More handpicked essays just for you.
what are the themes in american literature
reflections on reading comprehension
literary elements in the storm
Don’t take our word for it - see why 10 million students trust us with their essay needs.
Recommended: what are the themes in american literature
One Stormy Night - Original Writing The sudden, swift, severe summer storm caught me totally unaware. I was walking down Old tree Road when the clouds started to build. I looked around as I huddled under a large, dead oak tree. Almost all of the houses on this abandoned street were too badly damaged for me to take shelter in, except for the one. The house loomed impressive and morbid in the greenish-black sky. A flash of lightning briefly illuminated the house. The windows were broken, but the superstructure seemed to be in good condition. I was becoming soaked as I pondered upon my dilemma. Whether to stay under the tree and risk getting hit by lightning or should I go into that old house, not knowing who or what might be in there. The storm instead decided for me. Lightning hit the tree, filling the air with the scent of scorched sap. I dashed onto the porch and pounded on the door. It was open. What was that? I thought my hearth in my mouth. I slowly turned around. I didn't see anyone, but that didn't mean tha...
Sam Woods is a very important character in the novel In the Heat of the Night. He is a racist, and throughout the novel you will notice many changes in his attitude towards Negros.
In the beginning of the story, a violent rainstorm rages outside. Rain falls hard and lightning strikes on a cold, windy night. By the end of the story, the weather is warmer and the storm has cleared, leaving only puddles in the banks of the streets.
... Is the Night." Modern Fiction Studies 4.2 (Summer 1958): 136-142. Rpt. in Novels for Students. Ed.
Kate Chopin's "The Storm", is a short story about a brief love affair that takes place during a storm that has separated Calixta with her husband and son. The title "The Storm" is an obvious reference to the storm outside, but more importantly to the love affair that takes place. The title refers to nature, which is symbolically used again and again in the story. Chopin uses words like "somber clouds", "threatening roar", and "sinister intentions" to describe the approaching storm. Later in the story those same words in reference to the storm outside, will also be represented symbolically to the storm brewing inside with the love affair. In the beginning of the story Bobinot and his son Bibi stay at a store to let the storm pass by. Calixta, the wife , is at home by herself doing some chores around the house. As the storm starts to approach, Alcee rides in and asks Calixta if he could come in until the storm passes. It starts to rain immediately after he arrives. It's important to know that Alcee and Calixta had past together which he brings up to her later in the story. It is also stated that she has never seen him alone. The storm starts to increase outside, reflecting the sexual tension inside. The storm's sinister intention appears when "The rain beat upon the shingled roof that threatened to break an entrance...". It seems that the storm knows what is going on between the two and is threatening to break in and ruin their chances. They move through out the house and end up in the bedroom "with its white, monumental bed, its closed shutters, looked dim and mysterious. The bed being white symbolizes purity. The two then make their way to the window to watch the storm outside when lightning strikes nearby, falling back into his arms. The storm in a sense seems to be forcing them together now. They then embrace each other in the peek of the storm where things really start to get stormy in the love affair. The two then start making out yahda, yahda, yahda. The thunder is now distant and passing away. The storm outside turns into a soft, lighter rain, being symbolic that the storm is ending.
Baym, Nina, Arnold Krupat, Robert S. Levine, and Jeanne Campbell Reesman. "The Storm." The Norton Anthology of American Literature. 8th ed. Vol. C. New York, NY: Norton, 2012. 557-61. Print.
If the storm had lulled at little at sunset, it made up now for lost time. Strong and horizontal thundered the current of the wind from north-west to south-east; it brought rain like spray, and sometimes, a sharp hail like shot; it was cold and pierced me to the vitals. I bent my head to meet it, but it beat me back. My heart did not fail at all in this conflict, I only wished that I had wings and could ascend the gale, spread and repose my pinions on
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.
Every storm creeps upon us, hits a luminous climax, and then fades away into nothingness. We all experience thunder and lightening in our lives remaining “purified air”. It brings something rejuvenating and refreshing to our life. In the short story,”The Storm”, written by Kate Chapin on July 19, 1898 introduces us to Calixta who “coincidently” meets her old lover alone at home due to an upcoming storm and awakens old passions and desires.
The silence was deafening… with each step, the lump in my throat was expanding, almost ridding me of all oxygen. My heart was pounding erratically and my hand, firmly gripping Scout’s costume was now soaked in perspiration. Amidst the overcast night, a dark shadow consumed Maycomb. The thick air was a blanket of humidity that offered not security, but the assurance of a storm. The pageant was but a distant memory by this point. We had only left a few minutes earlier but my thoughts were congested by an uneasy presence. The warm wind whispered through the rustling leaves. They seemed to dance about my feet, which wouldn’t have been so bad, had the night not been pitch black and unnerving. Instead, it felt as though I could tumble at any moment. I was immensely regretting my decision to reject a ride home when Scout burst,
Malmar McKnight’s frightening story, “The Storm”, weaves a violent storm and murder together to heighten the horrific fears that engulf Janet Willsom. “The Storm” is a combination of Mother Nature, Janet’s emotions, and her heartbreaking dilemmas. The eerie mood is revealed throughout the story. Figurative language helps the reader bring the story to life in his/ her mind. The author’s use of irony is devolved through Janet’s changed perception of the storm.
Halfway up it was beginning to look doubtful, the wind was picking up and everyone was getting out rain gear to prepare for the storm. I voiced my doubts to Phil and he said we might as well keep going until the lighting got too close. So we did. The thunder grew in volume and the echoes magnified the noise to a dull roar sometimes. Then suddenly it began to ebb. The wind died down and lightening came less frequently. I exchanged relieved looks with Phil after a bit, but kept the pace up--I didn’t want to take chances. Eventually it hit us, but by then it was nothing more then a heavy rain. We kept moving, if slower, and made it over the ridge with no other problems. That night I enjoyed the meal a little more and slept a little deeper realizing how much is important that easily goes unnoticed until something threatens to take it away.
Perhaps it was the nearly reticent creak of the walls that drew a cautious breath from his body, and made him tense as he sat covered by a thick blanket in his desk chair. He had become accustomed to a nervous habit of tensing and shuddering. For years he heard the house speak to him through creaks and groans, and he had at first passed it off as rotting wood and strong winds being the cause. But ever so little was it the sun came out from hiding behind the darkened clouds that blocked it did he still hear it, when the wind was little to none. Anyone he may have told would’ve called him a fool, but only once in a great while would he have company. The sheriff seemed to come by quite often with his mouth turned down and eyes darting about his
the wind and the rain.” (Silverman 186). Poe was to delirious to know, what the weather
The vicissitude of weather came suddenly and unbeknownst to our small sleeping company. Thunder boomed. Lightning cracked and split the sky. Clouds formed overhead, rain began to fall, and the wind grew unpropitious. Clamoring voices pulled me from unconsciousness. Water pooled at the base of our tent, our rain fly and tarp doing little to protect us from the raging storm. Our counselor, Jane, ripped open the zippers of the neighboring tent and emerged. Her voice barely carried over the harsh drumming of the rain, coaxing us out of our saturated shelter where she explicated her
would grab one last beer on dry land. To my surprise I noticed one of