A Man With a “Meta Sense”

Hercule Poirot is a short man with a well-cared-for mustache but, most importantly, he is a Belgian detective with a “meta sense”. His character does not develop or change. However, because of the structure of the the novel and the Poirot series, it is justified. Hercule Poirot does not develop by the end of the novel in order to keep the story self contained.

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The Issues with Bringing the Dead Back to Life

To my knowledge there are two types of ways to bring someone, or something back to life. The two methods are re-animation and resurrection. I think re-animation should be completely illegal, whereas resurrection is debatable due to how it works.


Re-animation is the act of giving something the ability to no longer be dead but also not exactly alive. A common term for a re-animated person is “undead”. This can cause problems because a re-animated corpse is still a corpse and so it does things like decompose and rot. This makes it hard to argue that a re-animated person is almost as good as a living one. For these reasons re-animation should be illegal under all circumstances.


Resurrection is full and total restoration of life making it a bit more of a difficult subject because you don’t have any of the downsides of re-animation. However, there is now a moral dilemma. Is it ethical to bring the dead (fully) back to life? If someone dies from old age the idea of resurrection is off the table because their natural life has come to an end. If that is true we need some kind of official board dedicated to the analysing individual cases of which people can and should be brought back to life. This still has some moral dilemmas for the people on the board and so the members may have to make some compromising lifestyle choices for the greater good. Certain cases I deem to be unacceptable for resurrection are: the person being a legitimate risk to the health of others, the person being dead for too long (more than 1 year) and (as briefly explained earlier) no one older than 80 years of age. The age law would be to make sure that immortality is not something that is doable by this system. The reason for that is because it brings up a ton more moral questions than even the idea of re-animation and resurrection.


For all the reasons listed above I believe that re-animation should be completely illegal. If done responsibly resurrection however is perfectly fine.


The Many Methods of Storytelling

There are many ways to tell the same story. You could write a book, or go one step further and add interaction to your book, you could make a film or TV show to fully exercise your abilities to produce an immersive experience with visuals, you could make a game to let your audience craft an experience of their own whilst experiencing your story, or finally, make a reading of your piece or song to bring the characters alive verbally. All of these methods are acceptable however some suit certain stories better.

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Dry Cereal


Every weekday that she has school Jessica wakes up, gets dressed, eats breakfast, brushes her teeth and then sets off to school. However today was different, and after waking up and getting dressed, Jessica walked downstairs to the kitchen. She grabbed the box of corn flakes from the cupboard and poured some into a bowl. Then she began to search the fridge for the last ingredient of her daily breakfast. Much to her dismay there seemed to be a severe lack of milk. She remembered back to yesterday morning, when after breakfast when she told her mother, “Hey mum were out of milk!” her mother quickly responded with “I’ll go get some later.” “Thanks!” Jessica shouted back.

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The Slimy Creatures Come Out to Play


I looked upon the rotting sea,
And drew my eyes away;
I looked upon the rotting deck,
And there the dead men lay.

I looked to heaven, and tried to pray;
But or ever a prayer had gushed,
A wicked whisper came and made
My heart as dry as dust.

An orphan’s curse would drag to hell
A spirit from on high;
But oh! more horrible than that Is the curse in a dead man’s eye!
Seven days, seven nights, I saw that curse,
And yet I could not die.

Beyond the shadow of the ship,
I watched the water snakes:
They moved in tracks of shining white,
And when they reared, the elfish light
Fell off in hoary flakes.

O happy living things! no tongue
Their beauty might declare:
A spring of love gushed from my heart,
And I blessed them unaware:
Sure my kind saint took pity on me,
And I blessed them unaware.

The self-same moment I could pray;
And from my neck so free
The Albatross fell off, and sank
Like lead into the sea.


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The End is Closer But Still Far Away


Oh sleep! it is a gentle thing,
Beloved from pole to pole!
To Mary Queen the praise be given!
She sent the gentle sleep from Heaven,
That slid into my soul.

The silly buckets on the deck,
That had so long remained,
I dreamt that they were filled with dew;
And when I awoke, it rained.

My lips were wet, my throat was cold,
My garments all were dank;
Sure I had drunken in my dreams,
And still my body drank.

Soon I heard a roaring wind:
It did not come anear;
But with its sound it shook the sails,
That were so thin and sere.

The loud wind never reached the ship,
Yet now the ship moved on!
Beneath the lightning and the Moon
The dead men gave a groan.

They groaned, they stirred, they all uprose,
Nor spake, nor moved their eyes;
It had been strange, even in a dream,
To have seen those dead men rise.

The helmsman steered, the ship moved on;
Yet never a breeze up-blew;
The mariners all ‘gan work the ropes,
Where they were wont to do;
They raised their limbs like lifeless tools —
We were a ghastly crew.


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The Real Motive

I tell this story to rid my pain
This story of all the things I regret
The pain makes walk and walk to find the next man
I want to avoid it and forget.

Yet I can’t it’s just too strong
I just have to stop
When I see their face something just goes “pop”
No matter how much I try I can’t just move along.

I can’t run
I can’t hide
I just have to sit
And tell my story to whoever is chosen by “it”.

The curse the pain whatever it may be
Maybe that albatross is still haunting me.
It could be life in death or any of her mates
But all I know is this pain brings my hate.

Listen to nature
It is the way
It will not just fix itself


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Despair and Sorrow


There passed a weary time. Each throat
Was parched, and glazed each eye.
A weary time! a weary time!
How glazed each weary eye,
When looking westward, I beheld
A something in the sky.

At first it seemed a little speck,
And then it seemed a mist;
It moved and moved, and took at last
A certain shape, I wist.

The western wave was all a-flame,
The day was well nigh done!
Almost upon the western wave
Rested the broad bright Sun;
When that strange shape drove suddenly
Betwixt us and the Sun.

And straight the Sun was flecked with bars,
(Heaven’s Mother send us grace!)
As if through a dungeon-grate he peered
With broad and burning face.

There were two on this ship, a skeleton and his mate
Who seemed to be a woman long deceased,
Playing a game of dice both with a look of hate
The woman exclaimed a victory and the game ceased.

Four times fifty living men,
(And I heard nor sigh nor groan)
With heavy thump, a lifeless lump,
They dropped down one by one.

The souls did from their bodies fly —
They fled to bliss or woe!
And every soul, it passed me by,
Like the whizz of my cross-bow!


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The closer you get the further it seems

CaptureI had done a hellish thing,
And it would work ’em woe:
For all averred, I had killed the bird
That made the breeze to blow.
Ah wretch! said they, the bird to slay,
That made the breeze to blow!

Day after day, day after day,
We stuck, nor breath nor motion;
As idle as a painted ship
Upon a painted ocean.

Water, water, everywhere,
And all the boards did shrink;
Water, water, everywhere,
Nor any drop to drink.

My crew, they knew the doom I brought upon us
They hung the albatross around my neck to show me what I have done
No matter what I said or asked they would not discuss
For all they wanted was for my life to be none.


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There is always more…


There is a story I must tell
To help me live in peace.
Reciting it stops the living hell…
the story lies beneath.

The ship was cheered and the harbor cleared,
Merrily we did drop,
Below the kirk, below the hill
Below the lighthouse top…

The Storm-Blast came,and he
Was tyrannous and strong:
He struck with his o’ertaking wings,
And chased us south along

We came to a land of mist and cold
Between tall icy cliffs,
We kept straight and acted bold
Though were were lost within these cliffs

At length did cross an Albatross,
Thorough the fog it came;
As it had been a Christian soul,
We hailed it in God’s name

“God save thee, ancient Mariner,
From the fiends that plague thee thus!
Why look’st thou so?”
With my crossbow
I shot the Albatross…


Wait for more
you must
to help stop the pain…


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My First In-class Literary Essay

Jim Hawkins is a young relatable boy filled with a good sense of adventure, so when he was asked to go off to a faraway island he obviously says yes”.

This essay will discuss the importance the narrator of treasure island has to the outcome of the novel.

Jim had spent the most of his life until the day that the Captain (Billy Bones) arrived at the “Admiral Benbow” calmly helping his parents with chores and jobs alike. This sparks the interest of the reader because of the fact that Jim has never seen anyone like Billy Bones and the only opinion he has are based on stereotypes and tall tales told to him by adults about the treacherous acts committed at seas. He is bewildered and also scared of the large and intimidating man now in his company. This puts Poor Jim on edge. Now the reader has an idea of what might ensue for the rest of the story because of the subtle foreshadowing.

Already you see that this book will play with the fact that Jim is an inexperienced child who will agree to anything that involves excitement, action and most importantly treasure. In my opinion this is best shown by two things.

The first thing is when Doctor Livesey becomes the narrator for three chapters (chapters 16-18) you can see the more black and white view of the world that the adults have. Making plans and following them to a T. This differs from the style of narration written for Jim. The part that most differs from Jim is when they try to loot the “Hispaniola” and then see the brutal truth of it all : “…with plenty of arms and ammunition, and things to eat, and excellent wines, there had been one thing overlooked – we had no water…”(p.139)

The other time is when Jim thinks that all things scary are evil and dangerous. Shown when he was going to beach his coracle at a cove but decided against it because of some animals:“…I beheld huge slimy monsters…”, “…I have understood since that they were sea-lions, and entirely harmless.”(p.201).

The most obvious oversight made by Jim because of his age came in the form of the warning from Billy Bones about one of his old crew members with a vivid description (The Seafaring man with one leg). Then as soon as he meets a man that fits the description perfectly he falls into the trap of first impressions meaning everything regardless of anything told to you otherwise. This is used as a plot device on multiple occasions and make the book easy to understand and still suspenseful.
The factors of Jim being relatable, him being susceptible to basic trickery and the way that he doesn’t understand life as well as his companions make this novel’s ending come together perfectly. The choice for Jim to narrate this story enabled it to stand out amongst the crowd of all other pieces of literature.