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conclussions about storytelling
exploring the theme of grief
conclussions about storytelling
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It was a gloomy day and a bit chilly −a perfect day for a funeral if that was possible−as Ruth sat on the folding chair, staring at the casket a few feet from her. She recalled, her grandfather always treated her as a grown up and shared many good times with her. A tear rolled down her cheek, but she wanted to smile, knowing shortly they would lay her grandfather to rest beside the love of his life, her grandmother. Since his heart attack, she had visited him daily at the Mountaineer Nursing Home. He loved telling her stories about the ghost on Putney Mountain, the loud muffled screams in the day and the lights at night. Sometimes he talked about the secrets of Howardsville and promised one day to divulge them to her. However, he passed away before he had that opportunity. Ruth’s desire to know the secrets compelled her to search for the truth about them. Looking around, she saw several people who came to say good-bye some dressed in black, others appeared to be in a party mood and dressed as such. She didn’t know if they had come to pay their respects to the manager of the Eastern Auto Parts Store, or if they wanted to make sure the old man was dead. Even though he had warned them about the activities on the mountain, they ignored him, but still blamed him for their losses. It was time to leave when someone announced, “This now completes the service for Bert Bishop. ” After sitting there for forty minutes without hearing a single word the minister said or being conscious of shaking hands with anyone, it was time to be alone. Stumbling across the grass to the black 55 Chevy Classic her grandfather gave her for graduation When Ruth no longer could control her tears, she sat in the car, sobbing, asking w... ... middle of paper ... ...ll have questions and would love to know where to find theanswers?” Without saying a word, Max walked over to three different tables and whispered something to the ladies before handing Ruth’s order to the cook. After waiting several minutes, Max served her lunch pausing to ask if she wanted something else. “I asked a question, but didn’t get an answer, but would still like one.” “There’s not much to tell you, but the ladies over there said if you’re looking for information about our town, you should visit the Women’s Club. They’re having a special luncheon today and the mayor’s wife is their speaker. The president of the club knows everything and can give you the nasty details about everyone in town.” “Thanks, I’ll stop by before I leave town. It might take time, but I’ll find out what’s going on up here and expose the secrets of Howarsville,” Ruth promised.
The University of Maryland has a rich history dating back to its founding in 1856 as the Maryland Agricultural College. Built between 1804 and 1812, The Rossborough Inn is the oldest building on campus today (Ghost Tour, 2). With its history, it is no surprise that the Inn has been a hotspot for ghost activity. Knowing that there have been numerous reports of ghosts at Rossborough, I visited the Inn to ask current employees at the Knight Center for Specialized Journalism, located in Rossborough Inn, if they themselves had experienced anything bizarre or if they had known others who had. I entered the small office where three women were talking and with their permission asked about their experiences with ghosts at Rossborough. Upon asking my question, all three smiled, although shaking their head, they indicated they had not. However, they all had heard of the stories, and one of the women replied and told me to speak with the University Archivist. She told me that she has spoken with the archivist, and upon learning the stories, she said that she “got freaked out and really wanted to go home.”
Sal longed to visit her mother’s grave for quite some time, but her father refuses to take her. She believes that if she makes it to the grave by her mother’s birthday, her mother would miraculously be there for her. Sal takes a road trip with her grandparents across the United States of America. To pass the time she tells a mysterious tale about Phoebe Winterbottom. The main purpose of the trip was to go to her mother’s grave in Lewiston, Idaho. They stop at some of the major tourist destinations along the way, including The Black Hills, Mt. Rushmore, Lake Michigan, and even Yellowstone National Park. While on the trip, Sal’s grandmother, Grams, suffers from a stroke and they make an emergency trip to the hospital. Sal’s Grandfather, Gramps, tells Sal to drive to Lewiston by herself to finish the trip. On the way, traffic police stop her and explain to her that underage driving is dangerous. Sal explains to the police man that she is taking a trip to see her mom’s grave. The helpful police officer offers to take Sal to see her mom’s grave. On the trip to her mom’s grave, she realizes why her grandparents took her on this trip. They wa...
“Home. I want to go home,” the story begins of a Confederate prisoner of war. A friend’s grandmother, age 76 and a worker at the historic society, tells a story of Point Lookout. During the Civil War, the Union had a prison for captured Confederate soldiers near Point Lookout. With a warm and friendly voice that shows the sign of age, the storyteller joyfully recollects the story. She has the tale in book, but recalls it from memory. She knows the story so well that one could hardly tell it was not being read word for word. When speaking the voice of the ghost, she softens her voice, making the voice sound afraid and evoking sympathy for the unfortunate boy.
Eleanor Vance has always been a loner shy, defenseless, and angrily resentful of the 11 years she lost while nursing her dying mother. She had spent so long alone, with no one to love, never had a real home and without any happiness in her life. Eleanor has always sensed that one day something big would happen, and one day it does. She receives an unusual invitation from Dr. John Montague, a man fascinated by "supernatural manifestations." He had been looking for a haunted house all his life. Then He heard about Hill House and he knows that he couldn’t let it go. His intentions with Hill House, was to go there, live there for a while and take notes of everything that occurs within the house, kind of like ghost hunting. So he rents Hill House for three months, organizes a ghost watch, inviting three people who have been touched by unearthly events. A psychic event from Eleanor's childhood makes her qualify to be a part of Montague's unusual study, along with stubborn Theodora who was the not thing like Eleanor, and Luke who is the nephew of the owner of Hill House. The reason for him being there is because the family lawyer told Dr. Montague that he couldn’t rent the house without the confining presence of a member of the family during his stay. They all meet at Hill House an estate in New England. This is where i...
Thomas scooped a cup full of delicious morsels into Max’s bowl, and then laid it on the floor next to his water dish. Max instantly ran to his bowl, and began chomping down the food.
It was a dark cold night in December. Opening the door to their house, the den sat quiet as usual, but something else was different. Walking to the living room, I did not hear a voice that always greeted me with joy. There was no room for joy, or laughter anymore. When I sat down, my Pa Pa’s bed sat across from me. I could see the bones through his skin, the bagginess of his white t-shirt, and the sadness that rest in his eyes. On his lips, a smile no longer lived. “Hi Pa Pa”, I say as I walked over to k...
The third and final part of the essay deals mostly with Baldwin’s father’s funeral. The day of his father’s funeral was Baldwin’s 19th birthday and he spent most of the day drinking with a friend. At the funeral, his father was eulogized as a thoughtful, patient, and forbearing Christian. Baldwin says this is a complete misrepresentation of the embittered and angry man they all knew. Nonetheless, he concludes, given the burden a poor black man with nine children had to bear, such a eulogy was somehow just. His father may have been cruel and distant, but he also had to contend with raising children in a world he knew hated them, and the hatred he felt in turn for this world had consumed and troubled him in ways unknown to anyone but him.
I woke up at John Morris’ house, on his coach. As I knocked a flyaway hair out of my face I noticed my face was wet, with tears, and then it all hit me at once that my Dad and Mrs. Borden were dead. Suddenly I couldn’t breathe. I heard John Morris ask if I was alright, but that seemed like a completely different world, I responded with a meek okay, so Mr. Morris wouldn’t see me like this. That didn’t work though, I saw his tall shadowy figure ducking under the door frame with tea. As Mr. Morris sat down and put the tea on the coffee table in front of us, I turned my head and quickly wiped the tears from my eyes in hopes he wouldn’t see.
I shook my head, ashamed for invading my friends’ tragedies with memories I conjured up by their descriptions of them. I was still staring at Alice’s relaxed posture. The frown on her face was evident even while she rested unconscious with wrinkles near her seventeen year old eyes. I could still see the scar from stitches. Vesper shifted under the blankets on Alice’s couch. He was missing a father while Sebastian and I were missing a mother. But Alice was missing the two people that had given her life and left while she was living it. A trust fund was left in their
"Bod, this may sound silly, but how exactly am I going to meet your family.. If I can't exactly see them." Ruby asked nervously. Bod could tell she wanted to make a good impression on them. Bod thoughtfully looked at his fiancée. He looked after at her remembering why he fell in love with her. She had a heart of gold. He used to stress that she would think he was crazy for telling her that he could see ghosts. "It's okay, you don't need to be able to see them all." From behind the church an old man walked at a slow pace towards them. Concerned at who this could be, Ruby looked over at Bod's face who's face remained unchanged. "Long time no see, Silas." Bod stood up and shook Silas hand. They didn't hug or exchange any words. "Silas I'd like you to meet someone special." I stand up slowly and shake his hand. "I'm Ruby, Bods fiancée." The slightest smile spend across Silas's
By the time Julie returned her grandmother was ever so lightly snoring. The look of gratification and appreciation of Julie’s previously stern face melted my heart and again my eyes welled with tears. The fence Julie had built around her heart slowly disintegrated as she observed the bond I had developed with her “mom”. With a quivering voice, Julie revealed the stress and emotional turmoil of watching this devastating disease imprison the only mother she had ever known.
In the book Tuesdays with Morrie by Mitch Alborn on page twelve it says “And on a cold Sunday afternoon, he was joined in his home by a small group of friends and family for a “living funeral.” The concept of a living funeral is where someone talks about the goods and everything they adored about you, Morrie thought it would have been a good idea if before you pass everyone says everything they have to say about you before you pass because what is the point of all that if your gone. Might as well hear everything they have to say about you until your time comes. It would have been great if we could have had a living funeral for my tio john because living funerals are better than funerals after death and people would benefit hearing what people would have to say about them before they leave
Growing up Margaret was told many interesting and intriguing stories explaining who her Great Aunts and other family members were. During the evening, after dinner, her mother would sit down and read out the letters that her two sisters would send from “home”. Until one day, her grandfather had a coronary (more than one) and could die at any moment, so her and her family went to Nova Scotia to visit them. It was a long
The first time I thought I saw my dead grandfather was two nights after we buried him, when I saw a black mass at the foot of my bed and he was towards the front of my mind. I closed my eyes and hoped it wasn’t him, that he was at peace, finally; I hoped he had finished those waffles. When I opened my eyes again, I saw the reflection of the moon in my mirrored closet doors, and nothing more.