I awoke with a strangled cry, startled to find him standing over me. The Stalker, dressed all in black like always. Sure, I’ve seen him before, but never up close. Watching me from a darkened doorway, peering through the slats of the dingy blinds in an abandoned house, sitting in the next car over on the subway, standing on the opposite curb as I waited for the Walk signal. For the most part, I’ve gotten over being afraid. In the beginning, I was terrified. Double- and triple-bolting the doors, nailing the windows shut, willing to take my chances on burning up in a house fire as long as he couldn’t get me. I'd worry that he’d gotten in the house while I was out, check every nook and cranny, places he couldn’t possibly fit, my frenzied imagination granting him superhuman powers. Maybe he could shrink himself to the size of a mouse, wait for me to let …show more content…
On the whole, my life runs pretty smooth. Like even though I live in a not-so-great part of the city, I’ve never been mugged, not even in the dark subway tunnels late at night. Maybe The Stalker’s a good guy. Maybe everybody has one; they’re just too wrapped up in themselves to notice. He isn’t looking so benevolent right about now, looming over me. How’d he even get in? Have I gotten so complacent that I forgot to bolt the door? Now I feel invincible, telling myself he’s protecting me? Does he stand watch every night, and I’ve just never woken up before? In all these years, I’ve never seen his face. Even now, it’s too dark. He’s too dark. Maybe he doesn’t have a face, just blackness, like the Grim Reaper. I’ve never seen him with a sickle...surely that would’ve caught my eye. Maybe the sickle’s a myth, artistic license to make Death look more interesting. Maybe he hired some fancy advertising firm to spruce up his image. I can just picture the brainstorming session for that gig. It needs something. It’s so blah—I know! It needs some
One question that stuck out in my mind was, “Where did this guy live before coming to Chicago?” The fact that he hadn’t experienced what he was going through before he hit age twenty-two struck me as odd. This led me to assume he originated from a mostly black community where white fear wasn’t common to him. The next thing that struck interest in my mind was the automatic assumption that the women in the alley feared him because he was black, and not because of the fact he was a rather large male at six-feet, two-inches, and had a beard. Not to mention that he was walking behind her late at night down an alleyway with no witnesses. Naturally even I would be wary of a man walking behind me in a situation like that, even if “the stalker” was a women. I do not blame that women for getting out of that situation.
I also don't own the idea, it was requested to me by the wonderful Amanda. Thank you so much! I hope I did this idea justice.
The director threw me the ball a few times, and I practiced hitting it in order to give me confidence. One time when he threw it, I hit it. There are two cameras next to each other, and the ball went right through the middle. My jaw dropped when I saw that. I couldn't believe it.
This is evident in that he has forsaken all his worldly interests, hobbies and relationships in order to honor his deceased father. He continues to publicly demonstrate his grief by donning black garments appropriate for mourning. His general disposition is morose; seemingly dejected and despondent. When questioned, he insists his grief is much deeper than what his dark clothes and mood reveal.
The “Black as death” is likely a reference to the bubonic plague. This use of imagery shows that he is suffering from the murder as well.
The warm morning sun lit up the spring skies. The chapel was lit only by the dwindling sunlight seeping through stained glass windows which patterned the ground in fluorescent colours that danced along the cold marble floor. Massive pillars protruded from the ground, towering above the rich deep mahogany benches, and the fragile chandelier that shone like diamonds was dangling from the night sky on strands of web covered in dew. The rain swept through the exposed, cracked bricks and wind whispered through the unkempt grass that protruded from the rotting wooden floor boards which was a ghoulish shade of decay, antiquity, as well as dissolution. A dark silhouette of figure lurked underneath the shadows.
The sun broke through the clouds on that crisp April morning as we drove to school. That morning felt off, a feeling that I had felt only one time before. The world moved too fast for me and I struggled to catch up. The raspy voices of the men on radio show thundered over the speakers in my father’s truck as we approached the school.
I'm so excited, I'm on a plane to Australia from London for my dad's job. He works as an author and he was invited for a conference. My mom and I were coming as well because we always wanted to go to Australia and this was the perfect opportunity. My friends Ana, Carole, Cathy and Sam were coming with their parents as well. We obviously had a lot of convincing to do and we had to make some compromises, but it all worked out and here we are.
My feet seep into the brown dirt that piles on for miles and miles in the desert town. I look to my right to see a shiny reflection from the metal trailer home my family and I currently inhabit. This town will be the death of me. My body feels the longing sense of escaping from the rows of rusted, broken-down trailer homes that lay flat on top of dirt.
I land in Philadelphia alone on Christmas’s eve. Out of the airport, I spot immediately his scruffy look. Mike is staring at me shaking his head and I can’t stop but laugh at his gesture. “Buddy!” I yell opening my arms.
One warm night, he came through the bedroom window. His sudden intrusion angered me. That was the first time I saw him in this house. His tiny round eyes seemed innocent enough, but he was frightened by my stare. His skinny long legs were trembling. He turned his head, saying, "I'm completely lost." That was certainly not a good excuse for breaking into my private property. "Hey, YOU, get outta here," I said as I picked him and threw him out of the window. "Never come back!"
The brisk winter air bit at my ankles as I trudged through the light snowfall on the train platforms. I heard the scrapes of harsh metal stopping, the clicking of women’s heels, the harsh Czech dialects, and the muffled sound of tears. Then, I passed under a cloud of clove smoke shot up by a blonde woman with deep crimson lips. Only the red color was visible under her thick smoke, a tattered blue shawl draped over her skeletal shoulders, and a yellow shirtwaist dress that was worn. The smoke settled and piercing blue eyes met mine.
I stepped out into the bright, frigid landscape. The blinding light was infernal. It was ridiculous going to a place that cast me out so easily for something couldn't change. I refuse to change it. Those antisemitic swine could go jump in a hole.
It was a beautiful night. It was perfect for a walk. As I strolled further into the park a figure approached me. It was as dark as pitch so I couldn’t make out who it was. It was late; you wouldn’t usually see anyone at this time. My heart was beating faster and faster. The strange thing was I wasn’t frightened; it was just my heart beating rapidly. As the masculine figure approached, I began to walk slower. That was when I heard the voice.
as the man of the day. The invisible worm? The image of the worm is very unusual, but yet very effective. Worms are seen as slimy. dirty, and they feed on death, it even holds some kind of.