Lois Lowry's "The Giver" Chapter 1 99 words

His parents were both at work, and his little sister, Lily, was at the Childcare Center where she spent her after-school hours.

"Lily," Mother said, beckoning to the little girl, "go on now and get into your nightclothes.

Most of the people on the night crew had not even been given spouses because they lacked, somehow, the essential capacity to connect to others, which was required for the creation of a family unit.

Frightened was the way he had felt a year ago when an unidentified aircraft had overflown the community twice.

Looking through the front window, he had seen no people: none of the busy afternoon crew of Street Cleaners, Landscape Workers, and Food Delivery people who usually populate the community at that time of day.

He smoothed his rumpled tunic and sat down.

Occasionally, when supplies were delivered by cargo planes to the landing field across the river, the children rode their bicycles to the river bank and watched, intrigued, the unloading and then the takeoff directed to the west, always away from t

He turned and wrote "distraught" on the instructional board.

"I left home at the correct time but when I was riding along near the hatchery, the crew was separating some salmon.

His parents were both at work, and his little sister, Lily, was at the Childcare Center where she spent her after-school hours.

Within minutes the speakers had crackled again, and the voice, reassuring now and less urgent, had explained that a Pilot-in-Training had misread his navigational instructions and made a wrong turn.

Looking through the front window, he had seen no people: none of the busy afternoon crew of Street Cleaners, Landscape Workers, and Food Delivery people who usually populate the community at that time of day.

I guess I wasn't paying attention.

Within minutes the speakers had crackled again, and the voice, reassuring now and less urgent, had explained that a Pilot-in-Training had misread his navigational instructions and made a wrong turn.

Looking through the front window, he had seen no people: none of the busy afternoon crew of Street Cleaners, Landscape Workers, and Food Delivery people who usually populate the community at that time of day.

Squinting toward the sky, he had seen the sleek jet, almost a blur at its high speed, go past, and a second later heard the blast of sound that followed.

It was not a squat, fat-bellied cargo plane but a needle-nosed single-pilot jet.

Frightened was the way he had felt a year ago when an unidentified aircraft had overflown the community twice.

IMMEDIATELY, the rasping voice through the speakers had said.

She held up a clenched fist and the rest of the family smiled at her small defiant gesture.

For a contributing citizen to be released from the community was a final decision, a terrible punishment, an overwhelming statement of failure.

Next, Mother, who held a prominent position at the Department of Justice, talked about her feelings.

Occasionally, when supplies were delivered by cargo planes to the landing field across the river, the children rode their bicycles to the river bank and watched, intrigued, the unloading and then the takeoff directed to the west, always away from t

He smoothed his rumpled tunic and sat down.

"When we were Sixes, we went and shared a whole school day with a group of Sixes in their community."

Even the children were scolded if they used the term lightly at play, jeering at a teammate who missed a catch or stumbled in a race.

Within minutes the speakers had crackled again, and the voice, reassuring now and less urgent, had explained that a Pilot-in-Training had misread his navigational instructions and made a wrong turn.

He wanted to share them, but he wasn't eager to begin the process of sifting through his own complicated emotions, even with the help that he knew his parents could give.

Squinting toward the sky, he had seen the sleek jet, almost a blur at its high speed, go past, and a second later heard the blast of sound that followed.

Looking through the front window, he had seen no people: none of the busy afternoon crew of Street Cleaners, Landscape Workers, and Food Delivery people who usually populate the community at that time of day.

Occasionally, when supplies were delivered by cargo planes to the landing field across the river, the children rode their bicycles to the river bank and watched, intrigued, the unloading and then the takeoff directed to the west, always away from t

One of them -- a male; I don't know his name -- kept going right to the front of the line for the slide, even though the rest of us were all waiting.

Not like his friend, Asher, who talked too fast and mixed things up, scrambling words and phrases until they were barely recognizable and often very funny.

Neither child knew what the word meant, exactly, but it was often used to describe someone uneducated or clumsy, someone who didn't fit in.

LEAVE YOUR BICYCLES WHERE THEY ARE. Instantly, obediently, Jonas had dropped his bike on its side on the path behind his family's dwelling.

The class recited the standard response in unison.

Even the children were scolded if they used the term lightly at play, jeering at a teammate who missed a catch or stumbled in a race.

Now, thinking about the feeling of fear as he pedaled home along the river path, he remembered that moment of palpable, stomach-sinking terror when the aircraft had streaked above.

Now, thinking about the feeling of fear as he pedaled home along the river path, he remembered that moment of palpable, stomach-sinking terror when the aircraft had streaked above.

IMMEDIATELY, the rasping voice through the speakers had said.

"Oh, no," Mother murmured sympathetically.

He saw only the abandoned bikes here and there on their sides; an upturned wheel on one was still revolving slowly.

Neither child knew what the word meant, exactly, but it was often used to describe someone uneducated or clumsy, someone who didn't fit in.

We have him in the extra care section for supplementary nurturing, but the committee's beginning to talk about releasing him."

His parents were both at work, and his little sister, Lily, was at the Childcare Center where she spent her after-school hours.

Squinting toward the sky, he had seen the sleek jet, almost a blur at its high speed, go past, and a second later heard the blast of sound that followed.

Looking through the front window, he had seen no people: none of the busy afternoon crew of Street Cleaners, Landscape Workers, and Food Delivery people who usually populate the community at that time of day.

But there was a little shudder of nervousness when he thought about it, about what might happen.

Jonas, looking around anxiously, had seen others -- adults as well as children -- stop what they were doing and wait, confused, for an explanation of the frightening event.

"I apologize to my classmates," Asher concluded.

Frightened meant that deep, sickening feeling of something terrible about to happen.

Someone who she hoped had been adequately and fairly punished, and who had been restored to his place: to his job, his home, his family unit.

Jonas grinned, remembering the morning that Asher had dashed into the classroom, late as usual, arriving breathlessly in the middle of the chanting of the morning anthem.

"I'm feeling apprehensive," he confessed, glad the appropriate descriptive word had finally come to him.

Jonas grinned, remembering the morning that Asher had dashed into the classroom, late as usual, arriving breathlessly in the middle of the chanting of the morning anthem.

Within minutes the speakers had crackled again, and the voice, reassuring now and less urgent, had explained that a Pilot-in-Training had misread his navigational instructions and made a wrong turn.

He smoothed his rumpled tunic and sat down.

It was not a squat, fat-bellied cargo plane but a needle-nosed single-pilot jet.

He had run indoors and stayed there, alone.

It was a lesser job, night-crew nurturing, assigned to those who lacked the interest or skills or insight for the more vital jobs of the daytime hours.

'Distraught' is too strong an adjective to describe salmon-viewing."

The sense of his own community silent, waiting, had made his stomach churn.

The look was fake, Jonas knew; they all knew.

"The Ceremony of Twelve," she whispered in an awed voice.

Not like his friend, Asher, who talked too fast and mixed things up, scrambling words and phrases until they were barely recognizable and often very funny.

He smoothed his rumpled tunic and sat down.

This was especially troubling for the Nurturers, likeFather, who felt they had failed somehow.

No one ever mentioned it; the disgrace was unspeakable.

Jonas grinned, remembering the morning that Asher had dashed into the classroom, late as usual, arriving breathlessly in the middle of the chanting of the morning anthem.

But he isn't growing as fast as he should, and he doesn't sleep soundly.

She held up a clenched fist and the rest of the family smiled at her small defiant gesture.