Wait a second!
More handpicked essays just for you.
More handpicked essays just for you.
Psychological effects of depression
Essay papers on mental illness
Psychological causes and effects of depression pdf
Don’t take our word for it - see why 10 million students trust us with their essay needs.
Recommended: Psychological effects of depression
The Dreaded Curse The dark and dingy room swayed before his bloodshot eyes, he had not been sleeping for days. The trees outside shook in the strong wind as though their arms were waving helplessly. The cracked glass in the window was razor sharp: daring somebody to come and test its sharpness. The sofa was black with grime and incredibly sunk in; the putrid smell that wafted in the air was almost unbearable, the wallpaper was peeling off the walls at every corner. The one light in the room flickered on and off feebly. There were cracks in the ceiling and the walls alike but for Travers this shack was his home. Travers wandered around the room his shabby clothing (that was three sizes too big for him) was falling off his shoulder more and more with every step that he took. His crumpled up shirt with holes in was far from decent and his trousers that were once grey were black with filth. Travers was not a handsome man and had many distorting features: his ragged black hair filled with knots covered his pale forehead; his blue eyes had gone many weeks ago and in their place were red bloodshot ones; the bags under his eyes were those of an elderly woman. Sweat poured down his face and it was nothing to do with the heat of the room. Travers wiped his brow and slowly trod around the room. “He’s coming,” he thought. Shaking, Travers sat down onto the ancient settee. His fingers, which were extremely pale, could not stop shaking. His body hunched over as if he was protecting himself from pain and harm. Travers slowly lifted his head and menacingly trod towards the door. Thunk, his boots stepped out onto the solid concrete as he locked up the shack that he called home. Rain sloshed onto his clothes making them cling to hi... ... middle of paper ... ...ped with pain but continued to run faster. He raced upstairs with the man hot on his heels. Travers heart was racing as he jumped off the banister into the hallway; this just angered the man even more. The man turned to follow Travers but when he climbed up onto the banister, the knife slipped out of his hand and he fell. The blade landed point up as the man fell and the blade punctured his chest the man lay front down on the floor, dead as a mouse caught in a mousetrap. “No! Not my brother, I am ever so sorry that I killed your wife that night. It was an accident, please forgive me!” cried Travers. He broke down onto the floor in a flood of tears, and took the knife from his brother’s heart and plunged it into his left ventricle piercing his heart. Travers was dead. Silence was the only noise in the shack; the dreaded curse had finally been lifted off the shack.
“Slowly, very slowly, like two unhurried compass needles, the feet turned towards the right, north, north-east, east, south-east, south, south-south-west, then paused, and, after a few seconds, turned as unhurriedly back towards the left. South-south-west, south, south-east, east.” Unexpectedly, his feelings, that he so frantically needed to clutch, wound up being the death of him yet that is what being a human is about.
?The tenement was a long passageway of ruined houses, all exactly the same; small impoverished dwellings built of cement, each with a single door and two windows. They were painted in drab colors and their peeling walls were linked across the narrow passageway by wires hung from side to side. [She] walked deeper into the neighborhood, avoiding puddles of dirty water that overflowed from the gutters and dodging piles of garbage in which cats were digging like silent shadows. In the center of the little...
I stumbled onto the porch and hear the decrepit wooden planks creak beneath my feet. The cabin had aged and had succumb to the power of the prime mover in its neglected state. Kudzu vines ran along the structure, strangling the the cedar pillars that held the roof above the porch. One side of the debacle had been defeated by the ensnarement and slouched toward the earth. However, the somber structure survives in spite. It contests sanguine in the grip of the strangling savage. But the master shall prevail and the slave will fall. It will one day be devoured and its remains, buried by its master, never to be unearthed, misinterpreted as a ridge rather than a
Yanking backwards with drunken Herculean force, Killinger began tugging away at the wooden corner of the dresser he was cuffed to. Desperation dissipated into hysteria, as the voice came to complete silence. Taking a moment, Killinger slicked back his sweated glistened hair and pulled back once more. Nothing. Accepting defeat, Killinger rested backwards onto the carpet, closing his tired eyes. Just before everything faded to black, Killinger saw a metal shard dangling from the nearby dining table. Quick to action, he unbuckled his belt, whipping it towards the corner peg of the table. With one quick sweep, the table tipped over and the key landed smack in his lap. He was free, unlocking himself from his
Rainsford started out of the bedroom slowly and quietly, looking both ways to make sure it was clear to go. He started down the long hallway, being careful of his steps. He heard cries as he got closer to the end of the hallway near the stairs. He tried to see if he could see anyone from the stairs but failed to see where the cries were coming from. He started down the stairs carefully and slowly.
Allison Vandemore looked back one last time at the dilapidated weekly rental as she pulled a dark strand of hair behind her round ear. How it looked even less livable than what it had ten short months before, she wasn’t sure. Still, she was certain a small part of her would cherish the time spent in the duplex style apartment. Although she was ecstatic this chapter of her life was finally over. The rotten siding, broken window panes, as well as the sagging roof with patches of missing shingles, felt like home. It’s the only real home I’ve known, she thought pressing her lips thin and nodding to herself.
They had left the cardboard boxes in the back of the car. Connie Drywood huddled behind the steering wheel and stared through the windshield, presumably at a house, with a flat expression across her face as if it were every other house in America. By now she was used to the middle of nowhere. Dead leaves swooned in the yard. Loose shutters banged in the windows. It was November, a cold day and the house, with its slanted roof and yellow siding, looked a bit like an oversized wedge of cheddar cheese.
The warm night air smelled of curried chicken and strong coffee. It wafted over Lance Richards as he clung to the bricks of the brownstone, listening. He had been watching the apartment for two weeks, had seen the third man leave minutes ago, but in his line of work it was good to be cautious. Like a black shadow he clambered onto the rickety fire-escape, then squatted poised, flexing his gloved fingers, before sliding the unlocked window higher.
………stood a huge old isolated and dilapidated mansion……… The walls were a stormy grey colour with old vines mingled throughout. The windows were cracked and the windows sills have ((rotted????)) . The walkway leading toward the house were cracked with weeds poking out of the cracks.
Splintered wood shot everywhere as a deafening explosion hit the front door. Thomas and Judy fell to the floor and a hand full of heavily armed men ran into the house. Three men tried to grab Thomas and he stood up immediately and began to fight back. Then a sharp swing of a metal rod cracked Thomas across the head and blood rushed out of the wound and his body fell limp.
“I know I’m the reason for her death. Those hunters were after me, not her. It’s this goddamn curse. If I hadn’t known, if I hadn’t screamed and realised. I- I wouldn’t have rushed all the way to that house to make sure she was okay. They tracked me. She had nothing to do with it. If I wasn’t there she still would be. And now I can’t even make sure that she’s alright. Because the bloody divine forces won’t let me. Why?”
His mother screamed constantly, shaming him to that of nothing but guilt of being alive. It was a common ritual in his OLD household. Then tonight, with the quick flick of a wrist and the glisten of rose red, the shaming ended. The guilt stopped. Then with two more quick and swift movements he finished off what was left to remind him of his past. What would have been witnesses were nothing more than cold and bludgeoned heaps.
The knife went through Jame’s heart. The knife was pulled out, now stained with two people’s blood. Blood poured out of Jame’s wound. Jame fell to the ground. He looked at Will’s limp body. He looked at the principal.
Similarly, the furniture in the house is as sullen as the house itself. What little furniture is in the house is beaten-up; this is a symbol of the dark setting. The oak bed is the most important p...
The audience gasped There inside of the door the once savage and relentless beast, was lifeless on the ground. There was a moment of silence. The king was alarmed, for he had to get the youth away from his daughter in some way. He spoke quietly to one of his courtiers.