The rain beat down upon Marquis’s back, chilling him to the bone while his body strived to provide heat to his extremities. The wind proved a much stronger match against natural body heat and once it blew down onto his soaked clothing everything that had a slight chance of being warm was drenched. His skin felt cold and clammy while the wind continued to harass him with its gnashing teeth. He snarled and continued to push his arms to their limit, digging mounds mud from the hole which collapsed into more mud to shovel out. His muscles burned with fire but yet they were ice cold. His rich brown hair swept into his eyes as he bent down and hauled a massive glob of mud up from the ground. Most of it splashed back down, spraying him with dirt. He tossed the shovel full to the side and went back to it again, bending deep at the knees while trying to stop his arms from shaking the mud back into the hole. The rain suddenly beat down onto him, blurring his vision beyond recognition and making his footing slippery. His foot suddenly shot out from under him and he ended up crashing his tailbone on a rock. Pain flashed up his lower back and down his legs.
The pine trees started to mock him with the wind blowing through their branches, creating a rustling noise equal to a thousand voices. A thousand voices that told Marquis he was insane and that it would be better to drown himself in the mud then defiling the earth with his madness.
“SHUT UP!!!!” he screamed at the trees and turned his head towards his left. Laying limp at his side was an unrecognizable form due to the mud splashed onto every inch of it. He stood up slowly, feeling new pain shooting through his lower back as he reached full height, towering over the dead mass before him. H...
... middle of paper ...
...ng the last couple of days. They felt stolen from him and now he was left in the open, venerable to the monsters whose soul purpose was to frail his nerves. With each passing dream he learned to turn on the TV and watch the local news for any recent murder stories that would occasionally pop up. Some of the stories did correspond to what he had dreamt that night, from the two shots to the chest to the numbers on the arm. The only explanation he had for not hearing about all off his dreams coming true was because they probably took plase in some different county, covered by some different news station. But who would know? It wasn’t like he was going to go out on some wild goose chaise for a possibility of all of his dreams being connected to murders.
“But why not?” he suddenly asked aloud. The conversation raging in his mind had grown to immense to keep it silent…
Curtis experiences a vast amount of different tragedies in his nightmares. In his first dream that he endured, a storm came and the rain was thick, black and resembled motor oil. In Curtis’s second dream, his dog turns on him when the storm makes the dog go crazy and attack him. When Curtis wakes up his arm is in pain throughout the day from where his dog supposedly attacked him. The third dream Curtis and his daughter Hannah are driving through the storm and the rain is so thick that he can barely see out of his windshield. Someone is standing in the middle of the road and when Curtis swerves off the road to avoid hitting them, him and Hannah wreck and someone breaks open the window of the truck and steals Hannah away. Curtis tries to fight back but is unsuccessful when one of the figures in his dream begins choking him. In the fourth dream, Curtis walks into the living room where Hannah is staring out the window, he looks and someone is standing there looking in and then tries to break into the house. Curtis and Hannah hide behind the furniture and the furniture begins to float and Curtis loses oxygen and can no longer breathe. The fifth dream Curtis’s wife Samantha wakes up to Curtis struggling, seizing, and bleeding from his mouth. Curtis explains that his dream was about his good friend Dewart attacking him with a pickaxe. Curtis’s sixth dream he walks into the kitchen where Samantha is standing looking
The story is riddled with death; all of the dead he’s has seen: Linda, Ted Lavender, Kiowa, Curt Lemon, the man he killed, and all the others without names. Through his memories of them he relives his time in Vietnam. By telling their stories he “keeps dreaming dreaming them alive.” to try and restore his
cold, harsh, wintry days, when my brothers and sister and I trudged home from school burdened down by the silence and frigidity of our long trek from the main road, down the hill to our shabby-looking house. More rundown than any of our classmates’ houses. In winter my mother’s riotous flowers would be absent, and the shack stood revealed for what it was. A gray, decaying...
Memory is an important and active system that receives information. Memory is made up of three different stages sensory memory, short term memory, and long term memory. According to the power point presentation, sensory memory refers to short storage of memory that allows an individual to process information as it occurs. Short term memory refers to memory that is only available for a limited time. It is information that is held for seconds or sometimes even minutes. Long term memory refers to memory that is stored for a long period of time and it has an unlimited capacity with the ability to hold as much information as possible. Retrieval is key and it allows individuals to have memories. Episodic memory refers to memory for events that we
Many people enjoy a good film and at the end, they have the potential to judge the film by the content and delivery it had provided. In some films, the screenwriter chooses to portray one of the many psychological disorders. The audience of the film will try to focus on how well the disorder was portrayed and how well the movie played out. Whether the intention of the film maker was trying to expose the public about such psychological disorder or choosing to make a film based on the disorder, some viewers will argue if the film has portrayed the disorder accurately and whether the public has taken notice to the disorder. Screenwriter, Jonathan Nolan and Christopher Nolan, portrayed the psychological disorder, Anterograde Amnesia, in their film “Memento.”
Have you ever been an eyewitness at the scene of a crime? If you were, do you think that you would be able to accurately describe, in precise detail, everything that happened and remember distinct features of the suspect? Many people believe that yes they would be able to remember anything from the events that would happen and the different features of the suspect. Some people, in fact, are so sure of themselves after witnessing an event such as this that they are able to testify that what they think they saw was indeed what they saw. However, using an eyewitness as a source of evidence can be risky and is rarely 100% accurate. This can be proven by the theory of the possibility of false memory formation and the question of whether or not a memory can lie.
Kowalski, M.(1998, December). Applying the "two schools of thought" doctrine to the repressed memory controversy. The Journal of Legal Medicine. Retrieved September 14, 2000 from Lexis-Nexis database (Academic Universe) on the World Wide Web: http://www.lexis-nexis.com/universe
Memory is one of the most critical parts of cognition. It is important because it is involved in almost every aspect of cognition including problem solving, decision making, attention, and perception. Because of this importance, people rely on one’s memory to make important decisions. The value of one’s memory in this society is so high that it is used as evidence to either save one’s life or kill one’s life during murder trials. But as many of the cognitive psychologists know, human’s memory can cause many errors. One of these errors is false memory which is either remembering events that never happened or remembering events differently from the actual event. This finding of false memory raised big interests among psychologists and general public and many researches were done in order to find more about the false memory. The constructive approach to memory, which states that memory is constructed by person based on what really happened in addition to person’s other knowledge, experiences, and expectations, supports the idea of false memory. Just like what constructive approach to memory states, the false memory can be created by person’s knowledge, common biases, and suggestions. The present study was done in order to demonstrate one methodology that biases people to create and recall false memories. The present study is based on Deese’s experiment in 1959 and also on Roediger and McDermott’s experiment in 1995. The participants will be presented with sequence of words visually, and then they would have to classify a set of words as either in the sequence or not in the sequence. Our hypothesis is that people will create false memories and recall distractor words that are related to the sequence of words presented significantly m...
As I inched my way toward the cliff, my legs were shaking uncontrollably. I could feel the coldness of the rock beneath my feet when my toes curled around the edge in one last futile attempt at survival. My heart was racing like a trapped bird, desperate to escape. Gazing down the sheer drop, I nearly fainted; my entire life flashed before my eyes. I could hear stones breaking free and fiercely tumbling down the hillside, plummeting into the dark abyss of the forbidding black water. The trees began to rapidly close in around me in a suffocating clench, and the piercing screams from my friends did little to ease the pain. The cool breeze felt like needles upon my bare skin, leaving a trail of goose bumps. The threatening mountains surrounding me seemed to grow more sinister with each passing moment, I felt myself fighting for air. The hot summer sun began to blacken while misty clouds loomed overhead. Trembling with anxiety, I shut my eyes, murmuring one last pathetic prayer. I gathered my last breath, hoping it would last a lifetime, took a step back and plun...
...en a strange feeling down his spine again, as if something was breathing on his neck. He turned slowly… seeing if someone was behind him and then boom! The figure was right there, about seven feet away, trying to grab him with his big, skinny, hands, with his sharp and dark fingernails that could rip a man’s heart out… He fell down, so surprised by the strange figure.
The mistaken recollection of information or the recollection of an event that never happened is known as a false memory (Rajagopal & Montgomery, 2011). The study of false memories has been of interest to cognitive psychologists (Otagaar, Smeets & Scoboria, 2013) for many years as it implies that human memory is vulnerable to the influence of external information, it also implies that our ability to recall events may not always be accurate. One major issue that has arisen with the research on false memories is the argued validity of eyewitness testimony (Wade, Green & Nash, 2011). Eyewitness testimony is the verified report made by someone who witnessed a crime (Wade et.al., 2011). False memories can interfere with the correct recollection of criminal offences which can potentially result in inaccurate accusations of a crime (Wade et.al., 2011). Researchers have been interested in studying false memories to develop a better understanding of how false memories work, and to what extent our memories can be assumed accurate (Jou & Flores, 2013).
Disappointment, disbelief and fear filled my mind as I lye on my side, sandwiched between the cold, soft dirt and the hot, slick metal of the car. The weight of the car pressed down on the lower half of my body with monster force. It did not hurt, my body was numb. All I could feel was the car hood's mass stamping my body father and farther into the ground. My lungs felt pinched shut and air would neither enter nor escape them. My mind was buzzing. What had just happened? In the distance, on that cursed road, I saw cars driving by completely unaware of what happened, how I felt. I tried to yell but my voice was unheard. All I could do was wait. Wait for someone to help me or wait to die.
"...He cringed from death as one who trips on a snake in hilltop hollow recoils, suddenly trembling grips his knees and pallor, takes his cheeks and back he shrinks."
I slowly trudged up the road towards the farm. The country road was dusty, and quiet except for the occasional passing vehicle. Only the clear, burbling sound of a wren’s birdsong sporadically broke the boredom. A faded sign flapped lethargically against the gate. On it, a big black and white cow stood over the words “Bent Rail Farm”. The sign needed fresh paint, and one of its hinges was broken. Suddenly, the distant roar of an engine shattered the stillness of that Friday afternoon. Big tires speeding over gravel pelted small stones in all directions. The truck stopped in front of the red-brick farmhouse with the green door and shutters. It was the large milking truck that stopped by every Friday afternoon. I leisurely passed by fields of corn, wheat, barley, and strawberries. The fields stretched from the gradient hills to the snowy mountains. The blasting wind blew like a bellowing blizzard. A river cut through the hilly panorama. The river ubiquitously flowed from tranquil to tempestuous water. Raging river rapids rushed recklessly into rocks ricocheting and rebounding relentlessly through this rigorous river. Leaves danced with the wind as I looked around the valley. The sun was trapped by smoky, and soggy clouds.