Once upon a Time Nadine Gordimer Someone has written to ask me to contribute to an anthology of stories for children. Once upon a Time Nadine Gordimer Someone has written to ask me to contribute to an anthology of stories for children.
I reply that I don’t write children’s stories; and he writes back that at a recent congress/book fair/ seminar a certain novelist said every writer ought to write at least one story for children. I think of sending a postcard saying I don’t accept that I “ought” to write anything. And then last night I woke up—or rather was wakened without knowing what had roused me. A voice in the echo chamber of the subconscious? A sound. A creaking of the kind made by the weight carried by one foot after another along a wooden floor. I was staring at the door, making it out in my mind rather than seeing it, in the dark. But I learned that I was to be neither threatened nor spared.
I couldn’t find a position in which my mind would let go of my body—release me to sleep again. It was not possible to insure the house, the swimming pool, or the car against riot damage. First Thoughts 1. 2. Harrison Bergeron. French Translation from Avice Robitaille.
Hindi Translation by Ashwin.Urdu Translation by RealMSRussian translation THE YEAR WAS 2081, and everybody was finally equal. They weren't only equal before God and the law. They were equal every which way. Nobody was smarter than anybody else. Nobody was better looking than anybody else. The Lady Or The Tiger? by Frank Stockton. When all the people had assembled in the galleries, and the king, surrounded by his court, sat high up on his throne of royal state on one side of the arena, he gave a signal, a door beneath him opened, and the accused subject stepped out into the amphitheater.
Directly opposite him, on the other side of the enclosed space, were two doors, exactly alike and side by side. It was the duty and the privilege of the person on trial to walk directly to these doors and open one of them. He could open either door he pleased; he was subject to no guidance or influence but that of the aforementioned impartial and incorruptible chance. If he opened the one, there came out of it a hungry tiger, the fiercest and most cruel that could be procured, which immediately sprang upon him and tore him to pieces as a punishment for his guilt. This was the king's semi-barbaric method of administering justice. The institution was a very popular one. The appointed day arrived. All was ready. By the Waters of Babylon. By the Waters of Babylon (Part 2) It felt like ground underfoot; it did not burn me.
It is not true what some of the tales say, that the ground there burns forever, for I have been there. Here and there were the marks and stains of the Great Burning, on the ruins, that is true. But they were old marks and old stains. It is not true either, what some of our priests say, that it is an island covered with fogs and enchantments. How shall I tell what I saw? The Adventure of the Speckled Band. Doyle, Arthur Conan .
The Adventure of the Speckled Band Electronic Text Center, University of Virginia Library | Table of Contents for this work | | All on-line databases | Etext Center Homepage | The Adventure of the Speckled Band On glancing over my notes of the seventy odd cases in which I have during the last eight years studied the methods of my friend Sherlock Holmes, I find many tragic, some comic, a large number merely strange, but none commonplace; for, working as he did rather for the love of his art than for the acquirement of wealth, he refused to associate himself with any investigation which did not tend towards the unusual, and even the fantastic.
It was early in April in the year ' 83 that I woke one morning to find Sherlock Holmes standing, fully dressed, by the side of my bed. "Very sorry to knock you up, Watson," said he, but it's the common lot this morning. "What is it, then -- a fire? " "No; a client. The Most Dangerous Game by Richard Connell. "OFF THERE to the right--somewhere--is a large island," said Whitney.
" It's rather a mystery--" "What island is it? " Rainsford asked. "The old charts call it `Ship-Trap Island,"' Whitney replied. " A suggestive name, isn't it? "Can't see it," remarked Rainsford, trying to peer through the dank tropical night that was palpable as it pressed its thick warm blackness in upon the yacht. "You've good eyes," said Whitney, with a laugh," and I've seen you pick off a moose moving in the brown fall bush at four hundred yards, but even you can't see four miles or so through a moonless Caribbean night. " "Nor four yards," admitted Rainsford.
"It will be light enough in Rio," promised Whitney.