Have you ever thought about what fiction is? Probably, such a question may seem surprising: and so everything is clear. Every person throughout his life has to repeatedly create the works he needs for specific purposes - statements, autobiographies, dictations - using not gypsum or clay, not musical notes, not paints, but just a word. At the same time, almost every person will be very surprised if he is told that he thereby created a work of fiction, which is very different from visual art, music and sculpture making. However, everyone understands that a student's essay or dictation is fundamentally different from novels, short stories, news that are created by professional writers. In the works of professionals there is the most important difference - excogitation. But, oddly enough, in a school literature course, you don’t realize the full power of fiction. So using our website in your free time discover fiction for yourself. The demons cry by Isis Arguello (best book club books for discussion .txt) 📖
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- Author: Isis Arguello
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grabbed me by my arms and dragged me toward the mad lady. I tried to glare, but all my muscles were paralyzed.
She just laughed and turned around. Soon we were passing doors and turning into other hallways. I dully noted that everything was still white.
Then all of a sudden, we stopped walking. In front of us was a black wall with a red metal door. The only color I had seen so far. The lady opened the door and stepped in.
If my eyes could have widened, they would have fallen out of my sockets.
All three walls were white with splatters of blood here and there. Hanging from the walls were torture items from all ages, medieval time to now. In the middle, almost innocently, was a metal table, a huge light over the table, one that could surely blind you.
My heart picked up in speed and fear struck it. I try to struggle, but the drug was still working. They dragged me and placed me on the table; strapping my wrist, ankles, and neck into place. I couldn’t breath, I was starting to black out.
But then the lady slapped me. The bloody nerve of her, of everyone; I hadn’t done anything bad, so why was I here. Then I started feeling the sting of the slap.
“Look here brat. Ill be your doctor from now on.” She said, “You’ll be calling me doctor or miss. Scarlet.”
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She just laughed and turned around. Soon we were passing doors and turning into other hallways. I dully noted that everything was still white.
Then all of a sudden, we stopped walking. In front of us was a black wall with a red metal door. The only color I had seen so far. The lady opened the door and stepped in.
If my eyes could have widened, they would have fallen out of my sockets.
All three walls were white with splatters of blood here and there. Hanging from the walls were torture items from all ages, medieval time to now. In the middle, almost innocently, was a metal table, a huge light over the table, one that could surely blind you.
My heart picked up in speed and fear struck it. I try to struggle, but the drug was still working. They dragged me and placed me on the table; strapping my wrist, ankles, and neck into place. I couldn’t breath, I was starting to black out.
But then the lady slapped me. The bloody nerve of her, of everyone; I hadn’t done anything bad, so why was I here. Then I started feeling the sting of the slap.
“Look here brat. Ill be your doctor from now on.” She said, “You’ll be calling me doctor or miss. Scarlet.”
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Publication Date: 04-10-2012
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