1) Franklin lures a young aspiring actress to a cheap hotel room with promises of fame, but has sinister intentions. 2) At the hotel, Franklin charms the woman over dinner and wine before leading her into the room. 3) Franklin suddenly attacks and murders the woman, stabbing her in the neck and chest before removing her heart. 4) A distraught Franklin begs the narrator, who has been watching silently, for the gift of immortality in exchange for his killings, but the narrator remains unimpressed and gives no recognition to Franklin's pleas.
Candy Pratt wakes up from a nightmare feeling tired and older than she's ever felt. She's accomplished almost everything she's set out to do in her career. Is it finally time to retire? Is that the message her nightmare brings?
Candy Pratt wakes up from a nightmare feeling tired and older than she's ever felt. She's accomplished almost everything she's set out to do in her career. Is it finally time to retire? Is that the message her nightmare brings?
Faster & Less Risky Releases with Feature FlagsLaunchDarkly
Agile software teams want to move faster and deliver features to end users faster. However, pushing faster and more often usually means more risk of breaking and downtime. Feature flags, gating features and being able to quickly reverse them enables development teams to ship more frequently.
With feature flags, engineering changes are pushed live to production “off”, and then turned on to different users. Feature flags allow developers to separate deployment from rollout, enabling the ability to quickly throttle features for different users segments. In this talk, you'll learn how you can use feature flags for opt-in early access, private beta, canary launches and dark releases.
The invitation came in the way that she’d grown to expect them. At exactly 10:00am, a man in a dark suit knocked softly on the wall of Liya’s cubicle, a tiny space stuck in the middle of one of the Tower office blocks in the center of Clementi, Singapore.
Smith, Aaron. Future of Technology.” Pew Research Center Interne.docxpbilly1
Smith, Aaron. “Future of Technology.” Pew Research Center: Internet, Science & Tech, Pew Research Center, 31 Dec. 2019, www.pewresearch.org/internet/2014/04/17/us-views-of-technology-and-the-future/.
Jones, Barry O. Sleepers, Wake!: Technology & the Future of Work. Oxford University Press, 1995.
https://books.google.com/books?hl=zh-TW&lr=&id=sHfmCwAAQBAJ&oi=fnd&pg=PR7&dq=Technology+and+the+Future&ots=tS2aNC8cYf&sig=vSPtWlznk9pHhMS_A-a8YuCWlNA#v=onepage&q&f=false
1
FAHRENHEIT 451
by Ray Bradbury
This one, with gratitude,
is for DON CONGDON.
FAHRENHEIT 451:
The temperature at which book-paper catches fire and burns
CONTENTS
one The Hearth and the Salamander 1
two The Sieve and the Sand 67
three Burning Bright 107
PART I
It was a pleasure to burn.
It was a special pleasure to see things eaten, to see things
blackened and changed. With the brass nozzle in his fists, with this
great python spitting its venomous kerosene upon the world, the blood
pounded in his head, and his hands were the hands of some amazing
conductor playing all the symphonies of blazing and burning to bring
down the tatters and charcoal ruins of history. With his symbolic
helmet numbered 451 on his stolid head, and his eyes all orange flame
with the thought of what came next, he flicked the igniter and the
house jumped up in a gorging fire that burned the evening sky red and
yellow and black. He strode in a swarm of fireflies. He wanted above
all, like the old joke, to shove a marshmallow on a stick in the furnace,
while the flapping pigeon-winged books died on the porch and
2
lawn of the house. While the books went up in sparkling whirls and
blew away on a wind turned dark with burning.
Montag grinned the fierce grin of all men singed and driven back
by flame.
He knew that when he returned to the firehouse, he might wink at
himself, a minstrel man, burnt-corked, in the mirror. Later, going to
sleep, he would feel the fiery smile still gripped by his face muscles, in
the dark. It never went away, that. smile, it never ever went away, as
long as he remembered.
He hung up his black-beetle-colored helmet and shined it, he hung
his flameproof jacket neatly; he showered luxuriously, and then,
whistling, hands in pockets, walked across the upper floor of the fire
station and fell down the hole. At the last moment, when disaster
seemed positive, he pulled his hands from his pockets and broke his
fall by grasping the golden pole. He slid to a squeaking halt, the heels
one inch from the concrete floor downstairs.
He walked out of the fire station and along the midnight street
toward the subway where the silent, air-propelled train slid
soundlessly down its lubricated flue in the earth and let him out with a
great puff of warm air an to the cream-tiled escalator rising to the
suburb.
Whistling, he let the escalator waft him into the still night air. He
walked toward the comer, thinking little at a.
By definition, a monologue is a composition that gives the discoursejenkinsmandie
By definition, a monologue is a composition that gives the discourse of one speaker. It represents what someone might speak aloud in a situation in which there are listeners although the listeners do not speak.
Choose one of these stories to write a monologue, including background of the author.
Research the author’s background and relate in two or three paragraphs how his or her writings were meant to affect society. This should go at the top of the page, then the monologue.
Be sure to include a Works Cited at the bottom of the monologue; you will not need an outline.
Compose a one-page monologue. It should illustrate personality traits and guiding values of a character in the story in a creative fashion.
By definition, a monologue is a composition that gives the discourse of one speaker. It represents what someone might speak aloud in a situation in which there are listeners although the listeners do not speak.
Choose one of these stories to write a monologue.
Research the author’s background and relate in two or three paragraphs how his or her writings were meant to affect society. This should go at the top of the page, then the monologue.
Be sure to include a Works Cited at the bottom of each monologue; you will not need an outline.
Compose a one-page monologue. It should illustrate personality traits and guiding values of a character in the story in a creative fashion.
The Story of an Hour
by Kate Chopin
Knowing that Mrs. Mallard was afflicted with a heart trouble, great care was taken to break to her as gently as possible the news of her husband’s death.
It was her sister Josephine who told her, in broken sentences; veiled hints that revealed in half concealing. Her husband’s friend Richards was there, too, near her. It was he who had been in the newspaper office when intelligence of the railroad disaster was received, with Brently Mallard’s name leading the list of “killed.” He had only taken the time to assure himself of its truth by a second telegram, and had hastened to forestall any less careful, less tender friend in bearing the sad message.
She did not hear the story as many women have heard the same, with a paralyzed inability to accept its significance. She wept at once, with sudden, wild abandonment, in her sister’s arms. When the storm of grief had spent itself she went away to her room alone. She would have no one follow her.
There stood, facing the open window, a comfortable, roomy armchair. Into this she sank, pressed down by a physical exhaustion that haunted her body and seemed to reach into her soul.
She could see in the open square before her house the tops of trees that were all aquiver with the new spring life. The delicious breath of rain was in the air. In the street below a peddler was crying his wares. The notes of a distant song which some one was singing reached her faintly, and countless sparrows were twittering in the eaves.
There were patches of blue sky showing here and there t ...
due by 1130 pmAlso answer reading response.Reading re.docxastonrenna
due by 11:30 pm
Also answer reading response.
Reading response:
Pick out at least five phrases which you think are especially important to the story (what you might mark on a printed text.) Briefly describe why you chose each.
What questions about character or motivation or plot does this story leave in your mind?
see the link below. along with instructions
"Story of an Hour" Link to Story
Instructions
Use 250 words for each question. You must read "Story of an Hour" to answer these questions. The story can be found here:
"Story of an Hour" Link to Story
See study text in RED after selecting the link go to the bottom of the page to see the "study text" and "exploring the story"
then you will answer a few other questions.
"The Story of An Hour"
Kate Chopin Bio
Webtext prepared by
Ann Woodlief
; click on the marked phrases for notes
Knowing that Mrs. Mallard was afflicted with a heart trouble, great care was taken to break to her as gently as possible the news of her husband's death.
It was her sister Josephine who told her, in broken sentences; veiled hints that revealed in half concealing. Her husband's friend Richards was there, too, near her. It was he who had been in the newspaper office when intelligence of the railroad disaster was received, with Brently Mallard's name leading the list of "killed." He had only taken the time to assure himself of its truth by a second telegram, and had hastened to forestall any less careful, less tender friend in bearing the sad message.
She did not hear the story as many women have heard the same, with a paralyzed inability to accept its significance. She wept at once, with sudden, wild abandonment, in her sister's arms. When the storm of grief had spent itself she went away to her room alone. She would have no one follow her.
There stood, facing the open window, a comfortable, roomy armchair. Into this she sank, pressed down by a physical exhaustion that haunted her body and seemed to reach into her soul.
She could see in the open square before her house the tops of trees that were all aquiver with the new spring life. The delicious breath of rain was in the air. In the street below a peddler was crying his wares. The notes of a distant song which some one was singing reached her faintly, and countless sparrows were twittering in the eaves.
There were patches of blue sky showing here and there through the clouds that had met and piled one above the other in the west facing her window.
She sat with her head thrown back upon the cushion of the chair, quite motionless, except when a sob came up into her throat and shook her, as a child who has cried itself to sleep continues to sob in its dreams.
She was young, with a fair, calm face, whose lines bespoke repression and even a certain strength. But now there was a dull stare in her eyes, whose gaze was fixed away off yonder on one of those patches of blue sk ...
Story of an Hour Assignment (due tonight 65 at 1130pm est)Afte.docxrjoseph5
Story of an Hour Assignment (due tonight 6/5 at 11:30pm est)
After reading the chapter titled "Fiction As Genre," in a 150-200 word response (200 words in total not per question), address the following questions. Make sure to support your points with a secondary source from the library databases.
1 . How is Mrs. Mallard ' s character developed? Do you see examples of exposition, where the narrator simply tells us information about the protagonist? In addition, does Chopin portray particular emotional responses, thoughts, and actions to reveal Mrs. Mallard ' s character? If so, how so? How does she employ point of view in this story?
2. What is your impression of Brently Mallard? What elements of the story generate this impression?
3. How is setting (both the historical period and the physical atmosphere of the story) used to contribute to the story ' s meaning?
4 . What is Mrs. Mallard ' s social class? What clues lead you to this conclusion?
5. What is the story ' s central conflict? Does Mrs. Mallard change, as we might expect a protagonist to do?
6. What are the important themes of this story?
Kate Chopin
The Story of an Hour
Knowing that Mrs. Mallard was afflicted with a heart trouble, great care was taken to break to her as gently as possible the news of her husband's death.
It was her sister Josephine who told her, in broken sentences; veiled hints that revealed in half concealing. Her husband's friend Richards was there, too, near her. It was he who had been in the newspaper office when intelligence of the railroad disaster was received, with Brently Mallard's name leading the list of "killed." He had only taken the time to assure himself of its truth by a second telegram, and had hastened to forestall any less careful, less tender friend in bearing the sad message.
She did not hear the story as many women have heard the same, with a paralyzed inability to accept its significance. She wept at once, with sudden, wild abandonment, in her sister's arms. When the storm of grief had spent itself she went away to her room alone. She would have no one follow her.
There stood, facing the open window, a comfortable, roomy armchair. Into this she sank, pressed down by a physical exhaustion that haunted her body and seemed to reach into her soul.
She could see in the open square before her house the tops of trees that were all aquiver with the new spring life. The delicious breath of rain was in the air. In the street below a peddler was crying his wares. The notes of a distant song which some one was singing reached her faintly, and countless sparrows were twittering in the eaves.
There were patches of blue sky showing here and there through the clouds that had met and piled one above the other in the west facing her window.
She sat with her head thrown back upon the cushion of the chair, quite motionless, except when a sob came up into her throat and shook her, as a child who has cri.
1. Stephani Sanders approx. 1100 words
235 N Light St.
Springfield, OH 45504
(937) 460-7425
ssanders1@fullsail.edu
The Voyeur
By Stephani Sanders
Flirtatious laughter permeates the stiff air of the cheap hotel room. Faded striped
wallpaper of yellow and green clash against the nude palette of the furnishings. I sit in a
single plastic chair, seated at a lone table in the corner of the room. Franklin has lured
another beautiful young woman with promises of stardom and fame. He has become a
master predator, preying on the aspirations of the women who come to this city. I watch
the two of them dine together.
His pinstriped suit exudes an image of wealth and experience, everything a girl
like her is looking for. He’s handsome, with his dark hair slicked back. Not a hair out of
place. It’s what every girl he’s brought here was looking for. Underneath Franklin’s easy
2. Sanders / Voyeur / 2
smiles and saccharine charm, however, the subtle lines of age are beginning to show,
cracking his fine mask one line at a time. His time is short and he knows it. I can
practically smell the desperation on him with every girl he brings me. He wants the same
thing as everyone else. He wants to escape the inevitable.
He wants to escape me.
Franklin takes a sip from his wineglass. The girl twirls a perfectly coiffed curl of
blond hair around her slim finger, a coy smile on her red lips. Her hand drops to finger to
the gem of her necklace, which sits atop the swell of her breasts. Franklin’s eyes drop for
a moment and her smile widens.
The prey believes itself to be the predator.
The sun sets behind them, casting the patio in a dark orange. Stars begin to shine
just outside of the sun’s reach. The girl drains her glass and motions to Franklin for more.
He reaches over and tips the bottle over her glass, emptying the contents. The rich red
wine swirls at the bottom of her glass. Franklin smiles at her and raises his in the air.
“A toast. To longevity and blissful ignorance. May the cold fingers of death never
grasp at the tender flesh of man.”
The girl arches a slender brow, “That seems a little dark, don’t you think?”
Franklin’s eyes shift over to meet my gaze, “No, my dear. Death always lingers
near.” He looks at her, his gaze dark. “When you get to be my age, mortality settles on
your shoulders like a lead weight with no escape.”
She giggles and drinks from her glass. Franklin sets his down, still full. She is
relaxed and at ease, missing the look he casts over her. She reaches out and covers his
hand with hers.
3. Sanders / Voyeur / 3
“Forget death. I’m all the company you need.”
Franklin lifts her hand and presses his lips to it. “Indeed you are.”
They stand together and step away from the table. Franklin twirls her around the
patio in a mock waltz, their shadows dancing across the ornately lain bricks. He gently
nudges her to the open doors and into the room. She giggles again as Franklin shuts the
doors and draws the curtains closed.
She backs up against the bed, keeping Franklin in her sights. She toes off her red
heels and reaches behind her back, fumbling for the zipper of her dress and pulling it
down. The black dress loosens and she shimmies it down, pooling it on the floor and
stepping out of it. She reaches up and runs a hand through her blond curls, posing with a
sway from the wine, presenting herself to him in her white lingerie.
Franklin smiles at her and motions for her to turn around. She turns from him,
biting her lip in anticipation as he stands behind her. He closes his eyes and breathes in
the scent of her. The manufactured smell of her shampoo, the flowery scent of her
perfume, and the musky scent of her arousal. When he opens his eyes again, he’s a
changed man.
He pulls a slim knife from his pocket and flicks the blade out. He reaches around
her like a striking serpent. Her eyes open wide in panic and she screams. He pulls her
close and raises the blade to her delicate neck. The noise is muffled through his large
hand clamped over her mouth. Tears roll down her cheeks as she flails, trying to escape
the solid body restraining her.
With one fluid movement, Franklin draws the blade across her tender flesh. Skin
parts and blood drips down in thin rivers, flowing over her gemstone necklace and
4. Sanders / Voyeur / 4
seeping in to the white of her bra. He releases her and she drops to her knees. Her hands
come up, gripping her neck, as she makes choked, wet gasps. She’s determined, but it’s
too late for her. In minutes, she lies motionless on the floor, her blood spreads out around
her as though it were a dark halo.
Franklin sinks to his knees and flips her over onto her back. He raises the knife
and brings it down. The gleaming blade sinks down into fair skin, tugging it open.
Franklin opens a jagged hole in her chest and forces his hand into her, pulling back layers
of flesh and exposing the stained ribcage. He drops the knife and wipes a bead of sweat
from his forehead, smearing red across his skin. His perfect hair is unkempt and hangs in
thin strands damp with sweat.
Franklin rolls up his sleeves and digs both hands into her open chest. He grunts
and forces his hands up. Her skin rises with the indents of traveling fingers. A cold spark
enters his eyes as he wrenches both arms out. He pants with exertion and clutches her
heart in his palms.
He rocks to his feet and stumbles over to me. With a tired grin, he drops the heart
onto my lap.
“Another flame extinguished. What was she worth?”
I don’t answer him.
His fingers twitch and he takes a step back, “Is it enough?”
I stare at him. He already knows the answer. His face contorts with a mix of anger
and disappointment as he paces. His fist hits the wall.
It always ends like this.
“Please,” he begs, dropping to his knees. “Please give it to me. I’ve done so much
5. Sanders / Voyeur / 5
for you! I’ve killed so many! I deserve to live forever!”
He crawls to me and buries his face in my lap. I reach out and run my fingers
through his hair.
“I don’t want to die. It’s too soon.”
He cries for recognition. I give him none. These are his sins. None of it impresses
me. I’ve seen it all before. For millennia, I’ve held audience to men like him, driven to
the unthinkable in the face of their own mortality.
He isn’t the first man to court death.