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Literature review of sibling relationships
Literature review of sibling relationships
Sibling relationship
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The hours meandered past like slow unhurrying snails. At last Johnny’s head dropped onto his jacket. He was snuggling his jacket to gain some warmth as the chilly breeze filled the atmosphere. His breathing became slower, deeper. He slept. But the boy didn’t sleep: that would not have done; for he had to keep guard. They had no time to get caught now. The responsibility was his. He was the elder. This was how it always had been, as far back as he could remember. Always he had been a big brother to Johnny. The big brother who would look out for him, teach him everything he could, and even protected him from anyone or anything harmful. Now that they were lost - somewhere in the middle of an unknown village - the weight of his responsibility was greater than ever. A wave of tenderness welled up inside him. Always i had big-brothered him; now it was my time to father him as well. For a while he sat staring into the darkness; the darkness was warm, thick and almost tangible. The only light was from the small barn yard houses and he knew that the lights would be off soon. Soon his mind became utterly blank. The day’s events had been too overwhelming; had drawn on him too heavily. The rhythmic beat of the small boy’s slumber came to her lullingly now. Gradually his breathing fell in step with his brothers. The whisper of water drops came to her like the croon of a lullaby. His eyelids drooped and closed, fluttered and closed again. Soon he was fast asleep. In the darkness of the village a lumbering pig creeped out of his den. His large stumpy body forced a way trough the mud; his long snout ploughing trough the mud for more food. Suddenly he stopped: sniffed: his nose dilated. He followed the new strange scent. Soon he came ... ... middle of paper ... ...hey had to find a place to stay. So they began knocking on village doors. No one would take these poor boys in. Humiliating them by mocking them as if they didn’t know what they were saying. They had tried everyone in the village except two houses. Everyone so far had laughed or insulted the poor boys saying stuff like “get out you little tramps” and other insults which would bring any person down. But these boys kept trying, they had something special and they deserved better. They tried the first house. A pause as they knocked. No answer. They tried the last house they knocked and a old man wearing torn farm clothes opened the door. Adam asked the old man “can we stay in here?” he told the old man the story and told him how no one else had let them in just because they were poor. The man let them stay with him and gave them a bite to eat. They were safe for now.
It was a village on a hill, all joyous and fun where there was a meadow full of blossomed flowers. The folks there walked with humble smiles and greeted everyone they passed. The smell of baked bread and ginger took over the market. At the playing grounds the children ran around, flipped and did tricks. Mama would sing and Alice would hum. Papa went to work but was always home just in time to grab John for dinner. But Alice’s friend by the port soon fell ill, almost like weeds of a garden that takes over, all around her went unwell. Grave yards soon became over populated and overwhelmed with corpse.
When the man and boy meet people on the road, the boy has sympathy for them, but his father is more concerned with keeping them both alive. The boy is able to get his father to show kindness to the strangers (McCarthy), however reluctantly the kindness is given. The boy’s main concern is to be a good guy. Being the good guy is one of the major reasons the boy has for continuing down the road with his father. He does not see there is much of a point to life if he is not helping other people. The boy wants to be sure he and his father help people and continue to carry the fire. The boy is the man’s strength and therefore courage, but the man does not know how the boy worries about him how the boy’s will to live depends so much on his
"’Except the bad thing is, the real humdinger, see, is that I tried for CO status, being a Christian and all. And weird things happened. And…well…I didn’t get it." Page 358
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...
The arrival of winter was well on its way. Colorful leaves had turned to brown and fallen from the branches of the trees. The sky opened to a new brightness with the disappearance of the leaves. As John drove down the country road he was much more aware of all his surroundings. He grew up in this small town and knew he would live there forever. He knew every landmark in this area. This place is where he grew up and experienced many adventures. The new journey of his life was exciting, but then he also had a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach of something not right.
There was a light through the upstairs’ window of the house. I could see a mother sitting with her baby son. Although all I could hear were the many crickets singing softly in the night, I knew that the loving mother was telling a bedtime story to her sweet and sleepy child.
“At this time in my life I lived in a very old town house, where I often heard unexplainable noises in the attic. One night, when I was about 11, my parents went out to a party, leaving me all alone. The night was stormy, with crashes of lightening and thunder outside. Having nothing to do, I fell asleep after eating too much ice cream. All of a sudden, my alarm clock goes off in the middle of the night, reading 3 o’clock. I’m wondering why ...
The narrator was eight years old and her brother was three when her mother died. They were raised by their father, maternal grandfather, and an old ranch hand named Chubb on land fenced in order to keep other people's cattle out and the wilderness in. On some nights, she recalls, the two children would go running through the moonlight, “through owl-call and cricket-chirp and frog-bellow… There is no other way to explain it: we'd run until Mother was alive. It was like blowing air on a fire, bringing coals to flame. We'd run until we ignited… in her presence. Something was out there - something just beyond” (104).
“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.
Just as Johnny’s courage shines through so does his fast maturity from child to adult. His childhood was stolen away from him by his illness but instead of sulking he pulls himself together. He takes every difficulty in stride, and gets through them. Even when he is feeling down he hides it for he does not want anyone else to feel his pain. Being a seventeen year old boy he wants to do the things all other seventeen year old boys do.
With the son’s fear amongst the possibility of death being near McCarthy focuses deeply in the father’s frustration as well. “If only my heart were stone” are words McCarthy uses this as a way illustrate the emotional worries the characters had. ( McCarthy pg.11). Overall, the journey of isolation affected the boy just as the man both outward and innerly. The boys’ journey through the road made him weak and without a chance of any hope. McCarthy states, “Ever is a long time. But the boy knew what he knew. That ever is no time at all” (McCarthy pg. 28). The years of journey had got the best of both, where they no longer had much expectation for
“The room was silent. His heart pounded the way it had on their first night together, the way it still did when he woke at a noise in the darkness and waited to hear it again - the sound of someone moving through the house, a stranger.”(4)
The night ebbed in the darkness brUGHT t about the memory of the most tragic event in the history of the small town of Greenville. Not knowing the tragedy that would unfold the citizens rested quietly in the slumber of that hot August night. Storm clouds loomed on the horizon with blazes of light that speckled the sky. In the distance the soft rumble of thunder brought no alarm to this quiet little town. Jenny and Blade lived in the rural area of green pine forests on the outskirts of this sleepy little town. Nowhere in the history of Greenville had such a tragedy happens, and no one was aware of the destruction that loomed on the horizon. As the night closed near the midnight hour, the wind seemed to awaken the lifeless living things in
I looked up at the black sky. I hadn't intended to be out this late. The sun had set, and the empty road ahead had no streetlights. I knew I was in for a dark journey home. I had decided that by traveling through the forest would be the quickest way home. Minutes passed, yet it seemed like hours and days. The farther I traveled into the forest, the darker it seemed to get. I was very had to even take a breath due to the stifling air. The only sound familiar to me was the quickening beat of my own heart, which felt as though it was about to come through my chest. I began to whistled to take my mind off the eerie noises I was hearing. In this kind of darkness I was in, it was hard for me to believe that I could be seeing these long finger shaped shadows that stretched out to me. I had this gut feeling as though something was following me, but I assured myself that I was the only one in the forest. At least I had hoped that I was.
As I walked I let my eyes close and my feet feel the groove in the gravel. My mind, still asleep, dreamt of breathing. The lining of my father's old coat escaped inside the pockets and caught my fingers, which were numb from the cold. I would have worn gloves but the sun would be unbearable later in the day. The clouds would rise over the mountains and disappear and the birds would slowly become silent as the heat settled in. But for now it was just cold. I tried to warm my neck by breathing down the collar. It smelled like diesel and sweat.