I wasn 't always afraid. No one was afraid. There was nothing to fear. Then They showed themselves to us, They have been living on earth for centuries. No one ever gave them a second look. Never thought something like them could possibly exist. Now, because of human ignorance, my life is a nightmare. Only this time, I know there is no waking up. If you are reading this, you are lucky to have survived. You need to know that you are living in a state of oblivion. In a time where everyone has forgotten the truth. That 's what they do. It 's what They have always done. They control your mind to make you forget. By now you are probably wondering who "They" are. They call themselves "Alien Nuclear Technology" we call them ants.
Isabella:
The waves were crashing against the shore. The ocean was like a two year old child, even when it was calm, you could still feel the energy lingering in each wave. It was peaceful. The kind of peaceful that causes you to stop everything and just breathe."Isabella" a voice called out. Turning away from the peaceful simplicity of the ocean, I searched for the voice. "Isabella" the voice called again, this time with growing urgency. "Isabella Lynn, Get out of bed now, you are going to be late for school" I then recognized the voice of my mother, steady and persistent. Similar to the thundering waves of the ocean. Regretfully, I tore myself from the comfort of my dreams to face the bitterness of reality. Swinging my pale, long legs over the side of the bed, my bare feet made contact with the cold hard floor. The sensation sent tingles through my whole body and I was tempted to slide into the warmth of my blankets once more. Lingering on the edge of the bed only a moment longer, I stood and began to get ready...
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...They don 't like it when you remember; They see you as a threat, or an ailment in the perfect world they have created. The world I live in may not be real, it may be dictated by forces beyond human mind capacity, but the fear I felt was real. I accidentally remembered. I remembered because I think too much. But if I don 't think too much, I think too little, and that is what They want. My thoughts became blurry and unfocused as the burning intensified and I realized they were making me forget again. They always make you forget again, if you 're unlucky enough to remember. I did what I have always done. I escaped into my mind, because in my mind, I was safe. In my mind, I could forget the pain. I went to the ocean and watched the waves beat upon the rocks. I had time to inscribe one word into the sand before it all went black. "ANTS" then it was over. I had forgotten.
The night was tempestuous and my emotions were subtle, like the flame upon a torch. They blew out at the same time that my sense of tranquility dispersed, as if the winds had simply come and gone. The shrill scream of a young girl ricocheted off the walls and for a few brief seconds, it was the only sound that I could hear. It was then that the waves of turmoil commenced to crash upon me. It seemed as though every last one of my senses were succumbed to disperse from my reach completely. As everything blurred, I could just barely make out the slam of a door from somewhere alongside me and soon, the only thing that was left in its place was an ominous silence.
Memory is everything to the human society. We communicate and build relationships off of our memories through the stories we tell. We are natural story tellers and have been telling stories since the beginning of time. More than half of the human race lives their lives based off of stories told by others such as culture, religion, and our general history. Have you ever asked yourself how real are these stories? Not saying that they are false, but it has been recently revealed that memory is false. So if memories are false then that would mean the stories that are being told are false. You probably looking at me as if I’m crazy but if you pay attention you will understand by the end of this essay. “It has been proven
Repressed memories is a topic that has been an ongoing dispute among some, however ac...
I thought this has got to be the least read of all the books I'd written because it is about something that the characters don't want to remember, I don't want to remember, black people don't want to remember, white people don't want to remember. I mean, it's national amnesia.
Human's fears should not be taken lightly. Fear could do anything to one's minds, though without fear, man can be as savage as animals. In the book Lord of the Flies, William Golding presented fear of the unknown to be a powerful force in a man's mind. Fear of the unknown is a powerful force, which can turn to either insight or hysteria. The kids feared of not being rescued off of the island, so they made signal fires on top of the mountain. Then, there and gone, Roger's fear of the old rules he abided to. Also, there were the fears of the beast which confused and isolated the kids from the top of the mountain.
In recent years there has been a hot debate between "repressed" vs. "false" memories. Neurobiological studies show that both suppression and recall and the creation of false memories are possible. This paper evaluates the evidence but forth by both sides of the controversy and concludes that both are feasible and separate phenomenon, which occur at significant rates in our society.
The smell of the restaurants faded and the new, refreshing aroma of the sea salt in the air took over. The sun’s warmth on my skin and the constant breeze was a familiar feeling that I loved every single time we came to the beach. I remember the first time we came to the beach. I was only nine years old. The white sand amazed me because it looked like a wavy blanket of snow, but was misleading because it was scorching hot. The water shone green like an emerald, it was content. By this I mean that the waves were weak enough to stand through as they rushed over me. There was no sense of fear of being drug out to sea like a shipwrecked sailor. Knowing all this now I knew exactly how to approach the beach. Wear my sandals as long as I could and lay spread out my towel without hesitation. Then I’d jump in the water to coat myself in a moist protective layer before returning to my now slightly less hot towel. In the water it was a completely different world. While trying to avoid the occasional passing jellyfish, it was an experience of
It has been stated that the application of memory functions in fictional works which act as a reflective device of human experience. (Lavenne, et al. 2005: 1). I intend to discuss the role of memory and recollection in Kazuo Ishiguro’s dystopian science-fiction novel Never Let Me Go (2005).
These doubts appear through the assumption that objects can replace mental memory. The first of the three is ephemeral monuments, which suggests that “collective memory doesn’t dwell on material objects,” and we get rid of what we don’t want to remember (Forty 5). Then there is Freud with his theory of mental process stating that repression of the ego is similar to forgetting, which is often intentional and desired (Forty 5). The third doubt is the Holocaust memorials, as they both desire to simultaneously remember and forget, challenged by the commemoration of the event without lessoning its severity (Forty 6). These problems illustrate how Western thought assumes forgetting to be more straightforward than it actually is.
The movie “E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial” which directed by Steven Spielberg could gives a better visual concept of this “creature”, which people called aliens. In this movie, an alien called ET was help by a troubled child Elliott to escape earth and go back his home-planet, the friendship between them has touched many audience. At this time, ask yourself, have you ever imagined that if you live with aliens, what the life around you would be? Would they help you to do anything you want with their superpower? Or would they become the most dangerous competitors in this small planet? However, whatever you might think about. There are some evidences that would provide that aliens exist, especially claim that they live in Area 51; the
A shrill cry echoed in the mist. I ducked, looking for a sign of movement. The heavy fog and cold storm provided nothing but a blanket, smothering all sight and creating a humid atmosphere. The freezing air continued to whip at my face, relentless and powerful. Our boat, stuck in the boggy water. Again a cry called. Somewhere out there was someone, or something.
These Extraterrestrials don’t have to look like what we’ve always imagined, driving spaceships and taking over planets. They might be some creepy-crawly insect, plants, or anything we can never think of. It can be one of the reason why you don’t believe in extraterrestrial lives; because
This morning I wake early from the light that creeps underneath my blinds and my bed next to the window. I wake floating on the streams of light, heated, like white wax spilled across the floor, dripping, soft. In bare feet I walk down the stairs, cold on the wood, and find my father in the kitchen, also awake early. Together, we leave the house, the house that my parents built with windows like walls, windows that show the water on either side of the island. We close the door quietly so as not to wake the sleepers. We walk down the pine-needle path, through the arch of trees, the steep wooden steps to the dock nestled in the sea-weed covered rocks. We sit silently on the bench, watch as the fog evaporates from the clear water. The trees and water are a painting in muted colors, silver and grays and greenish blue, hazy white above the trees.
As we pulled out of my parents driveway, the circumstances seemed very surreal. My entire way of life had been turned upside down with only a few hours consideration. I was very much “at sea” in the ...
Rolling waves gently brushed upon the sand and nipped softly at my toes. I gazed out into the oblivion of blue hue that lay before me. I stared hopefully at sun-filled sky, but I couldn’t help but wonder how I was going to get through the day. Honestly, I never thought in a million years that my daughter and I would be homeless. Oh, how I yearned for our house in the suburbs. A pain wrenched at my heart when I was once reminded again of my beloved husband, Peter. I missed him so much and couldn’t help but ask God why he was taken from us. Living underneath Pier 14 was no life for Emily and me. I had to get us out of here and back on our feet. My stomach moaned angrily. I needed to somehow find food for us, but how? Suddenly, something slimy brushed up against my leg and pierced my thoughts. I jumped back and brushed the residue of sand of my legs. What was that? As my eyes skimmed the water in front of me, I noticed something spinning in the foam of the waves. Curiosity got the best of me and I went over to take a closer look. The object danced in the waves and eventually was coughed out onto the beach. “Emily!” I called to my eight-year-old daughter who was, at that time, infatuated with a seashell that she found earlier that day. “Come here and see this! Mommy found something.” Although I had no idea what that something was and I definitely didn’t know it would change my life forever.