didn't know which door (or wall) or opening in the house to jump at, to get through, because one was an opening that wasn't a door (it was a void, or kid) and the other was a wall that wasn't an opening, it was a sanitary cupboard of the same color. He caught a glimpse of his eyes staring into his eyes, in the and in them was the expression he had seen in the picture of the rats--weary after convulsions and the frantic racing around, when they were willing and did not mind having
At last I arrived, unmolested except for the rain, at the hefty decaying doors of the church. I pushed the door and it obediently opened, then I slid inside closing it surreptitiously behind me. No point in alerting others to my presence. As I turned my shoulder, my gaze was held by the magnificence of the architecture. It never fails to move me. My eyes begin by looking at the ceiling, and then they roam from side to side and finally along the walls drinking in the beauty of the stained glass windows which glowed in the candle light, finally coming to rest on the altar. I slipped into the nearest pew with the intention of saying a few prayers when I noticed him. His eyes were fixated upon me. I stared at the floor, but it was too late, because I was already aware that he wasn’t one of the priests, his clothes were all wrong and his face! It seemed lifeless. I felt so heavy. My eyes didn’t want to obey me. Neither did my legs. Too late I realised the danger! Mesmerised, I fell asleep.
“The Hospital Window” by James Dickey is an emotional poem about a son’s struggle to cope with his father’s imminent demise. This poem incorporates figurative language as well as metaphors that create a story of emotion. It evokes such true emotion by drawing the reader into the fidelity of the relationship between a son and his father faced with the reality of death. Not only death in a physical sense, but also the journey one takes to reach that point and the transcendence of faith. Each element of the poem is a cliffhanger for the next line, resulting in a read that sparks the true creative power of the readers’ mind.
It was earlier in the week when Tiff’s night terrors had started. Every night since Monday she had woken up screaming in her perfectly square bed in her perfectly square room. All was still in the house, and she could make out no noise but the faint murmur of the light box in the front room. Looking up and out her door, the dancing blue reflection on the walls confirmed her suspicions. Papa must be awake.
As the crowd built up, it moved towards the doors that led into the actual theatre. I could see that some type of fog machine was at work. A pale mist came out of the cracks of the door. The inconspicuous sound of music could be heard just over the chatter of the crowd of people. Behind those doors there was a thrilling adventure about to ta...