| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Herbert West: Reanimator by H. P. Lovecraft: and a gentle tremor seemed to affect the dead limbs; West stuffed
a pillow-like object violently over the twitching face, not withdrawing
it until the corpse appeared quiet and ready for our attempt at
reanimation. The pale enthusiast now applied some last perfunctory
tests for absolute lifelessness, withdrew satisfied, and finally
injected into the left arm an accurately measured amount of the
vital elixir, prepared during the afternoon with a greater care
than we had used since college days, when our feats were new and
groping. I cannot express the wild, breathless suspense with which
we waited for results on this first really fresh specimen -- the
first we could reasonably expect to open its lips in rational
Herbert West: Reanimator |
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from When a Man Marries by Mary Roberts Rinehart: brute. I am sorry. Can't we be friends, after all?"
"'When we do not have friends we can not lose them,'" I replied
with cool malice. And the next instant the door closed behind me.
It was that night that the really serious event of the quarantine
occurred.
We were gathered in the library, and everybody was deadly dull.
Aunt Selina said she had been reared to a strict observance of
the Sabbath, and she refused to go to bed early. The cards and
card tables were put away and every one sat around and quarreled
and was generally nasty, except Bella and Jim, who had gone into
the den just after dinner and firmly closed the door.
|
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Across The Plains by Robert Louis Stevenson: train, our ears were kept busy with the incessant chirp of
grasshoppers - a noise like the winding up of countless clocks and
watches, which began after a while to seem proper to that land.
To one hurrying through by steam there was a certain exhilaration
in this spacious vacancy, this greatness of the air, this discovery
of the whole arch of heaven, this straight, unbroken, prison-line
of the horizon. Yet one could not but reflect upon the weariness
of those who passed by there in old days, at the foot's pace of
oxen, painfully urging their teams, and with no landmark but that
unattainable evening sun for which they steered, and which daily
fled them by an equal stride. They had nothing, it would seem, to
|
