“Hello Mr.Gold” She had an accent. It was a honeyed sound; thick and slow. It was staying in on a winter’s day wrapped up in blankets and sipping tea; warm. Nothing like his brogue that came out cold and raspy when he replied: “You must be Ms.French.” She nodded; a visible shiver running down her back. Fear. Of course she feared him, everyone did, and he liked it that way. Of course he did. Nodding he motioned towards the elevator and followed behind the girl when she stepped towards it. He breathed in deep through his nose trying to regain what little composure he had left only to be thrown off again but the scent of her. She smelled like cherry blossoms. It was airy and sweet yet heady and it wrapped around him, easing a tension in his shoulders that he hadn’t even realized was there. He almost leaned towards her in his attempt to breath in more of the enticing aroma, but he caught himself and favoring his cane heavily he walked in behind her. After showing her where to insert the key and explaining how his floor could only be accessed with such a key they began their silent elevator ride up. Twenty-five floors worth of her staring at the floor and him at the ceiling, with the occasional chanced glance back at eachother. She was wearing a black skirt - long enough to cover yet short enough to have him imagining things he really shouldn’t be. Her blouse, a deep blue, was nothing compared to the color of those enchanting eyes of hers but it suited her well and did wonders to accentuate her milky white skin. The stilettos she had donned were the same shade and so tall that should she step any closer to him they would be nearly eye to eye. Her hair, he now noticed, was rather unruly but in the most charming way. It was as... ... middle of paper ... ...words barely even registered. He felt as though his whole body had been set on fire, his suit suddenly felt two sizes too small, and his throat as dry as if he’d just run a marathon. All because she brushed her hand against his in passing. Good lord, this woman would be the death of him and he knew it. He could stop it all right now, he could tell her that there is someone else applying for the job and that they were better suited for it, but he just couldn't deny himself the pleasant torture of seeing those bewitching eyes everyday and knowing he could never say that they were only for him. The ding of the elevator snapped him out of his thoughts and by the time he replied, brogue once again raspy, ‘you’re very welcome Ms.French’, the doors were already closing. Inside the elevator the woman felt a shiver run down her back at the sound of his voice. Attraction.
feared him in some aspects. That he forced himself on her, and that it was not
...was a desperate act of a lonely, insane woman who could not bear to loose him. The structure of this story, however, is such that the important details are delivered in almost random order, without a clear road map that connects events. The ending comes as a morbid shock, until a second reading of the story reveals the carefully hidden details that foreshadow the logical conclusion.
“Don’t be silly,” he muttered. The unlit cigarette bobbed up and down with the movement of his lips. “She doesn’t think it’s silly. Why should she–the way you’ve played around with her?” He sighed and said: “I wish to Christ I’d never seen her.” “Maybe you do now.” A trace of spitefulness came into the girl’s voice. “But there was a time.” “I never know what to do or say to women except that way,” he grumbled, “and then I didn’t like Miles.” “That’s a lie, Sam,” the girl said. “You know I think she’s a louse, but I’d be a louse too if it would give me a body like hers. Spade rubbed his face impatiently against her hip, but said nothing (Hammett
Daisy’s face was filled with fear as she slowly stood up and walked around the room. “She was…she was killed?” Daisy questioned in a trembling voice.
“Her speech is a mixture of many things; it is different from the rest of the family’s insofar as education has permeated her sense of English- and perhaps the Midwest rather than the south has final...
When Blanche was sixteen she fell deeply in love with a boy named Allan and marries him. He shoots himself in the mouth after Blanche reveals that she saw him with a man. The memory of that moment has permanently imbedded itself in her mind. Blanche is telling Mitch the story of her and Allan. She describes the moment she fell in love, “All at once and much, much to completely. It was like you suddenly turned a blinding light on something that had always been half in shadow…” (Page 95) She describes Allan as “different” (Page 95) and how he had “a softness and tenderness which wasn’t like a man’s.” (Page 95) She adds, “He came to me for help. I didn’t know that… I failed him in some mysterious way and wasn’t able to give the help he needed but couldn’t speak of.” (Page 95) These comments show how deeply the loss of Allan impacted her mental state. She is at fault, a failure. Blanche tells Mitch she found Allan with a man and how the three of them had pretended nothing had happened. She says how all three of them went to a casino, “very drunk and laughing all the way.” (Page 96) Blanche, at first, does not reveal the words she spoke to Allan while they were dancing she just says, “Suddenly the boy that I had married broke away from me and ran out of the casino. A few moments later – a shot!” (Page 96) The song from that dance plays in her mind, but always stops after the
Through works of literature, past events can positively or negatively shape a character in societal and personal manners. Often, authors provide insight into a character’s history in order to justify their current condition. In The Bluest Eye, Toni Morrison’s use of characterization and background information of Cholly and Pauline Breedlove contributes to their present actions, attitudes, and values.
Society, especially western, tends to conceptualize beauty through the use of publicity and cinema. We are under constant bombardment from consumer related magazine ads, billboards, television commercials, and movies about what “beautiful” people look like and how we should imitate them. This standard is overwhelmingly portrayed as a white beauty standard. Starting from a very young age this standard of beauty is created in our minds. We want to look like these actors and models; we want to be thin, fit, youthful looking, a symmetrical face and even have a particular race. We accept this beauty standard; we notice our various faults among ourselves and self-critique. We try to emulate the models as best we can; we forget that these standards are not reality. Publicity models and the most popular actors do not represent the majority of us and it is a foolish and unattainable dream to attempt to change ourselves to their beauty. The pressure society puts on us can cause low self-esteem and diseases such as anorexia. But we must look at the antithesis of society’s conception of this white standard, our minorities. Portraying this beauty standard to the polar opposites is more than racist. It is destructive to the minority community in that it creates resentment, low self-esteem, and a perverse hierarchy where minorities judge themselves and others on their proximity to the white beauty standard. In The Bluest Eye, Morrison critiques the white beauty standard that causes the black minority to feel a destructive self-hatred towards themselves and their fellow blacks because their self-perception is an unrealistic and unattainable beauty seen in publicity and films. This research paper’s aim is to present the influence of ...
“It was a large, beautiful room, rich and picturesque in the soft, dim light which the maid had turned low. She went and stood at an open window and looked out upon the deep tangle of the garden below. All the mystery and witchery of the night seemed to have gathered there amid the perfumes and the dusky and tortuous outlines of flowers and foliage. She was seeking herself and finding herself in just such sweet half-darkness which met her moods. But the voices were not soothing that came to her from the darkness and the sky above and the stars. They jeered and sounded mourning notes without promise, devoid even of hope. She turned back into the room and began to walk to and fro, down its whole length, without stopping, without resting. She carried in her hands a thin handkerchief, which she tore into ribbons, rolled into a ball, and flung from her. Once she stopped, and taking off her wedding ring, flung it upon the carpet. When she saw it lying there she stamped her heel upon it, striving to crush it. But her small boot heel did not make an indenture, not a mark upon the glittering circlet.
She didn’t hear the low knock, being dispersed while gazing out the window. The only time she then realized he was there was when he cleared his throat.
The melodies and harmonies woke him up from his deep slumber, creeping into the small cottage through the bedroom window. He rose to his elbows and listened intently; it wasn’t loud, but it wasn’t soft, either. It was like a missed lover come home, calling to him, missing him. His thoughts flew to the girl that occupied his bed with him the night before, and called out her name.
Ow. My head hurts. It has been lying against this wall for at least an hour now. I scratched the back of my head to move around my dark, curly hair. It was beginning to feel plastered against my scalp. It was a bit tangled from not brushing it for a day and my fingers did not run through it with ease; nevertheless, it felt good to keep the blood flowing. I was lying on a thin, light blue mat on the floor. My head was propped up against the cold wall as if it were a concrete pillow. My chin dug into my chest and I could feel the soft, warm material from my sleeveless sweater cushioning my jaw. I looked down. I could see the ends of my hair cascading over my shoulders. The red highlights matched quite nicely with my maroon sweater. My arms were folded over my belly and they appeared more pale than usual. My knees were bent, shooting upward like two cliffs. My baggy blue jeans covered the backs of my fake brown leather shoes. ("Christy, let me borrow your pants, the baggy ones with the big pockets. I can hide more stuff in those.")
The fog was low, but he could still see her yellow porch light glowing brightly. The sight of her gleaming house bathed in light settled his nerves. It was warm and inviting, just like her. So he wanted to impress her, he smoothed his hair and tucked in his shirt. As he looked up, there she was, pulling
The Bluest Eye Toni Morrison is an African American writer, who believes in fighting discrimation and segregation with a mental preparation. Tony focuses on many black Americans to the white American culture and concludes that blacks are exploited because racism regarding white skin color within the black community. The bluest eye is a story about a young black girl named Pecola, who grew up in Ohio. Pecola adores blonde haired blue eyes girls and boys. She thinks white skin meant beauty and freedom and that thought was not a subject at this time in history. This book is really about the impact on a child’s state of mind. Tony Morrison has divided her book into four seasons: autumn, winter, spring, and summer. The main characters in this book are three girls, Claudia and Frieds McTeer, and Pecola Breedlove. Why was Pecola considered a case? Pecola was a poor girl who had no place to go. The county placed her in the McTeer’shouse for a few days until they could decide what to do until the family was reunited. Pecola stayed at the McTeer’s house because she was being abuse at her house and Cholly had burned up his house. The first event that happens in the book was that her menstrual cycle had started. She didn’t know what to do; she thought she was bleeding to death. When the girls were in the bed, Pecola asked, “If it was true that she can have a baby now?” So now the only concern is if she is raped again she could possibly get pregnant. Pecola thought if she had blue eyes and was beautiful, that her parents would stop fighting and become a happy family.In nursery books, the ideal girl would have blonde hair and blue eyes. There is a lot of commercial ads have all showed the same ideal look just like the nursery book has. Pecola assumes she has this beautiful and becomes temporary happy, but not satisfied. Now, Pecola wants to be even more beautiful because she isn’t satisfied with what she has. The fact is that a standard of beautyis established, the community is pressured to play the game. Black people and the black culture is judged as being out of place and filthy. Beauty, in heart is having blond hair, blue eyes, and a perfect family. Beauty is then applied to everyone as a kind of level of class.
He creates a suffocating atmosphere mirroring the characters feeling: “crowding in on her thick and fast”, “The passage of an old woman with ophthalmia and a disease of the skin distracted her from her