Looking up into the old trees, several song birds were competing to see who could make the sweetest music, as the Bag Piper finished playing Amazing Grace. It was sunny and cloudless this day as the people gathered on the green grass below were quiet as the rifles were pointing up towards the empty sky.
“Fire!” Came the command as all seven rifles fired at the same time. The song birds took to flight so fast that some even dropped at feather or two. Even most of the people seated below flinched at the earsplitting sound.
“Fire!” Again the rifles barked their piercing blasts in unison, but all of the birds were very far away now.
“Fire!” For the third and last time, the command was given as once more the rifles, again let loose a volley into the sky that echoed throughout the cemetery. Quiet once again settled in, except for the sounds of some of those attending who could not restrain their grief. The flag was removed from the coffin and with great care and it was folded into the triangle form in which it would remain forever. As the of the Captain of the Honor Guard presented the flag to Mrs. Bowden,
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After everyone had filed by the casket to pay their last respects, Mr. and Mrs. Bowden held each other as they stood next to the box which held the remains of their son. The two heart-broken parents wept over the rectangular shaped hole in the ground, which was about to be filled forever with their son's casket, while the hole in their hearts would never be filled. 'Parents are not supposed to bury their children', Mrs. Bowden thought to herself. Mr. Bowden was feeling the pain of knowing he would never see or speak to his son again. Mr. Bowden would always feel the great pride and the overwhelming pain that he now felt for the loss of his son. His son was a hero, not matter what the FBI or anyone else said. Sometimes even heroes can only take just so
Leknik, Treku and Zebul heard them and shot the beasts in the head and they all exploded upon impact. Everyone cheered at the top of their lungs as victory was reached.
Imagine getting the news that someone had killed your child. You would probably be mad, upset, and even depressed. You would probably blame anyone who witnessed it, and you would probably want nothing to do with your child’s killer. Mary Johnson was shocked to get the news that her son had been shot and killed after an argument at a party. She was devastated, but she didn’t let that get the best of her. She stayed strong.
“What’s with these freaking lights,” he mumbles, ducking erratically as the bullets slash past him striking everything. To the edge of the road, he runs tumbling into a ditch where Michelle is waiting.
The day started with clear blue skies and not a cloud in the sight. The only noise that you could hear was a concert given by the nearby crickets, and a lonely bull frog singing nearby in unison. As the evening passes on a sharp snoring noise can be heard muffled softly.
By utilizing vivid details and intense imagery, she allows the readers to feel her emotions and visualize the abstract imagery that she put forth when describing the birds. Throughout her passage, Dillard incorporates very adept literary techniques to create a trance-like feeling, such as when recounting the flight patterns of the birds with, “The flight extended like a fluttering banner, an unfurled oriflamme, in either direction as far as I could see.” As she continues, she immerses the readers with the actions of the birds, in such a manner that makes it seem as if she was a bird herself, flying majestically with the flock. She stated that “Each individual bird bobbed and knitted up and down in the flight at apparent random, for no known reason except that that’s how starlings fly, yet all remained perfectly spaced.” By stating that, “The flocks each tapered at either end from a round middle, like an eye”, Dillard is able to provide additional explicit imagery and details that give the readers emotional insight rather than mere facts of what happened. Furthermore, as she describes the sounds she hears with, “Over my head, I hear a sound of beaten air like a million shook rugs, a muffled whuff. Into the woods they sifted without shifting a twig, right through the crowns of trees, intricate and rushing, like wind”, she provides so much intricate detail in a way that the
Before the Civil War, infantry fighters ordinarily conveyed black powder rifles that held only one projectile at once. The scope of these guns spoke the truth 250 yards. Be
“Pretty please, Chris? We just need to find out where she is?” said Karen. She didn’t like to beg, but she wanted to put her mother’s mind at rest too, and that took priority.
Synthetic flowers dotted the open-air graves on either side of the path. Grand old willows wept over headstones; angels with broken wings, myriad variations of the Virgin Mary, many with the head smashed to bits or just covered in graffiti, serving as a reminder that these were old graves, from before the war when New Arcadia was still called the United States, and people were still allowed to worship the old icons--Mary, Jesus, Mohammed, Buddha, Krishna. Not now though; the old icons were nothing more than art and mythology. You publicly believed that shit if you wanted to end up in jail. If you wanted to live a simple, uncomplicated life, then you planned a headstone watched over by the new guard--Aphrodite on a marble conch, Zeus with a lightning bolt, Poseidon's brandishing his trident. You wanted to be safe, that's what you did.
The dew covered forest floor oozes itself between my toes as I try to absorb every ravishing detail of the forest. The rising sun sets its glowing array of color on the rims of the moss-cloaked figures in front of me and the birds warble high above in the crowed of trees to generate a beautiful melody for the atmosphere. Drawing in a deep breath, I analyze each scent, aroma and fragrance of the woods I’ve encircled myself in, each odor bringing me into a more engrossed tranquility. It’s times like these that I long for my unborn inner wolf so I can connect with nature on a closer level.
Detective Jones’s mouth went dry as he drove to the station. They were doing a broadcast on TV to announce the death of the 15-year-old girl. Aaron had to tell his family the Kennedy had passed and that they need to arrange a funeral. Jones couldn’t even imagine the pain that Aaron and his family are going through, but he knows it’s unbearable. He once had a death in his family, but he wasn’t close to that person. Detective Jones noticed how it affected his family.
“Mama!” the crying boy screamed as he was flung around the shoulder of a tall man with a gun slung around his other shoulder. His mother painfully watched her son being dragged away. She continually told herself it was for his own wellbeing and that he could've died if he was left with her. The boy screamed and screamed, not understanding why his mom was just quietly watching in the distance, doing nothing.
Her husband had been killed due to a railroad disaster. Her reaction was the same as anyone else’s: immediate pain. She went upstairs to remain alone in her room, where she cried passionately about the death. She walked over towards the open window and observed the world as if it were alive and fresh, where she thought and thought. She started to wonder if her husband’s death was such a
The Creature That Opened My Eyes Sympathy, anger, hate, and empathy, these are just a few of the emotions that came over me while getting to know and trying to understand the creature created by victor frankenstein in Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein. For the first time I became completely enthralled in a novel and learned to appreciate literature not only for the great stories they tell but also for the affect it could have on someones life as cliché as that might sound, if that weren’t enough it also gave me a greater appreciation and understanding of the idiom “never judge a book by its cover.” As a pimply faced, insecure, loner, and at most times self absorbed sophomore in high school I was never one to put anytime or focus when it came time
It’s a street like every other street in the world but somehow it’s different, it’s kind of creepy and this feeling of horror is in the air. Darkness is hanging from the houses and lying on the floor, the light of the lanterns is shining fiercely red and the clouds are darkened and grey. All the trees lost their leaves a long time ago and they get older, the fields are blank and the flowers are dead. The colors of the houses got dirty and they lost their beauty, rats are running from house to house to find something to eat, flies assemble around rooted food that they find in the house. The only thing you can hear is the wind blowing through the dying trees and from time to time the sound of crushing windows or doors. Even the sun or the moon never shine here anymore, the clouds never leave. The life went out of this street.
One of the most unique creatures are fish. As I am sitting here in my room, my fish are swimming about with not a care in the world. I wonder what it would feel like to be a fish.