The sky is darkening with the upcoming storm, and I can smell the rain as the lightning dances across the sky. Thunder roars in the distance; I quicken my pace down the street for fear of the storm. I cling tightly to bundle of books I hold my hands, my house is still far away. It’s better to be away from that place. I stare at the pavement as the water pours down from the sky; within moments I find myself on the ground I look up to meet the blue eyes from an unfamiliar face. He kneels down next to me “I'm so sorry,” he says in a shaky voice. He begins to gather the scattered books in his arms. As I stand up to meet his blue eyes again I smile in embarrassment and look to the ground. He hands me the books that I had dropped and smiles. Without saying anything I continue to walk to the awaiting horrors I call home. My cheeks are red with embarrassment, I can't stop blushing. “Who is this guy?” I ponder. I fear the inevitable pain I will receive arriving home. I turn the corner and stop, I am afraid to look back to see him still standing there. I check to see that I still have everything and keep walking home. I open the door, my father is standing there waiting. “Why are you home so late, you're drenched,” my father yells “look at you, you are pathetic!” I stand, accepting the screams of my father as he releasing all his anger into me, “Bu-,” I choke out to only be cut off, he grabs my wrist and dragged me to my room where he shoves me in and shuts the door. I go to my bed, I fall into the cushions down, tears softly falling down my cheeks. He doesn't care what I’m doing, he never does. I looked up at the time, it is 6:00pm, the sun is just falling below the horizon, the golden orange sky lay dormant, dark clouds hang overhead... ... middle of paper ... ...rnal bleeding, he died shortly after he arrived here." She said out in a saddened tone. I fall start to cry hysterically and walk out of the hospital, trying not to relive that moment of the car striking him. I walk slowly to the cemetery trying to make sense of things. I had just lost a friend, someone I had just met that day. Was it even possible to find someone to love within hours of finding them. Still crying I pass gravestones, walking to the pond that sat at the edge of the cemetery. I look into the reflective waters of pond, It seemed so peaceful,so serene, so calm. at that instant I knew what to do. I swim out to the middle of the pond and put my face into the water. The life being drained from my body as I ran out of air. Images played in my head of Reign and how much there could have been. Blackness started to pour in and then everything disappeared.
From the opening we see that Chopin intends to use the storm to move the
In Kate Chopin’s “The Storm”, sin happens to make a bond stronger than before. The story illustrates a couple who seems to be similar to the nature surrounding them. Both Calixta and Bobinôt happen to be going through a stormy period in their marriage. Although they are going through this turbulent period, Bobinôt’s actions display his imperfect but unconditional love for his wife. Bobinôt may not be the husband Calixta dreams of but throughout the story he illustrates that it does not matter what happens, the storm will pass and he will love her no matter what.
“The Storm” may be interpreted as a condemnation of societal constraints upon feminine sexuality. As Calixta “unfastened her white sacque at the throat” she was taking off chains of oppression of her sexuality. When Calixta “nervously began to gather up from the floor the lengths of a cotton sheet which she had been sewing” she is putting her duties away for pleasure and is finally going to fulfill her birthright for passionate sex. In “The Storm” Calixta is a shameless married woman who “lifted her pretty chin in the air and laughed aloud” after committing an adulteress act. Kate Chopin had a unique style of writing for her time.
I would shut my eyes because I knew what was coming. And before I shut my eyes, I held my breath, like a swimmer ready to dive into a deep ocean. I could never watch when his hands came toward me; I only patiently waited for the harsh sound of the strike. I would always remember his eyes right before I closed my own: pupils wide with rage, cold, and dark eyebrows clenched with hate. When it finally came, I never knew which fist hit me first, or which blow sent me to my knees because I could not bring myself to open my eyes. They were closed because I didn’t want to see what he had promised he would never do again. In the darkness of my mind, I could escape to a paradise where he would never reach me. I would find again the haven where I kept my hopes, dreams, and childhood memories. His words could not devour me there, and his violence could not poison my soul because I was in my own world, away from this reality. When it was all over, and the only thing left were bruises, tears, and bleeding flesh, I felt a relief run through my body. It was so predictable. For there was no more need to recede, only to recover. There was no more reason to be afraid; it was over. He would feel sorry for me, promise that it would never happen again, hold me, and say how much he loved me. This was the end of the pain, not the beginning, and I believed that everything would be all right.
I peered around through the rain, desperately searching for some shelter, I was drowning out here. The trouble was, I wasn’t in the best part of town, and in fact it was more than a little dodgy. I know this is my home turf but even I had to be careful. At least I seemed to be the only one out here on such an awful night. The rain was so powerfully loud I couldn’t hear should anyone try and creep up on me. I also couldn’t see very far with the rain so heavy and of course there were no street lights, they’d been broken long ago. The one place I knew I could safely enter was the church, so I dashed.
In the morning my father was there to drive us to school. I didn’t ask about the argument that I had heard the night before. I just figured somethings were better left alone. I could tell by my father’s face that he was upset. In all my fourteen years I had never seen him this upset accept for the night that my grandfather died.
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.
I am jarred out of a relaxing sleep by a voice yelling my name in a loud whisper, and a light burning through my eyelids. Groggily, I open my eyes to see my father standing in the doorway to my messy room. He tells me that I need to get going, that it is 3:00 a.m., and I'm burning daylight. I find my clothes and get dressed. The whole time I wonder why I get up this early to visit the rugged outdoors. I want to go back to bed, but I know my dad will be back in to make sure I am getting ready, in a little bit. Instead, I put my boots and my wide-brimmed, black cowboy hat on, and walked out to catch the horses. The horses are all excited because it is dark and they are not that cooperative. My dad and I get them saddled and in the trailer, and go back into the house to get our lunch, water, and a cup of coffee. Now, we can head for the high country.
We took off down a path covered softly with moss and tiny pink flowers. Off to the side of the path were endless green trees and pants all nestled together to make one beautiful piece of art. After a while, we reached a sparkling, clear brook. It was about twelve feet deep and nearly three feet deep. The path wound right along side the water. Down the brook a ways, we came to a deep water hole where the fish danced in the swirling current. I noticed the brook was beginning to flow a little faster now, and I could hear the steady, rushing noise of the water falling over the cliffs that lied ahead. We walked to the cliff's edge to look over at the crystal clear lagoon that lay below us. The falls dropped about thirty feet down before it met the pool of water below. To the sides of the waterfall were moss-covered rocks, ferns and other green plants, growing from the crevices of the cliffs.
I wearily drag myself away from the silken violet comforter and slump out into the living room. The green and red print of our family’s southwestern style couch streaks boldly against the deep blues of the opposing sitting chairs, calling me to it. Of course I oblige the billowy haven, roughly plopping down and curling into the cushions, ignoring the faint smell of smoke that clings to the fabric. My focus fades in and out for a while, allowing my mind to relax and unwind from any treacherous dreams of the pervious night, until I hear the telltale creak of door hinges. My eyes flutter lightly open to see my Father dressed in smart brown slacks and a deep earthy t-shirt, his graying hair and beard neatly comber into order. He places his appointment book and hair products in a bag near the door signaling the rapid approaching time of departure. Soon he is parading out the door with ever-fading whispers of ‘I love you kid,’ and ‘be good.’
It was a dreadful afternoon, big droplets of rain fell directly on my face and clothes. I tasted the droplets that mixed with my tears, the tears I cried after the incident. The pain in my foot was excruciating. It caused me to make a big decision of whether I should visit you or not. I decided I would. I limped towards my bright, blue car where my bony, body collapsed onto the seat. I started the engine up but at the same time being cautious of my bleeding foot. I then drove to the destination where I was bound to meet you. I was bound to meet you after three years of counselling from my last appearance with you. I guess all I can remember is the scarring....
There once was a man who dreamed he was at the end of his life. He saw his life as if it were a walk along a beach with Jesus. As he looked back over his life he saw two sets of footprints in the sand along most of the way -- one set belonging to him, the other to Jesus. He noticed, though, that many times along the path of his life there was only one set of footprints in the sand. He also noticed that it happened at the very lowest and saddest times in his life.
We stood imperially on the summit of this wondrous peak. We had conquered the mighty North face of the Eiger, the most treacherous ascent in the Alps. Daniel Anker and I sat astonished on the summit grinning insanely at each other, unable to fathom words to describe our exultation.
She slammed the door behind her. Her face was hot as she grabbed her new perfume and flung it forcefully against the wall. That was the perfume that he had bought for her. She didn't want it anymore. His voice coaxed from the other side of the door. She shouted at him to get away. Throwing herself on the bed and covering her face with one of his shirts, she cried. His voice coaxed constantly, saying Carol, let me in. Let me explain.' She shouted out no!' Then cried some more. Time passed with each sob she made. When she caught herself, there was no sound on the other side of the door. A long silence stood between her and the door. Maybe she had been too hard on him, she thought. Maybe he really had a good explanation. She hesitated before she walked toward the door and twisted the handle. Her heart was crying out to her at this moment. He wasn't there. She called out his name. "Thomas!" Her cries were interrupted by the revving of an engine in the garage. She made it to the window in time to see his Volvo back out the yard. "Thomas! Thomas....wait!" Her cries vanished into thin air as the Volvo disappeared around the bend. Carol grew really angry all of a sudden. How could he leave? He'll sleep on the couch when he gets back. Those were her thoughts.
As usual I woke up to the sound of my father pounding on my bedroom door, hollering, “Get up! Get on your feet! You’re burning daylight!” I met my brother in the hallway, and we took our time making it down the stairs, still waking up from last night’s sleep. As we made our way to the kitchen, I thought about what to have for breakfast: fried eggs, pancakes, an omelet, or maybe just some cereal. I started to get hungry. As usual, mom and dad were waiting in the kitchen. Mom was ready to cook whatever we could all agree on, and dad was sitting at the table watching the news. The conversation went as usual, “Good morning.” “How are you today?”