Answer: I think they should be closed.
Explanation:
I think they should be closed because, theoretically speaking, kids/teens spread germs WAY more than adults typically do. I mean ya I get that people want to go to school because they have difficulty learning on computer (or whatever device), than with face-to-face interaction with adults. And people may or may not realize that their kids are not the only ones at risk for going back to school, the teachers are too. Because if you think about it, teachers with kids in the classroom have to make sure everyone has their masks on, they have to sanitize the place, keep people from coming into close contact with each other, etc. So in all, I think public schools should be closed.
No. That is a complete sentence.
Answer:
A. There is total government control.
<u>Explanation:</u>
- Dystopian society is characterized by futuristic view of the human life where people are under surveillance, state strives to control every aspect of human life and thinking, public information is designed to suit the government`s goals and evil plans, there is no freedom of speech or thinking, nature is destroyed - environmental disasters are all around, every person that tends to be different than others is categorized as an enemy, people are afraid of the world outside of it, there is always a great leader`s cult. Example of dystopian society in literature we can see in George Orwell`s 1984. Basically there is always an oppressive regime limiting freedom.
Yw and pls mark me brainiest
The first time most people fall for E.B. White – certainly the first time I did – they are 6 or 7 or 8. In 1952, “Charlotte’s Web” made him the New Yorker writer with the largest grade-school fan base.
I fell in love with “Charlotte’s Web” because, when White talked about grown-up mysteries like love and death, he was as honest as a punch to the jaw. Many years later, I fell in love with “Death of a Pig” because, covering the same subjects for adults, White was as straightforward as a pie to the face.
Here are the facts of the case: A gentleman farmer (and New Yorker staff writer) ventures out to his pig enclosure one September afternoon and discovers that the hog he has nurtured through spring and summer has lost its appetite, gone listless. An obstruction of the bowel is suspected. The farmer, his dachshund and a veterinarian preside over the pig’s decline, until it dies alone a few days later, sometime between supper and midnight. The pig receives a graveside autopsy and is buried under a wild apple tree. The farmer accepts his neighbor’s condolences (“the premature expiration of a pig is, I soon discovered, a departure which the community marks solemnly on its calendar, a sorrow in which it feels fully involved”) before taking up his pen and telling the story “in penitence and in grief, as a man who failed to raise his pig.”
