100 best novels! » A million thoughts!
1905 The House of Mirth Edith Wharton 70. 1957- 1960 The Alexandria Quartet Lawrence Durrell 71. 1929 A High Wind in Jamaica Richard Hughes 72. 1961 A House for Mr Biswas V. S. Naipaul 73. 1939 The Day of the Locust Nathanael West … 1979 A Bend in the River V. S. Naipaul 84. 1938 The Death of the Heart Elizabeth Bowen 85. 1900 Lord Jim Joseph Conrad 86. 1975 Ragtime E. L. Doctorow 87. 1908 The Old Wives’ Tale Arnold Bennett 88. 1903 The Call of the Wild Jack London … read more…
The Valley Advocate: News – Halos and Horns
The plant would be sited on the Westfield River, a famous fishing stream that carries the federal designation Wild and Scenic River; the developers wanted permission to draw down as much as 885000 gallons of water a day to cool the plant. ….. Horns: You would think it was big corporate interests who got the people in the U.S. Congress elected, the way they bend over backward to please Wall Street even in the face of massive public opposition on issues like bank bailouts … read more…
RedBankGreen » CRASH SENDS SUV FLYING & DRIVER RUNNING
According to neighbors, the accident happened at about 10:30p when the driver of a silver Audi sedan, heading east on East Bergen, failed to negotiate the bend in the road at South Street and drove up onto a homeown’s lawn, smashing into … 12.30 – YOU’RE A GOOD MAN, CHARLIE BROWNThe wit and wisdom of Charles M. Schulz’s sublime Peanuts characters was first made into the stuff of musical—theater perennials back in the 1960s; it comes to Red Bank as Two River Theater’s … read more…
From Google Blog Search
Yangshuo Getaway: Sans Souci in the Land of Shan Shui
Author: David Perry-China hotels, china travel
Not a worry, not a care…. read more…
6 Great Family Activities in Big Bend
Big Bend offers many activities for your family, from sightseeing and hiking to river running and birding. You can choose from comfortable lodging and eateries to outback wilderness adventures. Many a… read more…
Where to Stay with Kids at Disney World
No one is more enchanted by the magic of Walt Disney World than young children. Time stands still as the stories and characters that delight and engage them become real. The smiles on their faces crea… read more…
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Resolved Question: Is my story any good?
There once was a man by the name of Matthew Dillinger. He seemed different then most men. He had dark brown wild curly hair. Also he had dark sunken eyes. But if you think his appearance was quite odd he also was a schizophrenic. There also was a woman. Her name was Angelina Burton. Her appearance would make you think she was sane; but just because she had long reddish-brown hair and cheerful green eyes didn’t mean she wasn’t a sociopath. Even though of her illness she trusted only Matthew Dillinger.
Matthew Dillinger and Angelina Burton were always closed friends since grade school. They always rode the same bus. Always had the same classes. One day they both went to a psychologist and found out their illnesses. Both of their family couldn’t afford the treatment or boarding at the local asylum so they just ignored what the psychologist said. Years went on and it seems like they weren’t ill. Together they moved to New Jersey.
“It’s September 15th,” billowed Matt.
“I know,” hollered back Angelina.
“You know what that means?”
“Of course I do.”
“Well then, let’s go.” They rushed out the door of their apartment and drove carefully to the mental asylum that was shut down years ago. Angelina was shaking in her seat of excitement. Matthew noticed this and asked, “Excited?”
“Well yeah what other haunted house is held in a real mental asylum?”
“Well it’s going to be great especially with us running it”
“I’ve got a great name for it!”
“Yeah, what is it?”
“I was thinking of the name Mental House”
“That’s one wicked name”
After an hour of driving they arrive. They entered the eerie building. There was a plaque when they first entered; it read:
Greystone Park Psychiatric Hospital
Established 1876
They continued walking through the uncanny halls. The gray paint was peeling. The wood floorboards beneath their feet was creaking as they walked over them. Matthew Exclaimed “This is perfect!”
In an hour they started to set up for their haunted house. Angelina was busily painting a sign for the entrance. Matthew was carefully putting up decorations. Several hour pass and they decided to go home. Even though they were halfway done they still had the rest of September to finish.
` The rest of September came and went. Now it was opening day. But before anyone entered Matthew and Angelina went through the attraction once more. The building itself was very spectral with the props. There was a theme to the haunted house it was an abandoned asylum that that the patients were still in it. At every turn someone or something might pop out at you. On the wall and floor there was gut-wrenching props like blood and corpses. The actors were spectacular as they were actual mental patients.
Practically the whole town of Morris Plains was in line to get in. “This is great for the first day that this place opens as a haunted house . Well gotta go suit up ” announced Matthew.
‘”Kay” responded Angelina.
Matthew was playing a patient. He carried around a knife that he thought was a fake prop but was really a real one. He was running around and tripped. There was a man nearby who was alone. The knife slipped out of Matthew’s palm and hit the man directly in his eye. Blood was splurging out. The guy bent over in pain. His blood was like a river. He whispered “Take me out of my misery.” Matthew had no idea what to do. He did the first thing that popped in his head. He approached the man in pain and wringed the guy’s neck killing him instantly. Next, he left the man on the floor and decide to use him as a prop.
“Hmm, that wasn’t so hard. I just might kill another tomorrow night ” thought Matthew. That night Matthew told Angelina what happened. She thought it was revolting;but accepted it. She came up with a plan. She thought it would be intriguing to kill the amount of people of the date. “Tomorrow we will kill two!” she declared.
The next day they spotted a nice looking couple entering the Mental House. They followed them in. They stalked up to them and slammed their mouths with their hands. Matt and Angelina took they couple to a private room. First, Matthew cut off the tongues of the couple and placed them in a jar. They then duct-taped their mouths. Threw them on a table. Angelina came with a sharp knife carefully carving the man’s skin. The man was in excruciating pain. He started to bleed Matt grabbed a bucket and let the man’s blood stream into it. Then Matthew twisted the man’s neck. Angelina gazed at the woman she had no pity in her heart. She loomed up to the woman and stabbed her multiple times in her heart. They then dragged the fresh corpses and set them up as props all over the Mental House. Matthew poured the blood all over the front steps.
On October third they really were getting into killing. They sought out a couple and a single woman. They decide to drown all threw of them. As the three people were drowning they were squirming for life. Slowing they died. M
Matthew and Angelina put them in three bathtubs that were around the Mental House.
On October fourth they found four teenagers wandering around the Mental House. The duo tricked them into entering the murder room, that is what they nicknamed the room in which they kill. The easiest way to kill them was to slit their necks with a new knife. They weren’t watching all of them at once and one of the teens escaped. When Angelina noticed several minutes later she ran after him. She stopped abruptly when she saw the police and the boy out side of the building. She started crying because she was furious at the boy. She plunges herself onto him and bit his ear. A police officer had to yank her off. Then they rest of the officers swarmed into the Mental House and dragged out Matthew. The three other teenagers were murdered. The officers searched the Mental House and found the nine bodies. Matthew and Angelina were sent to Prison after confessing the horrible crimes.
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Voting Question: ok what do you think of this. im only 15, but i still dont think this is very good. its pretty long…?
Leader of a Nation
As the hot sun rose over the horizon, the cool night air disappeared, replaced by a blistering heat. The sand became hot, as the sun rose ever higher into the sky, scorching and burning its way up. The reeds that gently swayed along side the Nile became dry and hot, as the morning went on, and even the Nile, usually so cool and inviting, seemed to coward in the heat. Children stooped to gather water from the river, splashing and laughing in the refreshing water until their mother’s calls summoned. The marketplace, ever busy, was already bustling as children and mothers rushed to accomplish their tasks before the afternoon sun was upon them. In the rush and confusion, no one seemed to notice a small girl clutching a small clay bowl, and struggling to fight through the crowd.
She was perhaps seven years old, though she looked younger owing to her tiny frame. Her long dark hair tumbled around her face; as she turned her head this way and that in desperation. Her large eyes were dark, like her hair, and her voice, so high and soft, scarcely carried far enough for anyone to hear.
Coughing from all the dust, she turned away, determined to find another way. An old ragged looking donkey heavily prodded past, carrying his sticks for his master to sell on his back. Ducking behind the donkey, the girl scampered over through a small opening, and hurried to the outskirts of the marketplace where a small stall stood. Still grasping her clay pot, she walked uncertainly over, peering over the edge of the counter.
Inside, an old man was kneeling by the side of a goat, milking its milk into a bucket. Swish, swish, swish, swish! Around him, more goats stood, bleating softly and nudging him with their noses. The man, completely oblivious to the child, was humming quietly as he milked. Wisps of white hair seemed to float around his face, and his old body, bent with age, swayed along with his tune. Suddenly he turned, realizing that he was no longer alone, and, upon seeing the child staring hesitantly, he gave a toothy smile, stopped his work, and leaned over the counter toward the girl.
“Well now, what have we here?” He exclaimed, examining the girl top to bottom, “Well if it isn’t little Miriam, coming to collect the milk.” He winked as Miriam nodded, and put her little pot on the counter.
“Mother says fill it up, please,” Said Miriam, intent on repeating the message, “and she’ll be back for more the day after tomorrow.”
The man nodded twice, winked again, and, taking the small jar, proceeded to fill it to the brim with fresh, warm, milk. Miriam watched hungrily, longing for the warm milk to wash her dry tongue.
Seeing her stare, the man asked, “Will you be wanting any for yourself, Miriam? Why, you looked as parched as a camel!”
Miriam smiled politely, but shook her head. As much as she wanted some, her mother would not be happy if she spent the money satisfying her own thirst with rich milk, for it was not meant for her.
Soon the bowl was full, and, placing it on the counter, the man said, “There you go, that will be three coins. Careful not to spill!”
Suddenly Miriam’s face visibly paled. Did the man say three coins? Searching through her pockets she found only two small coins, the same two coins that her mother had pressed into her hand bidding her to come back with milk, assuring her that it would be enough. The same coins that Miriam had seen her mother hold up sadly, looking at her father, who only shook his head. The same coins that had been at the very bottom of the tiny box by mother’s bed. The two coins were the last of their money.
Seeing the small child frantically searching her pockets again and again in desperation seemed to soften the man’s heart. Touching her lightly on the shoulder, he held up two fingers. Two coins. Sighing in relief, Miriam held out the coins on her palm, and, ever so carefully, lifted the tiny jar, as not to spill even the tiniest drop.
Thanking him kindly, she finally turned and scurried back through the crowd, towards home.
Something was very wrong. Approaching her small house, Miriam listened intently for something, any sound at all. But now Aaron should be getting water, and mother should be cleaning up, or getting some breakfast for the family. But not a sound could be heard. Afraid to go in, Miriam stood frozen on the doorstep for a moment, willing her legs to move. Finally she was able to step forward and, ducking her head a bit to enter, she stooped into the tiny house, still clutching her jar of milk. What she first saw nearly stopped her heart.
Miriam’s brother Aaron stood near the middle of the small room, pale faced and scared looking. His thin lips were clamped shut, and he seemed unable to utter a word. Sharply turning her head, Miriam peered into the dark room, searching for mother. Walking slowly, Jochebed appeared, her hand over her heart, and her face, if it was possible, was paler than Aar
did it cut off? it had an ok ending…idk if that worked. =( but thanks anyway guys, even the critacism! it all helps! oh, and can you be more spacific about the historical inaccuracy, that would be great! thanks again!
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Resolved Question: Can u give me your reaction to this short story?
“THE CENTIPEDE”
by Rony V. Diaz
WHEN I saw my sister, Delia, beating my dog with a stick, I felt hate heave like a caged, angry beast in my chest. Out in the sun, the hair of my sister glinted like metal and, in her brown dress, she looked like a sheathed dagger. Biryuk hugged the earth and screamed but I could not bound forward nor cry out to my sister. She had a weak heart and she must not be surprised. So I held myself, my throat swelled, and I felt hate rear and plunge in its cage of ribs.
I WAS thirteen when my father first took me hunting. All through the summer of that year, I had tramped alone and unarmed the fields and forest around our farm. Then one afternoon in late July my father told me I could use his shotgun.
Beyond the ipil grove, in a grass field we spotted a covey of brown pigeons. In the open, they kept springing to the air and gliding away every time we were within range. But finally they dropped to the ground inside a wedge of guava trees. My father pressed my shoulder and I stopped. Then slowly, in a half-crouch, we advanced. The breeze rose lightly; the grass scuffed against my bare legs. My father stopped again. He knelt down and held my hand.
“Wait for the birds to rise and then fire,” he whispered.
I pushed the safety lever of the rifle off and sighted along the barrel. The saddle of the stock felt greasy on my cheek. The gun was heavy and my arm muscles twitched. My mouth was dry; I felt vaguely sick. I wanted to sit down.
“You forgot to spit,” my father said.
Father had told me that hunters always spat for luck before firing. I spat and I saw the breeze bend the ragged, glassy threads of spittle toward the birds.
“That’s good,” Father said.
“Can’t we throw a stone,” I whispered fiercely. “It’s taking them a long time.”
“No, you’ve to wait.”
Suddenly, a small dog yelping shrilly came tearing across the brooding plain of grass and small trees. It raced across the plain in long slewy swoops, on outraged shanks that disappeared and flashed alternately in the light of the cloud-banked sun. One of the birds whistled and the covey dispersed like seeds thrown in the wind. I fired and my body shook with the fierce momentary life of the rifle. I saw three pigeons flutter in a last convulsive effort to stay afloat, then fall to the ground. The shot did not scare the dog. He came to us, sniffing cautiously. He circled around us until I snapped my fingers and then he came me.
“Not bad,” my father said grinning. “Three birds with one tube.” I went to the brush to get the birds. The dog ambled after me. He found the birds for me. The breast of one of the birds was torn. The bird had fallen on a spot where the earth was worn bare, and its blood was spread like a tiny, red rag. The dog scraped the blood with his tongue. I picked up the birds and its warm, mangled flesh clung to the palm of my hand.
“You’re keen,” I said to the dog. “Here. Come here.” I offered him my bloody palm. He came to me and licked my palm clean.
I gave the birds to my father. “May I keep him, Father?” I said pointing to the dog. He put the birds in a leather bag which he carried strapped around his waist.
Father looked at me a minute and then said: “Well, I’m not sure. That dog belongs to somebody.” “May I keep him until his owner comes for him?” I pursued.
“He’d make a good pointer,” Father remarked. “But I would not like my son to be accused of dog-stealing.” “Oh, no!” I said quickly. “I shall return him when the owner comes to claim him.” “All right,” he said, “I hope that dog makes a hunter out of you.”
Biryuk and I became fast friends. Every afternoon after school we went to the field to chase quails or to the bank of the river which was fenced by tall, blade-sharp reeds to flush snipes. Father was away most of the time but when he was home he hunted with us.
BIRYUK scampered off and my sister flung the stick at him. Then she turned about and she saw me. “Eddie, come here,” she commanded. I approached with apprehension. Slowly, almost carefully, she reached over and twisted my ear.
“I don’t want to see that dog again in the house,” she said coldly. “That dog destroyed my slippers again. I’ll tell Berto to kill that dog if I see it around again.” She clutched one side of my face with her hot, moist hand and shoved me, roughly. I tumbled to the ground. But I did not cry or protest. I had passed that phase. Now, every word and gesture she hurled at me I caught and fed to my growing and restless hate.
MY sister was the meanest creature I knew. She was eight when I was born, the day my mother died. Although we continued to live in the same house, she had gone, it seemed, to another country from where she looked at me with increasing annoyance and contempt.
One of my first solid memories was of standing before a grass hut. Its dirt floor was covered with white banana stalks, and there was a small box filled with crushed and dismembered flowers in one corner. A doll was cradled in the box. It was m
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