Wait a second!
More handpicked essays just for you.
More handpicked essays just for you.
Essay on the effects of social-isolation
Essay on the effects of social-isolation
Isolation and its effect on society
Don’t take our word for it - see why 10 million students trust us with their essay needs.
Recommended: Essay on the effects of social-isolation
Sitting across from me I noticed an old woman with white hair and round glasses looking at me as if I had killed her children or ruined her marriage. The old woman was wearing a purple moo moo decorated with poorly drawn roses that looked like something a kindergartner would finger paint. I knew this woman from somewhere, but I couldn't remember what her name was until I noticed the neon pink bunny slippers she was wearing. That old cranky woman was Penelope’s mother Harriet Shepherd who didn't like me before I died which means she has to despises me now since I abandoned her daughter for thirty years. Now that I think about it my subconscious was kind of hoping she wouldn't be around not dead just in a coma or locked inside a plastic bubble. …show more content…
Judging by the fact that Penelope's father Julian was nowhere in sight I assumed he was dead which was a tragedy because unlike his wife he actually liked me. The people in the room wouldn't take their eyes off me, but they also wouldn't say a word to me putting all of us in an awkward situation something I never really cared for. The man with the wrinkled forehead was about to talk to me, but before he got the chance Penelope grabbed my arm and dragged me up a flight of stairs. Harriet followed us up the stairs she held her arms out trying to prevent me from escaping, but if I really wanted to escape I don't think it would have been that hard to get past a seventy year old woman. Penelope dragged me into a random bedroom and threw me onto the bed. Harriet closed and locked the door behind her probably thinking I would try to make a run for …show more content…
“You don't get to talk.” “Benjamin do you think you can leave me for thirty years and just stroll back into my life.” “Technically I didn't leave you I was stabbed to death and then somehow brought back to life twelve years later.” “I got to say puberty is a lot worse when you have to do it more than once.” “What in the hell are you talking about?” “Well I'm sure you remember the fact I possess magic apparently someone killed me brought me back to life, but no before they sealed away my memories of my past life.” “That doesn't matter I was alone for thirty years after you left I couldn't read, watch, or listen to anything that had magic in it.” “I spent three years crying over losing you I hit rock bottom.” “One day I walked into a grocery store and cried when I picked up a jar of peanut butter because the company's mascot looked like you.” “After my father died the only person I had left to help me look after the kids and keep me sane was my mother.” “You have children?” “No we have children.” “Are they here what do they look like how much did you tell them about me?” “They're downstairs, and I haven't told them anything about you since I never wanted them trying to find
“Straining his eyes, he saw the lean figure of General Zaroff. Then... everything went dark. Maggie woke up in her bed. “Finally woke up from that nightmare. Man… I miss my brother. Who was that person that my brother wanted to kill?” she looks at the clock and its 9:15am “Crap I’m late for work!” Maggie got in her car and drove to the hospital for work.
He just turned and left without a word. I touched Lennie’s grave. The rough touch of the wood deflecting to my fingers. I walked back to the ranch. Everyone was asleep. I wanted to run away tomorrow but I couldn’t let this chance pass up. It also prevented any chance of Candy following me. I tiptoed out of the room and went straight to the woods. I made sure to mix myself in with the shadows of the trees. I saw the river and It felt like I did it...until I felt something grab me by my neck. I quickly got flipped over and pushed to the ground.
The book starts off with Jeannette, a successful adult, taking a taxi to a nice party. When she looked out the window, she saw a woman digging through the garbage. The woman was her mother. Rather than calling out to her or saying hi, Jeannette slid down into the seat in fear that her mother would see her. When asking her mother what she should say when people ask about her family, Rose Mary Walls only told her, “Ju...
I write this last letter to you, my love, sharing my deepest and darkest secrets and my adventures. First I started my journey fighting the battle in Troy against the Trojan. Then I my journey to get back home to you and Telemachus. We traveled past Ismarus and the Lotus eaters, finally reaching our real challenge, meeting the cyclopes Polyphemus. We ventured into his cave and found ourselves eating cheese. However, the monster soon returned to his lair, trapping us within it. He grew angry, devouring two of our men. We intoxicated him, then punctured his single eye. We found a way out in an intellectual way by hiding under the sheeps and going out in the morning. Unfortunately, I became a
“The day that I found out about my mother, I was at school,” he said, “I remember I was on the playground. Somebody came up and said ‘you’re laughing, huh?’ from behind the gate. ‘Your mother is dead.’ The man said.
“Daisy, are you done with your book honey”, mom said loudly. “Yes”, I declared proudly. After all, it was a long and dry book at the beginning, and it did take a pretty long time. “So, do you want to tell me what it’s about?” my mom said inquisitively. “Sure”, I said, stuffing a piece of meatloaf into my mouth. “So, this book is called The Witchy Worries of Abby Adams. In the beginning, they introduce the characters. You know, like they do in every book. After that –’’Ding dong! “Oh my, I wonder who it could be!”My mother said, getting up from her seat to go get the door. “Hi Abby! Come on in. What brings you today?”Mom says excitedly. Abby? I thought. How strange! Just like the girl in my book. It must be a coincidence. “Actually Mrs. Holcomb, I would like to talk to Daisy”, Abby said. As soon as those words left her mouth, a chill went up my spine. How did mom know her? What does she want from me? Many questions were flying through brain. So much that I couldn’t even remember my own name. I can hear their footsteps through the halls. With every footstep, my heart would race faster, my hands would get sweatier, and my mind gets more clueless every time.
I’m Freda Josephine Baker born to Carrie McDonald and Eddie Carson on June 3rd, 1906, in St. Louis, Missouri, but most of you may know me as Josephine Baker. At the age of 12 I dropped out of school to become an entertainer, yes yes, I remember it like it was yesterday, I was young and ready to become a star. I grew up cleaning houses and babysitting for white families, and they always reminded me “be sure not to kiss the baby”. When I was 13, I got a waitressing job at the Chauffeur’s Club, which was where I met my first husband, our marriage was very brief; I had never hesitated to leave anyone, never depended on any man for anything, that’s for sure.
Maudire les actions du diable ! After years of working my fingers to the bone, this is all I get! The three people I valued most have left me. Ellen- my dear wife- passed away. My son – the one I trusted to be there for my family, after my time– has gone. Also my doll, my Mattie, with her sweet smile, her resilience as strong as a bull…Très bien! Qu'est-ce que je vais faire? My land, and my shattered family are all I have. I feel nothing… except shame, fear, and sleepless yearning for my loved ones. What bothers me most is … they all left me. Life would be so much easier with Lawton pulling the cart, Mattie looking after the younger ones and my precious Ellen… just staying here with me. I've been double-crossed by MY family!
Penelope, the wife of Odysseus, can be compared in a various ways to the other characters in Homer’s poem The Odyssey. In many ways, Penelope symbolizes the ideal woman, in that she follows to the values and ideals of her society. These ideals include faithfulness, devotion, and determination; pride your home and family, and warmth to strangers. Their dedication to each other, their power to stay together through times of happiness and times of sad, and their will to survive the test of time.
Penelope has a very active conscious and sub-conscious. At times, it is difficult to distinguish which acts are being committed by her consciously and which are being committed subconsciously. With this in mind, it is beneficial to think of her cleverness being illustrated on both levels.
I stare into a black void of stars and the moon. Still undecided to lay perfectly still or stand up and move, but I don’t. I'm in pain not because of my cancer or the fact that were all dying some faster than others. But the fact that Augustus is still gone and isn't coming back. I know that he's been gone for 3 years.
‘I have been noticing Mr Collins more and more of late’ thought Charlotte Lucas. ‘ Although not the most amiable gentleman, he seems to be in want of a wife, and in good speed. I know it seems silly and that Mr Collins would not so much as look my way, but at 27 years, I myself am becoming older and more and more out of my marriage span with each passing day. If I do not marry soon, I worry that I will become an unwanted, old maid. Should I be asked my hand, I would gladly and hastily accept the offer from any man, no matter how un-agreeable he appears’.
My dearest Penelope, I am pleased to tell you that the war of Troy is over and we have gained victory. I have begun my long journey home. My men and I chose to stop at the Island of Ismaros to restock on necessary supplies. We were met by the Kikones and my men slaughtered many of them, enslaved their women, and killed their livestock due to them being on the side of the wretched Trojans. Afterwards I wanted to leave, but my men wanted to stay behind and continue to celebrate their victory.
When 12 years old came around, nothing could’ve primed me for the amount of devastation that was to submerge my happy little world. Two months after my birthday, I received word that my renowned and dearly loved, Uncle Dean, had been killed in an unfortunate automobile accident. Crushed, yet filled with a strange numbness, I became withdrawn and dwindled in disbelief. “How could this be?” I would repeat those words of this question over and over to myself, as if it were some magical mantra that could resurrect my deceased best ally. I began taking in the gravity of what this all meant: no more “piggy-back” rides, no more wrestling matches, no more late-night video game contests, ultimately no more fun with Uncle Dean, ever. I never got a opportunity to say good-bye.
When discussing the poetic form of dramatic monologue it is rare that it is not associated with and its usage attributed to the poet Robert Browning. Robert Browning has been considered the master of the dramatic monologue. Although some critics are skeptical of his invention of the form, for dramatic monologue is evidenced in poetry preceding Browning, it is believed that his extensive and varied use of the dramatic monologue has significantly contributed to the form and has had an enormous impact on modern poetry. "The dramatic monologues of Robert Browning represent the most significant use of the form in postromantic poetry" (Preminger and Brogan 799). The dramatic monologue as we understand it today "is a lyric poem in which the speaker addresses a silent listener, revealing himself in the context of a dramatic situation" (Murfin 97). "The character is speaking to an identifiable but silent listener at a dramatic moment in the speaker's life. The circumstances surrounding the conversation, one side which we "hear" as the dramatic monologue, are made by clear implication, and an insight into the character of the speaker may result" (Holman and Harmon 152).