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literary devices and their use
literary devices and their use
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I gazed out the window, amazed at how the sun rose from the horizon and illuminated the dimly lit car. It was the beginning of August but my teeth chattered violently as I sat against the cold seat. My grandfather was wise to insist that I change from my bathing suit before we left from our annual trip in Atlantic City, New Jersey, however, my sister and I choose to spend our last minutes merrily wadding in the ocean. A feeble yawn escaped my lips as I felt the cold penetrate through the flimsy blanket and make my clothes cling to my skin. I was going home.
I had anticipated the trip all summer long and now that it was over, I wanted one more swim, one more ride, and one more delightful taste of fluffy cotton candy. It was time to go back to the reality of an unhealthy grandma and the fear of death. My grandma was an alcoholic and I had grown used to the numerous trips to the hospital and the promises of change with the apologies of regret. Day after day, she would sit in the old flower-patterned wooden chair drinking the forty-ounce beer, which she weakly tried to obfuscate in the wrinkled brown paper bag. At the innocent age of eleven, I knew about the evil brown elixir that she tried to conceal and the smell of it made my nostrils flare and stomach churn in repulsion.
The silence in the car became deafening as the reality of what awaited me at home became translucent. The doctors would do as they always did, give her advice, the number to a rehabilitation center and she would come home with a cry of redemption. After a week of abstinence and several incidents of violence, she would sooth her emotions with a drink. In order to regain composure she needed divine intervention and the support of her family. Unlike most of the members of my family, I still believed that she was capable of recovery but I was also slowly losing faith in her. Before we left for New Jersey, she had learned that her liver was failing and she had no more chances to rectify her life. She had to stop.
Through my tired eyes, I observed a feathery white cloud float across the sky and obscure the radiant sun. We were almost home and I could not get the haunting thoughts out of my head.
Behind the light, there lies the voice. A voice unlike any other, this was a petrified voice. It was voice that had an unrecognizable meaning to it. Each and every night, it would get louder and louder. Nobody ever knew where the noise came from, until one day, it was found.
A long breath leaves pale, cracked lips. Glassy grey eyes look longingly into the night sky. Dark hair splayed out beneath her in the crimson liquid that was soaking into the ground. A long gash from her shoulder to her ear. "Shit...." she mumbled, tears gathering behind her lashes. "Shit, I'm so sorry..." Her mind was going a mile a minute, ears still ringing from the impact. Finally it stopped on one person, a dark haired girl of the same age, staring at her with a sad look. "I'm sorry..." She whispered, weaker this time. "You were my purpose..." She said quietly. Her eyes blinked slowly as to accommodate the black spots dancing across her vision. As soon as that girl had left, she stopped counting the pills she took, stopped looking both ways before crossing the road. Because she had no will anymore, no joy. And now, no life left in her body. The lights of an ambulance were approaching fast,
I vividly recall being five years old, my mother and I going home after a wedding where she made the decision to drown her pain in alcohol. Being under the influence, mami collapsed in front of my eyes before entering our mint-blue front door. I did not know what was happening so I began to scream desperately for help. She tried to get up off the ground, but she was unable to do so. My initial thought was that she was going to die, and I did not know how to help her. She closed her eyes and for a moment, I thought she was gone. Tears were running down
I know that it hurts my mother to see me struggling with alcohol. While at home visiting I stayed out drinking some good ole whisky one night. At the time it was fun, but when I got back to the Robert’s house I wasn’t feeling so good about it. So I set up my dolls in a line of twelve and shot each one. After shooting them I recited the twelve steps from alcoholics anonymous. The whole time my momma was watching from the porch. I felt just awful that I had made her cry and I apologized to her for being drunk again. She was understanding, but she wasn’t always so easy to get along with. When I was a boy, she was a little controlling at times. She ran the farm and had me working it for her. I never liked the farm life much. That is why I took off the first chance I got to California. I got a real job making cash money. Every once in awhile I would send a check out to my momma. I felt bad for leaving her behind on the farm. I thought I might be able to help in some way, even though I wasn’t there.
As I nervously sat in the corner of the emergency room awaiting the doctor’s decision, I could feel my heart pounding rapidly. It felt like an explosive ticking down to zero. Fear began to take over my whole body and thoughts, and I became frightened. The thought of losing my grandma was like a dreadful nightmare. She was there for me whenever I needed here. Couldn’t the doctors find some super way of helping my grandma recover from her medical issues? Just then, Dr. Vittal, the chief surgeon, ran over to the bench where I and my cousin sat anxiously. He put his warm hands on my shoulders, and told me to stay stay strong and keep my hopes up. He told me that he planned to execute many operations to keep my grandma alive. As the surgeon’s words reverberated through my ears, my hope for my grandma living jumped through the roof but I still was not sure.
I awoke to the sun piercing through the screen of my tent while stretching my arms out wide to nudge my friend Alicia to wake up. “Finally!” I said to Alicia, the countdown is over. As I unzip the screen door and we climb out of our tent, I’m embraced with the aroma of campfire burritos that Alicia’s mom Nancy was preparing for us on her gargantuan skillet. While we wait for our breakfast to be finished, me and Alicia, as we do every morning, head to the front convenient store for our morning french vanilla cappuccino. On our walk back to the campsite we always take a short stroll along the lake shore to admire the incandescent sun as it shines over the gleaming dark blue water. This has become a tradition that we do every morning together
When my parents finally revealed to me that my grandmother had been battling liver cancer, I was twelve and I was angry--mostly with myself. They had wanted to protect me--only six years old at the time--from the complex and morose concept of death. However, when the end inevitably arrived, I wasn’t trying to comprehend what dying was; I was trying to understand how I had been able to abandon my sick grandmother in favor of playing with friends and watching TV. Hurt that my parents had deceived me and resentful of my own oblivion, I committed myself to preventing such blindness from resurfacing.
My grandmother led me to the master bedroom where my grandfather lies with an eerie stillness. The expression on my face must have been priceless, my grandmother touched my shoulder, and informed me, grandpa is sleeping. My grandmother asked me to have a cup of tea with her, so we strolled slowly to the kitchen in silence. Meanwhile, my husband stayed in the room with grandfather watching over him as if he was a guardian of the night. She proceeded to the brew Chai Tea, and she and I sat at the table talking for what appeared like hours. During our heartfelt conversation she informed be that Grandpa should be on what they call “Hospice” care, nonetheless they both refused it. She knew I was familiar palliative care from working in the hospital. This was the reason my grandfather had requested both Jim and I, to bring him to Wisconsin. My heart sank in my chest as I came to the realization that I was in fact “Journeying” my grandfather home to die. While my grandfather rested in bed, the three of us took care of packing, and making arrangements for somebody to watch the home while my grandmother was away. We loaded the vehicle with additional provisions for the long journey home, including a walker and wheelchair. Jim and I made a bed in the back of the Excursion using a mattress and a memory foam pad, to ensure my grandfather’s comfort for the long journey home. Finally, it was time to aid my grandfather into
Thumbs Out A girlfriend of mine once defended me to her father by saying, calmly, “Not everyone who wanders is lost.” The dad kicked me out of the house anyway. But the damage had been done. Not everyone who wanders is lost.
My mom looked at me, taking my face in her hands, and smiled, “Of course we can. They’re moving her to the hospital tomorrow, but she’ll be resting at home now. We can visit right now if you’d like.” I nodded. Placing my hands at the end of the couch cushion, I pushed myself up, and followed my mom to the car. Minutes later, we arrived at my grandma’s house. I rushed up the stairs, and into her house. A familiar floral scent came over me, and I walked to the stairs that lead to the second floor.
Riding home Friday, December twenty-first, doubting my father’s ability to stay sober, I held on to the promise that my dad made to stop drinking. To my surprise, the house was peaceful as my parents made plans for the night. Relieved, I settled down in my room and practiced my guitar. As soon as my parents left though, my stomach began turning as I thought about the dangers of alcohol and how it can turn a fun night into a nightmare after a few drinks. However, I dismissed my worries and trusted my father to control his desires. Unfortunately, I received a call late in the night from a stranger
It was a bright sunny day. The sun had awoken and the moon had left. The aroma of the daisies and roses filled the air. Butterflies flew from rose to rose and from daisy to daisy. As I walked through through the garden I saw an old friend. She sat on the bench, that was near the water fountain, sadly and lonely. I walked over to her and asked her what her name was for it had been ages since I had spoken to her.
When it came time to be whisked off to the funeral home, it was dead silent in my family’s car. My sister and I were busy on our phones while the radio playing was the only noise between my mom and my dad. When we arrived at our destination, my dad grunted out, “We’re here, go in first.” As I walked towards the funeral home, the scent of my dad 's newly lit cigarette curled around my
She had lost her mother, untimely taken by the unforgiving sickness of cancer. Both of them felt the inexplicable grief that came with the loss of such a wonderful woman, dealing with her death in their own ways. Alice turned to art, a therapeutic way to express her feelings while simultaneously uplifting others, her father however, turned to drugs, and after making the heartbreaking discovery of her father’s new habit a few months ago, Alice had made him promise that he would find more effective ways of managing his emotions. She had already lost one parent; she couldn’t take losing too, which was why when her father confessed that he had a drug relapse she had reacted so
In the haze of the morning I remember reflecting on the adventure-filled summer I had experienced: I traveled to the Upper Peninsula to hike Pictured Rocks, tubed down the Rifle River, spent weekends in Caseville at my grandparents, and hunted boar in Tennessee. There was so much more I had done so it was challenging to remember, plus every weekend I found myself going out to embark on new adventures. Being sober for three years, every year kept on getting better and every year seemed to fill up with more positive activities. I was already planning to attend my first Red Wings game with my brother; we decided to see the opening game against the Sharks. The next thing I prepared to cross off of my bucket list was snowboarding as it had been my dream since I was a kid. My mind trotted further into the past when I used drugs and I missed those times because I did not have a care in the world. The thoughts of all of the responsibilities I held upon my shoulders lead me to be tempted to go back to how my life used to be years ago. I shook my head and reminded myself that my past life was more depressing than it had been fun and this was the time to continue to tackle my