Gun Control Laws Should Be Stricter Laws - 931 Words

Many people believe there should be stricter gun control laws. By this they mean, regulate the sale, manufacture, possession, transfer, and use of firearms. They believe if the government does not make stricter gun control laws, then gun violence and deaths due to guns will only continue to increase over the years. Although there are many people for gun control laws, there are many people who are also against it. Some of the people who are against gun control laws probably will not understand why there should be stricter gun control laws until something happened to them or someone in their family due to a gun crime.The United States did not have the civil authorities as we do today. Americans had to rely on guns to protect themselves as laws evolved. Times were different in America and that is why the Second Amendment was ideal. Guns were not as dangerous then as they are now. Firearms at the time were very slow to load and that is one of the reasons gun control was not a real big is sue. Gun control started to become necessary when the rates for accidental deaths and gun violence were continuing to increase. The National Firearms Act was enacted in 1934. The National Firearms Act was not created to make money, but to lower the crime rates and make it impossible for people to buy and sell automatic-fire weapons. Today many people hope that gun control laws will get stricter by allowing longer and more background checks that go more in depth. Today the background check isShow MoreRelatedShould Gun Control Laws be Stricter?1336 Words   |  6 PagesShould gun control laws be stricter? Every day some news related to gun violence are being heard all over the world. Shooting in driveway, public places, schools, homicide and suicide are some of different types of gun violence. Shooting on people and killing them is a big issue in the world and different comments are provided about that. One of the most important of them is about gun control laws. Stingl (2013) says â€Å"The term gun control as it is used in the United States refers to any action takenRead MoreShould Gun Control Be Stricter Gun Laws? Essay1467 Words   |  6 PagesAmericans were killed by guns, excluding suicides. How many of those deaths would have been prevented if there were stricter gun laws? How many parents would have lived to see their babies grow up? How many children would have lived to graduate, or get married? Although many Americans believe that gun control takes away their second amendment right it actually increases every citizen’s safety by the use of extensive background che cking, checking medical records, and restricting gun distributors. On aRead MoreShould Gun Laws Be Stricter Gun Control?1354 Words   |  6 PagesRights for Guns We have all been through that pain of losing a love one either it was to an incurable disease, old age, and car accident or during time of war. Nevertheless, we have lost more love ones through gun violence. People have own guns since the time guns were invented, but â€Å"Are guns for everyone?† We have heard of gun laws throughout the whole United States of America some enforce those laws and other do not. The government enforce stricter gun control laws so the public can be safe, toRead MoreGun Laws Should Not Be Stricter Gun Control858 Words   |  4 Pageswhether or not we need tighter gun controls. On one side of the debate are the gun control supporters, who claim that the easy access to guns is the primary cause for high rates of crime plaguing the United States. On the other side are people who argue that gun laws will not prevent criminals from obtaining guns, since they will continue to get them illegally. Guns are used for protection when in the hands of people wh o obey the law. It is crucial to not hinder law-abiding citizen’s ability to possessRead MoreGun Laws Should Be Stricter Gun Control1227 Words   |  5 PagesUnited States are the most top armed nations around the world, and there are 270 million guns which are held by US civilians (Brussel). With the large number of guns, it could become unpredictable without proper gun control. As an example, the tragedy was brought upon the nation on December 14 2012, twenty children and six staff members was killed by a single man at Sandy Hook Elementary school. New York passed the Ammunition and Firearms enforcement act of 2013 becoming the first state to respondRead MoreThe Debate Over Stricter Gun Control Laws924 Words   |  4 PagesThe debate over stricter gun laws has been ongoing in the United States for quite some time now. Individuals who oppose stricter gun control laws argue that the second amendment to the constitution of the United States constitute part of the bill of ri ghts that protect the right of American citizens to bear arms, and any attempt to set up laws for gun control will be a direct violation of this (Hofstadter 10). They argue that the primary purpose of the amendment was to ensure that American CitizensRead MoreThe Debate Over Stricter Gun Control929 Words   |  4 Pages Gun Control in the United States The debate over stricter gun laws has been ongoing in the United States for quite some time now. Individuals who oppose stricter gun control laws argue that the second amendment to the constitution of the United States constitute part of the bill of rights that protect the right for American citizens to bear arms, and any attempt to set up laws for gun control will be a direct violation on this (Hofstadter 10). They argueRead MoreBennett Dorton. English 11. 1-26-17.Gun Control In America.1270 Words   |  6 PagesBennett Dorton English 11 1-26-17 Gun Control In America Every time a gun injures or kills in self defense it is used seven times in a criminal assault or homicide; furthermore the main argument against stricter gun laws is the fact that they are needed for self defense. Gun control is a very controversial and debatable topic, and many people have different opinions. In the Constitution, The Second Amendment gives the right to bear arms, but there have been restrictionsRead MoreThe Issue Of Gun Control Laws1701 Words   |  7 PagesA gun has the capacity to convert a conflict into a serious crime. The power of a gun is vast. But it the power of the gun is appreciated in right hands. The effects of a gun can be cherished when it is used by right hands and with the right intention. The effects of the gun are condemned when it reaches in wrong hands. A gun can protect as well as end someone’s life. When it ends the life of a criminal, it is a sign of bravery but when it takes the lives of innocent people it is condemne d. ThereforeRead MoreStricter Gun Control Essay1044 Words   |  5 PagesThe Need for Stricter Gun Control In the world we are living in today guns are a major issue for the general safety of people. No one should be nervous to go to large functions such as a concert or sports event but in the U.S. it seems like doing things like that are getting scarier and scarier each day. How much longer until people are scared to do everyday activities? At the rate things are going it seems like it might not be long. Stricter gun control is desperately needed due to the high amount

Story Of An Hour Conflict Analysis - 1087 Words

The short story, â€Å"Story of an Hour† by Kate Chopin, is centered around a young married woman named Mrs. Mallard, who is dangerously ill. When it is heard her husband died in an accident, her sister, Josephine and their family friend, Bentley must break the news to her, which is not easy, since she has a heart condition. When they finally tell her the news, Mrs. Mallard is flushed with an influx of different emotions regarding her husbands recent death and it is safe to say that what can be called into question is how she feels about her husband. In â€Å"The Story of an Hour† by Chopin, the main conflict prominent in the short story is, ‘is having the happiness of new-found freedom still valid when it is gained through a loss’ because it†¦show more content†¦She knows this will not be the only time that she will grieve for her husband, but for that moment, this realization is just too broad to be ignored. The setting is also an important factor to consider when thinking if her feelings for her newfound freedom are justified. A factor to consider is how this story takes place in one hour and how many emotions and feelings that Mrs. Mallard has been put towards the recent news of her husband’s death. Another factor to consider is the era in which the story takes place, which given the time the story was written, it likely takes place in the Victorian era, a different life to live compared to now if you were a woman; also consider how Mrs. Mallard was ill at the time when finding the news of her husband’s death. As in the following quote, this is exemplified, â€Å"There would be no powerful will bending hers in that blind persistence with which men and women believe they have a right to impose a private will upon a fellow-creature. A kind intention or a cruel intention made the act seem no less a crime as she looked upon it in that moment of illumination. And yet she had loved him--sometimes. Often she had not. What did it matter! What could love, the unsolved mystery, count for in the face of this possession of self-assertion which she suddenly recognized as the strongest impulse of her being! â€Å"Free! Body and soul free!† she kept whispering (paragraph 14-15)†. The time inShow MoreRelatedEssay on Structural Technique in The Story of an Hour by Kate Chopin861 Words   |  4 Pagesshort story. Kate Chopin uses structural techniques to enhance â€Å"The Story of an Hour† from beginning to end. She follows formal structure to a certain degree, but occasionally strays to actual structure. Upon analysis of the organization of Chopin’s story, the reader understands the powerful meaning that is expressed in such a short piece. Initially, a short story begins with an exposition. This is the laying out of important background information, characters, and setting. Chopin’s story is onlyRead MoreAnalysis Of Kate Chopin s The Story Of An Hour955 Words   |  4 PagesLiterally analysis of Naturalism and the Short Story Form: Kate Chopin’s ‘The Story of an Hour† While Scott D. Emmert in Naturalism and the Short Story Form: Kate Chopin’s ‘The Story of an Hour’ points out the short stories cannot form a narrative because of their length and others would disagree. Admittedly, even though according to Scott short stories cannot form a narrative they are perfect for naturalist writers because short stories and poems tend to focus more on natural surroundings and theRead MoreAnalysis Of The Story Of An Hour By Kate Chopin811 Words   |  4 Pages2015 What’s in a Protagonist: An Analysis of The Story of an Hour In Kate Chopin’s short story, The Story of an Hour, the reader is introduced to three characters and an event that has occurred prior to the beginning of the story. The three characters that the reader is introduced to are: Mrs. Mallard, who is the protagonist of the story, Josphine, who is her sister, and Mr. Richards, who does not play a major role in the story. Throughout the plot of the story, the reader can gain a sense of sympathyRead MoreThe Knife1115 Words   |  5 PagesEnglish  /  Short Stories- amp;Quot;The Knifeamp;Quot; By Judah Waten Textual AnalysisShort Stories- amp;Quot;The Knifeamp;Quot; By Judah Waten Textual AnalysisThis  essay Short Stories- amp;Quot;The Knifeamp;Quot; By Judah Waten Textual Analysis  is available for you on Essays24.com! Search Term Papers, College Essay Examples and Free Essays on Essays24.com - full papers database. Autor:  Ã‚  anton  Ã‚  24 November 2010Tags:   StoriesWords:  2398  Ã‚  Ã‚  |  Ã‚  Ã‚  Pages:  10Views:  1338Save essay in my profilePrintableRead MoreTu100 Essay637 Words   |  3 Pagesopposition groups had previously estimated 45,000 people killed. The study was released hours after a petrol station near Damascus was hit by a missile from a government warplane. The attack apparently sparked a huge explosion in which up to 70 people died, according to activists, in one of the deadliest incidents of the uprising. Minimum number The UN-commissioned report, entitled Preliminary Statistical Analysis of Documentation of Killings in Syria, took data from sources including the governmentRead More Conflict in The Masque of the Red Death920 Words   |  4 Pages Conflicts affect the mood of the main characters in a story, by expressing the insecurities, Death,† a couple of conflicts are exposed throughout the piece. In the story â€Å"The Masque of the Red,† a couple of conflicts are expressed throughout this piece. The conflicts man versus fate and man versus himself are the conflicts that are displayed several times within this story. From major conflicts to minor conflicts, this story clarifies the problems that Prince Prospero faces within himselfRead MoreAnalysis Of A Dead Man s Pockets, And Ambush 1507 Words   |  7 Pages1234Literary Analysis Collection 1 Are you ready to analyze three stories? Yes? Awesome! No? Too bad, because here we go! The three stories in question are The Leap, The Contents of a Dead Man’s Pockets, and Ambush. The authors of these stories use aspects of their stories to shape the plot, show the theme, and to change the views of the characters in the stories. The first literary element used in the stories to form the plot, was the setting. In the story Ambush, the narrator is crouching inRead MoreThe Tell Tale Heart Analysis1295 Words   |  6 PagesPoe’s, The Tell-Tale heart? An unreliable narrator is a narrator whose credibility has been seriously compromised whether it be in literature, film or theatre. Such as providing faulty, misleading or distorted details. The narrator in this short story is the killer. We really do not get the opportunity to really know the killer such as his name and what his motive is in killing the old man. What we do learn is he displays no guilt and he is not â€Å"mad†. He also appears to be proud of what he has doneRead MoreCultural Analysis : The Yellow Wallpaper927 Words   |  4 PagesCultural Analysis: The Yellow Wallpaper Charlotte Perkins Gilman’s â€Å"The Yellow Wallpaper† is a short story told from the perspective of a woman who’s believed to be â€Å"crazy†. The narrator believes that she is sick while her husband, John, believes her to just be suffering from a temporary nervous depression. The narrator’s condition worsens and she begins to see a woman moving from behind the yellow wallpaper in their bedroom. The wallpaper captures the narrator’s attention and initial drives herRead MoreLiterary Analysis : The Leap, The Trip And Contents Of A Deadman s Pocket1402 Words   |  6 PagesLiterary Analysis Collection One The stories The Leap, The Trip and Contents of a Deadman’s Pocket share many similarities and differences through various elements of literature. These stories use their themes, settings, conflicts and characters to convey the similarities and differences that are found in each story. One similarity displayed between the three short stories are their similar themes. The themes are very similar because each story contains a theme about risks. For instance, the theme

The Hero And The Crown Part Two Chapter 14 Free Essays

IT TOOK THEM three days of Talat’s careful walking to come to the crossroads where they had parted with their guide to go on and face the dragon; three days complicated by the fact that Aerin didn’t dare dismount till she found something near a campsite that would let her remount in the morning. She was deadly tired each evening; her ankle throbbed from hanging vertical so long; and she realized how much weaker she was even than she had thought. It was hard to make herself eat; she was never hungry, and eating hurt, and she ate dutifully because eating was something one did; but she got more pleasure out of watching Talat graze. We will write a custom essay sample on The Hero And The Crown Part Two Chapter 14 or any similar topic only for you Order Now He had eaten everything edible along the banks of their stream, including some of the bark off the trees, and he tore with great enthusiasm into the fresh grass they now camped beside. Not infrequently during the day she would come to herself again and look around and realize that she had drifted away. Sometimes it would take her a minute or two just to recognize the trees around her, common Damarian trees whose shapes and leaf patterns had been familiar to her since childhood. Occasionally she woke up and found herself collapsed forward on Talat’s neck. But he would not let her fall off, and she didn’t. He carried her steadily, his ears pricked and cautious; and he seemed to feel no hesitation about their direction. â€Å"Well, my friend, you know what you are doing,† she whispered to Talat, his ears cocked back to listen, when at last they reached the crossroads. â€Å"It wasn’t I that got us here.† When they set out from the crossroads again the next morning, the way opened up. She had not remembered that the narrow path became a small roadway so soon; but that had been when she still had her hair and the use of all her limbs, and open spaces had held no terrors for her. The mountains climbed steeply to their left, but on their right she looked through hedgerows to planted fields, crops waving green and gold in the sunlight. She tried to make herself feel better by thinking that had she not killed Maur – whatever it may have cost her personally – the crops would have been black by now, and the farmers, dragon’s meat. But the comfort was cold, and she could not feel it; she was too deep in dread for what was to come. She was drifting in and out of awareness again that afternoon, her good hand wrapped in Talat’s mane that she might not fall forward and hurt her burnt arm, when Talat suddenly came to a halt and stiffened – and neighed. Aerin shook herself awake with the sound; and he neighed again, and trembled, and she knew he would have reared to cry greeting and challenge as the Damarian warhorses were taught, but he did not for her sake, and she closed her eyes briefly on tears of exhaustion and self-pity. She could not see who approached; Talat told her that it was not merely someone, but someone that he knew, and thus it was necessarily someone from the City. But her vision had never quite cleared since she had fallen through the dragon-fire, and her left eye burned and leaked tears as she squinted and tried to look down the road. The effort made her dizzy, and the road leaped and heaved under her eyes. But she then saw that it was not the road that heaved, but riders on the road who galloped toward her; and when Talat neighed again, someone answered, and she saw the lead horse’s head toss upward as he neighed, and finally she recognized him: Kethtaz. And Tor’s mare, Dgeth, galloped beside. Aerin threw her own head up .in panic, and the scabs on her face pulled and protested. Her right hand scrabbled at the collar of her tunic, and pulled a fold of her cloak up over her head for a hood; and her fingers briefly touched the left side of her head where a determined stubble grew. Her father and her cousin and the riders with them were upon her almost at once, and Arlbeth called out to her, but she did not answer, for her croaking voice could not have been heard above the sound of the hoofbeats; and then Tor rode up beside her and said anxiously, â€Å"Aerin, it is you?† but she delayed answering him till he reached over and seized her – by her left forearm. She screamed, except that she could not scream, but she made a hoarse awful sound, and Tor dropped his hand and said something she did not hear, for her scream made her cough, and she coughed and could not stop, and the bleeding began, and flecks of her blood dripped down Talat’s neck, and her body shook, and the cloak fell away from her and onto the ground, and Tor and Arlbeth sat frozen on their horses, helplessly watching. She remembered little of the rest of the journey. They tried to rig a sling for her, that she might travel lying down, but while she lay down obediently there was no comfort in it, and at the first stop she struggled out of her litter and went grimly to Talat, who had been hovering nearby wondering what he had done that his lady had been taken away from him. She hung an arm over his neck and hid her face in his mane, ignoring the feel of it wisping against her left cheek. Tor followed her at once. â€Å"Aerin – † His voice was full of unshed tears, and her fingers tightened in Talat’s mane, dear cheerful Talat who felt that so long as she was riding him there was nothing too serious wrong. She spoke into his neck: â€Å"There’s no ease in being carried. I would rather ride.† And so she rode, and the company all went at Talat’s gentlest walking pace, and it was a long time before they reached the City. When at last the stone City rose up before them from the forest, she felt for her cloak, and pulled it forward to shadow her face again, and her father, who rode at her side, watched her. She looked at him, and let the cloak slip back where it had lain, and straightened herself in the saddle; and she remembered the description of Gorthold’s death in Astythet’s History, and how he was carried, bleeding from many mortal wounds, into the City, where all folk saluted him as their savior; and he died in the castle of the king, who was his cousin; and all Damar grieved for his death. A grim sort of smile touched Arlbeth’s mouth. â€Å"You’re riding into the City a hero, you know; word of your victory has gone before you, and the messenger who first brought the tale of the Black Dragon’s awakening is there with most of his village, and they are all vying among themselves to describe how great and wicked Maur was.† â€Å"How did they know?† Arlbeth sighed. â€Å"I didn’t ask. Several of them met us as we rode east toward the City, and we didn’t wait for details. Look between Talat’s ears; he knows all about this sort of thing; all you have to do is sit up. We’re just your honor guard.† â€Å"But – † she began, but Arlbeth turned away and, indeed, as they neared the great gates, he and Tor dropped back, and Talat pretended to prance, but only pretended, so as not to joggle his rider. She did as her father told her, sitting straight and still in the saddle, and looking not quite between Talat’s ears where she might see something, but at them, and at his poll, where his forelock grew and lifted in the breeze when he tossed his head. The streets were quiet, but many people watched them as they rode by; and from the corners of her eyes she could see many of their audience touching the backs of their hands to their foreheads and flicking out the fingers in the Damarian salute to their sovereign but Arlbeth rode at his daughter’s heel. A breeze wandered among them and riffled Aerin’s ruined hair, and the sunlight shone pitilessly on her scarred face; but the audience was still silent, and motionless but for the right hands and the flicki ng fingers. When they came to the courtyard of the castle-, rows and rows of the king’s army stood in a three-sided square, leaving a space large enough for the honor guard to file in behind the king’s daughter when Talat came to a halt. Before them on the ground lay Maur’s head, and around the head more ash fell and collected in little pools. She blinked at the trophy someone else had brought home for her. The skull around the empty eye sockets was now burnished bare and clean; and the bone was black. Her eyes trailed slowly down the long nasal bones and the ridged jaw, and she realized that much of the bone was showing; shreds only of the tough skin remained, and as the wind sidled along the head and flicked bits of it loose, they fell to the ground as ash. The parted jaws with their black grin leered at her. She held to Talat’s mane with her right hand, and slipped slowly down his side, her left foot touching the ground first. Then Arlbeth was beside her, and he led her past Maur’s grinning skull, and the soldiers parted in a silent whiplash, a drill maneuver, and they came to the castle door; and then he turned to her and picked her up in his arms and carried her down the long corridors and up the stairs to her room, and to Teka. There were healers in plenty who visited her after that; but none of them could do better for her burns than the kenet, and her ankle was healing of its own, and they could do nothing for her cough, nor for her trouble breathing. She spent her time in bed, or in the deep window seat that overlooked the rear of the courtyard, toward the stables. Hornmar led Talat under her window occasionally, and while she could not call down to him, it comforted her to see him. She tried to eat for Teka’s sake; she hadn’t realized before that there was no flavor to her food since she had tasted dragonfire, but she learned it now. And she took the dragon stone from the pocket she had made from a knot of cloth, and laid it on the table near her bed; it seemed as though when she stared at it, it grew brighter, and red fire shivered deep inside it. At last she grew restless, as she had in the dragon’s valley, and she began to creep about the castle, and visit Talat in the stables. He had his old stall back, and Arlbeth’s young Kethtaz had actually been moved one stall down to give his predecessor pride of place. Talat was very conscious of eminence regained. She investigated his croup carefully with her fingers; the weals from the dragonfire had disappeared, although she could still see them, for the hair had grown back lying in the opposite direction from the hair around them. Her own hair was growing in vigorously if unevenly, and Teka one day combed it out from a center spot at the top of her skull and cut in a neat arch around her face, for it was no longer curly. Aerin looked at herself in the mirror and laughed. â€Å"I look like a boy.† â€Å"No,† said Teka, sweeping up the trimmings. â€Å"You look like a girl with a boy’s haircut.† Aerin stared at herself. She had avoided mirrors as she had avoided everyone but Tor and Teka and her father, and the healers they sent, who could not be got rid of; and now that she finally dared herself to look in a mirror she was surprised at what she saw. The shiny scars across her left cheek – and a few flecks, like freckles, on the other side of her face, where the hot dragon blood had splashed her – were visible but not disfiguring. Her scalp was still tender on the left, and she had to use her hairbrush tentatively; but her hair was coming back as thick as before, although it was several shades darker and almost straight. But her face was drawn and pale, except for two spots of red high on her cheekbones; and there were lines on her face that had not been there before, and her eyes looked as old as Arlbeth’s, â€Å"I look a lot more like my mother now, don’t I?† she said. Teka paused with the cloth she’d used to gather the hair clippings dangling from her hand. â€Å"Yes,† she said. The first morning she came to breakfast with her father again. Tor was there too, and was not able to stop himself from jumping out of his chair and hugging her. He was so glad to see her walking, and with her hair grown out and combed smoothly around her face, that he almost managed not to think about how little there was of her to hug, how frail she felt; how each breath she took seemed to shake her, like a wind through a sapling. She smiled up at him, and he saw the red spots on her cheekbones, but he looked only at her smile. She asked about Nyrlol, and Arlbeth said that he had been humble – no, craven – in a way Arlbeth had disliked even more than Nyrlol’s usual overbearing bluster; it was as if the threat of secession had never happened. Nyrlol had seemed nervous, looking behind himself too frequently, starting at sounds no one else heard. He apologized, and claimed that he was not sleeping well; that there was too much raiding on his borders and he seemed able to do too little about it. Arlbeth, with the army at his back, had made the correct noises, and after a visit of the shortest possible length consistent with courtesy, headed for home, leaving a division of his army behind to help watch the Border near Nyrlol’s land for him. Nyrlol had seemed honestly grateful, and that made Arlbeth even more uneasy; but there was nothing more he could do. â€Å"I have no doubt that we were lured away from the City just then for a purpose,† said Arlbeth, â€Å"and the best I could do then was return as quickly as the horses could run. I had almost forgotten Maur.† â€Å"I hadn’t,† murmured Tor, and his eyes flicked up to Aerin’s face and away again, and she knew that he had guessed she would ride back with the messenger and face the Black Dragon alone. Arlbeth frowned into his cup. â€Å"But if the only purpose was to set the Black Dragon upon us, why then does the feeling of a dark fate still cling around us? For it does.† â€Å"Yes,† said Tor. There was a silence, and Arlbeth said at last: â€Å"We can only hope that Aerin-sol has so disturbed their plans† – and by their his auditors knew he meant the Northerners – â€Å"that we will have time enough to prepare, and strength enough in reserve.† Neither Arlbeth nor Tor ever told her what they had thought when they first saw her, bent and burnt and coughing blood onto Talat’s white neck; and Aerin did not ask. All else that was said on the subject occurred that same morning: â€Å"I owe you a punishment for carrying the king’s sword without the king’s wishes, Aerin-sol,† her father said gravely. She had been thinking much of this herself lately, and she nodded. â€Å"I await your command.† Tor made a noise, and Arlbeth waved him to silence. â€Å"The punishment is that you remain prisoned in the City and not carry your sword for two seasons, half a year, and not less. Maur has taken care of that for me.† She bowed her head; and then a woman of the hafor brought fresh malak and hot rolls, and they busied themselves with passing and pouring, and that was the end of it. She put milk in her malak now, to cool it before she drank it, so that she would not have to wait so obviously for it to grow tepid by itself – a long process at the king’s castle, where it was served in huge heavy earthenware cups with wide thick bases and narrow tapered rims. She didn’t like the flavor so well – malak was supposed to bite, and the milk gentled it – but there were worse compromises she had to make. Arlbeth asked her when they might hold the banquet in her honor, and she blinked stupidly at him, thinking. My birthday isn’t till – ? â€Å"Maur,† he said gently. â€Å"We wish to honor you for your slaying of Maur.† Tor and Arlbeth both knew she wanted nothing of the sort, but she said grimly, â€Å"I thank you. Name the day.† The hush that fell on the great half that evening when she entered it was worse even than what she had imagined. It should have been little different than it ever had been, for her father’s court had never been easy in the presence of his daughter; but it was different nonetheless. Her head buzzed with the silence, and her dim vision dimmed further, till the people around her were no more than vague hulks draped in the bright colors of their court clothing. She wore a long brown dress, high in the collar, and with sleeves that fell past her wrists; and while there was much embroidery on it, the threads were black and darker brown, and she went bareheaded, and wore only one ring, on her right hand. She looked around, and the hulks turned slowly away from her, and she took her place at her father’s side. The talk started up again, but she did not hear the words of it; she heard the broken flickering fear beneath it, and calmly she thought: It is I that they are afraid of. Maur’s ugly black skull had been hung high on one wall of the great hall, whose ceilings were three stories tall. It had been placed there by some other direction, for she had had nothing to do with it, nor would have wanted it there had she been asked. Even in the great hall it was huge; she looked at it, and it she could see clearly, and it leered at her. I am the shape of their fear, it said, for you dared to slay me. I am the shape of their fear, the thing said. But I am lame and crippled from our meeting, she replied; I am human like them, for I was sorely wounded. The thing laughed; the laugh came as a ripple of heavy silence that muffled the uncertain conversation in the hall; but only Aerin heard. Ah, but you lived, and you slew me; that is enough, and more than enough, for I was as big as a mountain and might have swallowed all of Damar at last. The villagers who saw me before you came – the man who guided you to me – all say that when I reared up, my head touched the stars; that nothing human could have stood against me. They say it who saw me, with awe and gratitude for their deliverance; but that is not how the story travels. She heard the rhythm of the voices around her; the broken rhythm of syllables under the words they said aloud. Witch, they said. Witchwoman’s daughter. But I saved them, she said desperately. I saved them. The head howled: Better you had not! Better that they lay now in my belly’s pit! See how the first sola still looks at the witchwoman’s daughter, for all that her face is haggard and scarred; see how he looks at her, as if he does not wish to look at anything else. As if he cannot look at anything else. The old ones among them said: Remember how the king looked at the witch, how she spelled him to sire her a child that she might be born again with greater strength, for the blood of Damar would run in the child’s veins with her own witch’s wickedness! Witch woman’s daughter. Nothing human could have killed Maur. She will swallow Damar as the Black Dragon never could have; for we could have hidden in deep caves till it slept again. Shall we let her spell the first sola? We remember the old tales of Maur. We remember. Witchwoman’s daughter. And the words spoken aloud: The North. The raiders from the North, they come oftener, stronger. Why is Nyrlol afraid of his own shadow? He, who was never known for wisdom, was never known either for lack of courage. Mischief. Witchwoman’s daughter. You had done better to let me eat you! the thing on the wall shrieked. It was only luck that I slew you! she cried. I only dared because I knew I was already dead! The thing laughed. Witchwoman’s daughter. It was only luck! Was it? said Maur’s head. Was it? Aerin stood up abruptly and said, â€Å"You must excuse me.† She turned and walked, slowly, for she still limped a little, toward the gaping door that would let her out of the halt. Tor was at her elbow. â€Å"Aerin?† â€Å"Let me be!† she cried. â€Å"Go talk to your guests! Don’t come near me!† She began to cough, and still she ran from him, staggering, not caring that she limped in the sight of the entire hall, through the door and away. How to cite The Hero And The Crown Part Two Chapter 14, Essay examples

A Wonderful Experience Essay Example For Students

A Wonderful Experience Essay It was a quiet and calm evening with surprising weather for the month of February, we were all absorbed in our own thoughts having evening tea when my dear brother broke the news, and this seemed to catch everybody’s attention. ‘Do you’ll know that the president was coming to our prize day’ said my brother. I raised my head from the book I was reading, I was astonished about what I just heard. My brother was telling that his Excellency the president Mahinda Rajapakse was going to be the chief guest of their school prize giving! How grate, I thought for a moment . lthough I and my mother was very much taken in by this news my father thought that that it was a very common thing to happen because many presidents have visited their school in the history. Anyway I was longing to see the president for it was my whimsy of all times. The fact that I was going to see the president of our country in person and not on TV excited me (almost all the time the president is seen on TV). I sought more information from my brother interested in what was to happen on that day, but he knew very little himself. I was looking forward to see the president who I sometimes address as the king of Sri Lanka abstractedly. With all these thoughts in my mind I fell asleep happily that night. In the next few days I was able to hear more news about the upcoming grand event. My brother was told that the surroundings were going to be highly secured and that vehicles weren’t allowed to park inside school premises whilst taking cameras and cell phones to the event were prohibited. I had no quandary until this point; all these rules were quite acceptable up to this point. Only I didn’t know that the upcoming condition might ruin all my plans for the grand event. The time of the event had changed as the president was coming. Instead of Friday afternoon the time of the event has been altered to Friday morning. This was very bad news to me, what a disaster I thought. I was looking forward to go to the prize day and now it’s in the morning in which case I will have to cut school to take part in it. This idea was not very wise in my opinion. I was deflated at this point. We were wandering what to do since my brother was not quite sure of all this things he was told of. But I was quite sure that this was not anybodies tale. I had the thought of cutting school and attending this event more than once that week. This thought was brought to an end by another thought that struck me which was that I couldn’t simply say that I cut school to see the president (which was my whole intention of attending this event) would it not sound too lame a reason for me to say, so I thought that I might as well make my mind about this matter. Although I made up my mind not to go I still couldn’t stop myself from feeling anxious about it, but of course both my parents very positive about my concerns. Mom would say, ‘Why don’t you simply come and stop worrying’ but papa (my father) would say a totally different thing such as, there won’t be anything special to see there, even if there was you are not cutting school for such a reason. ’ Both, mom and papa would have to attend the event as this was my brother’s last prize giving. They were getting prepared for the event amid all this I pretended to have forgotten my worries. .u53129994ba10bd4b90f45d664202f66b , .u53129994ba10bd4b90f45d664202f66b .postImageUrl , .u53129994ba10bd4b90f45d664202f66b .centered-text-area { min-height: 80px; position: relative; } .u53129994ba10bd4b90f45d664202f66b , .u53129994ba10bd4b90f45d664202f66b:hover , .u53129994ba10bd4b90f45d664202f66b:visited , .u53129994ba10bd4b90f45d664202f66b:active { border:0!important; } .u53129994ba10bd4b90f45d664202f66b .clearfix:after { content: ""; display: table; clear: both; } .u53129994ba10bd4b90f45d664202f66b { display: block; transition: background-color 250ms; webkit-transition: background-color 250ms; width: 100%; opacity: 1; transition: opacity 250ms; webkit-transition: opacity 250ms; background-color: #95A5A6; } .u53129994ba10bd4b90f45d664202f66b:active , .u53129994ba10bd4b90f45d664202f66b:hover { opacity: 1; transition: opacity 250ms; webkit-transition: opacity 250ms; background-color: #2C3E50; } .u53129994ba10bd4b90f45d664202f66b .centered-text-area { width: 100%; position: relative ; } .u53129994ba10bd4b90f45d664202f66b .ctaText { border-bottom: 0 solid #fff; color: #2980B9; font-size: 16px; font-weight: bold; margin: 0; padding: 0; text-decoration: underline; } .u53129994ba10bd4b90f45d664202f66b .postTitle { color: #FFFFFF; font-size: 16px; font-weight: 600; margin: 0; padding: 0; width: 100%; } .u53129994ba10bd4b90f45d664202f66b .ctaButton { background-color: #7F8C8D!important; color: #2980B9; border: none; border-radius: 3px; box-shadow: none; font-size: 14px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 26px; moz-border-radius: 3px; text-align: center; text-decoration: none; text-shadow: none; width: 80px; min-height: 80px; background: url(https://artscolumbia.org/wp-content/plugins/intelly-related-posts/assets/images/simple-arrow.png)no-repeat; position: absolute; right: 0; top: 0; } .u53129994ba10bd4b90f45d664202f66b:hover .ctaButton { background-color: #34495E!important; } .u53129994ba10bd4b90f45d664202f66b .centered-text { display: table; height: 80px; padding-left : 18px; top: 0; } .u53129994ba10bd4b90f45d664202f66b .u53129994ba10bd4b90f45d664202f66b-content { display: table-cell; margin: 0; padding: 0; padding-right: 108px; position: relative; vertical-align: middle; width: 100%; } .u53129994ba10bd4b90f45d664202f66b:after { content: ""; display: block; clear: both; } READ: Brian Olson OLSON 1 EssaySeveral days passed and finally it was the day for the grand event I was longing for and am going to miss. I didn’t talk much about it with anyone that morning but went to school silently without complaining. Dropping me at school mom and papa headed towards the town to finish some work before the event. It was ten o’clock and there I was struggling with my math sum and trying not to think of what might be happening at the Trinity College main hall where my parents should be by that time. And there they must be promptly sitting inside the main hall of the college awaiting the president’s arrival I thought. I was filled with panic all of a sudden regarding the president’s arrival. Did my parents find a proper parking with all the roads closed. After all this trains of thoughts ultimately, I managed to concentrate in my work with great difficulty. It must’ve been sometime past two o’clock when I was walking towards the main gate chatting with my friends almost forgetting that I have missed a great experience for a lifetime. It all came to mind with seeing mom wearing a saree (which is very rare). Mom started to speak about the event even before I could get into the vehicle. Mom simply started off by saying ‘you should’ve come we were able to see a great deal of the president at the prize giving. ’ Getting into the vehicle I had three speakers to tell me what happened there. ‘We were expecting him from ten o’clock and the president turned up at half past eleven. I don’t know why he couldn’t work on time. ’ said my brother with a slight irritation in his voice. ‘I wonder why the president delivered the speech both in Sinhala and Tamil instead of English’ said my father in curiosity. ‘However we had nice seats in the balcony, didn’t we? mom responded immediately, ‘Indeed we had nice seats and we could see the president quite clearly through the TV screens they had set all over the place. ’ after a pause she said enjoying herself ‘I think the president looked much larger and worn out than on the television. ’ ‘If not for those TV screens we wouldn ’t have been able to Sammy (my brother’s pet name), I and mom were busy trying to find out where he was seated at that time’ said my father. He continued with sudden enthusiasm, did any of you notice that there was a special podium set to for the president? receiving no answer, he went on speaking ‘I think that the president has his own podium which he takes wherever he makes a speech. ’ this time my brother responded briefly ‘I think so too’. All this time I had very little talk, so I thought of asking a question ‘did the president give away all the prizes? ’ I got an immediate answer from my brother who was checking the prize list at that moment, ‘No, he only distributed about thirty prizes or so’. The next few moments’ conversation did not interest me at all, so I went back into my train of thoughts. I had a mixed feeling throughout the rest of the day, I was almost happy about what had happened but somewhere in my mind I felt bad not having experienced anything myself. Nevertheless that feeling continued only until I happen to hear something of great interest the following day. That Saturday somewhere during the day time when I was enjoying myself watching a TV programme I came across an announcement which said â€Å"Expect the president’s speech made at Trinity College Kandy on this Friday, tonight at 9. 00 p. m. presented by The Presidential Media Unit†. I was delighted to hear this bit of information. .u8c145bbbb355aed84fd9a5cef5ce9890 , .u8c145bbbb355aed84fd9a5cef5ce9890 .postImageUrl , .u8c145bbbb355aed84fd9a5cef5ce9890 .centered-text-area { min-height: 80px; position: relative; } .u8c145bbbb355aed84fd9a5cef5ce9890 , .u8c145bbbb355aed84fd9a5cef5ce9890:hover , .u8c145bbbb355aed84fd9a5cef5ce9890:visited , .u8c145bbbb355aed84fd9a5cef5ce9890:active { border:0!important; } .u8c145bbbb355aed84fd9a5cef5ce9890 .clearfix:after { content: ""; display: table; clear: both; } .u8c145bbbb355aed84fd9a5cef5ce9890 { display: block; transition: background-color 250ms; webkit-transition: background-color 250ms; width: 100%; opacity: 1; transition: opacity 250ms; webkit-transition: opacity 250ms; background-color: #95A5A6; } .u8c145bbbb355aed84fd9a5cef5ce9890:active , .u8c145bbbb355aed84fd9a5cef5ce9890:hover { opacity: 1; transition: opacity 250ms; webkit-transition: opacity 250ms; background-color: #2C3E50; } .u8c145bbbb355aed84fd9a5cef5ce9890 .centered-text-area { width: 100%; position: relative ; } .u8c145bbbb355aed84fd9a5cef5ce9890 .ctaText { border-bottom: 0 solid #fff; color: #2980B9; font-size: 16px; font-weight: bold; margin: 0; padding: 0; text-decoration: underline; } .u8c145bbbb355aed84fd9a5cef5ce9890 .postTitle { color: #FFFFFF; font-size: 16px; font-weight: 600; margin: 0; padding: 0; width: 100%; } .u8c145bbbb355aed84fd9a5cef5ce9890 .ctaButton { background-color: #7F8C8D!important; color: #2980B9; border: none; border-radius: 3px; box-shadow: none; font-size: 14px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 26px; moz-border-radius: 3px; text-align: center; text-decoration: none; text-shadow: none; width: 80px; min-height: 80px; background: url(https://artscolumbia.org/wp-content/plugins/intelly-related-posts/assets/images/simple-arrow.png)no-repeat; position: absolute; right: 0; top: 0; } .u8c145bbbb355aed84fd9a5cef5ce9890:hover .ctaButton { background-color: #34495E!important; } .u8c145bbbb355aed84fd9a5cef5ce9890 .centered-text { display: table; height: 80px; padding-left : 18px; top: 0; } .u8c145bbbb355aed84fd9a5cef5ce9890 .u8c145bbbb355aed84fd9a5cef5ce9890-content { display: table-cell; margin: 0; padding: 0; padding-right: 108px; position: relative; vertical-align: middle; width: 100%; } .u8c145bbbb355aed84fd9a5cef5ce9890:after { content: ""; display: block; clear: both; } READ: The Terminal Man EssayI was impatiently waiting until it was nine o’clock that day, craving to see what had happened. It was finally time for me to sit down at ease and watch whatever the presidential media unit might show on the account of the prize day. After the introduction of the programme it was time was for the climax. I could see his Excellency the president Mahinda Rajapakse arriving at the main hall of Trinity College in a Mercedes Benz with a band playing to welcome him. The president walked into the hallway on a red carpet with army officers on either side of the path. A tiny bit of the remarkable song sung to welcome the president was shown; at this point I could see everything I had previously heard in detail. The president was seated on the first row at the right hand side, the staff seated right behind him, the prize winners were seated further behind and the rest of the hall was occupied by the parents, past pupils etc. while the prefects were standing on either sides of the hall. The flower decorations were quite scenic (while the difference of the podium I mentioned before was quite clearly seen here). altogether everything was agreeable I thought. It was time for the president to deliver his speech. The president started off by thanking for the invitation he had received and then went on speaking or rather complementing on the activities and the achievements of the school. He also spoke about some great individuals who had set up their lives through this school. He made this event an opportunity to pass on some public messages as well. An hour and a half had passed and I didn’t even feel the time pass by. It must have been the way the president had presented the speech that kept me from feeling bored. I was feeling as good as been present there at the moment of the event by this time. I felt as good as have seen the president myself and not through the TV and through others’ view point (although that was what really happened). I have always known that experience meant direct participation, but here I am feeling satisfied about a event I had been longing to take part in (to experience in other words) and had failed to do so even though my whole family had experienced the great fact about the event. For this reason I call the unsuccessful event of my seeing the president a wonderful experience as I enjoy looking back at it.