Eden considered herself a master of the death stare, and it shut people up most of the time. Black-ringed eyes, wide and uninviting--it's what she excelled at. Her stare said: "don't even dream of talking to me." The driver smirked into the review mirror and gripped the steering wheel. Crazy bitch. She blocked out the cabby's thoughts; nothing she hadn't heard before. She turned back to the window, and picked a layer of greasy black grime from beneath her chipped purple nails, which Doctor Gilmore had lacquered for her the day before her release. "Bet you're looking forward to being home," the cabbie said with the enthusiasm of a father with teenage kids who were a little off the rails. "Rehab's gotta be hard for a kid like you." A kid like her? What the fuck did that even mean? A 20 …show more content…
Synthetic flowers dotted the open-air graves on either side of the path. Grand old willows wept over headstones; angels with broken wings, myriad variations of the Virgin Mary, many with the head smashed to bits or just covered in graffiti, serving as a reminder that these were old graves, from before the war when New Arcadia was still called the United States, and people were still allowed to worship the old icons--Mary, Jesus, Mohammed, Buddha, Krishna. Not now though; the old icons were nothing more than art and mythology. You publicly believed that shit if you wanted to end up in jail. If you wanted to live a simple, uncomplicated life, then you planned a headstone watched over by the new guard--Aphrodite on a marble conch, Zeus with a lightning bolt, Poseidon's brandishing his trident. You wanted to be safe, that's what you did. New shit, not so different from the old shit. Eden stopped by a flower vending machine and dropped in a few gold coins.
I felt this morbid and realistic presence of the soldiers and for a mere second felt the gloom and menace of the war they were in. I walked around the site to gather more information on what the memorial was dedicated to. I walked past the mural wall and as I did, I paid particular attention to the various images of people and equipment on the wall. All of the facial expressions of the people on the wall gave the memorial a very real presence to it. I continued walking down the granite walk
There are an average of thirty funerals a day, and more than four million people pay their respects to the fallen each year. One of those things is the Changing of the Guard at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. A young soldier with a face as solid as steel, hands as strong as iron takes twenty-one steps as he crosses in front of the white tomb. The words etched into the tomb are “Here Rests in Honored Glory An American Soldier But Known To God.”
Thousands of headstones in the far distance create magnificent mazes against the horizon. The immense land has very little room to spare as it is overflowing with graves of heroic soldiers. The white marble graves are like oversized dominos stacked precisely in the thick wind ruffled grass. It is almost inconceivable to imagine each tomb is the physical eternal home to a once courageous and patriotic warrior of our homeland. As the fireball in the heavens slowly descends, it creates a glorious silhouette of the infinite number of tombstones.
A cemetery is where the past is buried; the people within them carry stories, ideas, and moments that make up the history we know today. Some of that history is buried there to forget, while sometimes, cemeteries serve as a way of remembering. It is in this duality that author of Native Guard, Natasha Trethewey, conveys one of the biggest themes. Trethewey, in her use of cemeteries does not simply praise the act of remembering history; rather she injects guilt in the act of burying the past. Through showing the guilt in turning away from her mother’s grave, and in parallel through showing society turning away from the graves and lives of the Native Guard, Trethewey tries to instill guilt within society in order to encourage readers to never forget the past.
Phillip Frenau’s poem, “The Indiana Burying Ground,” juxtaposes the burial techniques of Christian religion with that of the Native American religion. While reading through this poem, the imagery stood out to me. I found myself walking though two ancient burial grounds. One was like the cemeteries I know. I felt a sense of sadness fall over me as I walked around the headstones. The other one was a much different experience. I was able to see into graves. I saw skeletons positioned in a manner unique to themselves. Some had bows drawn, some had their most prized possessions arranged around them, signifying who they were during their life. I found it strange that instead of the normal, mournful feeling I get in the pit of my stomach when thinking about grave yards, I felt a sense of joy and lightheartedness. Through this poem, and themes of death and nature, Frenau attempts to enlighten the reader of the diversity of people and their cultures.
The cemetery my grandfather is buried at Gate of Heaven Cemetery, one of the largest cemeteries in the New York City area. It’s filled with people of all backgrounds and nationalities that came to the city and surrounding area. It has become home to many people as it was created in 1917 and it’s still active to this day, showing exactly one hundred years of progression. The location of the cemetery’s first plots is important to begin with, because New York City is an urban and central hub for lots of the world, the cemetery being outside the city in Westchester County is done on purpose. A cemetery can be a somewhat depressing sight, so it’s placed away from everyone and where they will only see it if they travel out to. It creates a separation between “us and them” (233). Because of the large number of residents from New York City are buried there, the cemetery’s origins start the progressive story of how it grew. The beginning of the cemetery tells a great deal about who was living there at the time. The original tombstones had all of the last names seemed to be
Why do sentinels guard the tomb 24/7? Why is the tomb so sacred to America? There is no specific way to answer all these questions that so many American’s ponder, but there are many possibilities to consider. The tomb of the Unknowns has a special place in many American’s hearts. Since the remains in the tomb are unidentified many mothers, fathers, wives, and other family members feel a strong connection with the tomb. The families that lost soldiers that never returned after these wars connected with the tomb because they felt that the tomb may contain their sons, husbands, or brothers. What if you were somehow related to one of the four soldiers in the tomb? John Eisenhower wrote a newspaper article about the significance of the tomb. In his article he states, “Its significance is staggering going to the very core of how democracy defends itself in a perilous world.” This quote reveals that the tomb represents America’s fight for democracy in this dangerous world. After every war America remains a democracy even when the world around may not agree. Eisenhower thought this monument was different from any other because it honors soldiers. Most monuments honor men that are high up in the military, but this one honors those who are simply the soldiers. The soldiers in the tomb signify all the other soldiers that have lost their lives at war. The tomb of the unknown soldier is found in many other countries
Not only are military heroes buried at Arlington, but memorials have also been built to honor others who have given their lives for America. The memorials that are located throughout Arlington tell a story about people throughout American history (Reef 43). Each year families walk the endless rows of white head stones at Arlington in order to pay their respects to the ones that have given their lives for America.
Suter, Keith. “Roadside Memorials: Sacred Places in a Secular Era.” Contemporary Review 292.1692 (Spring 2010): 51+. Psychology Collection. EBSCO: Academic Onefile. Web. 24 Mar. 2011.
A thick plume of black smoke and ash hung in the air in a heavy haze, almost completely obscuring the lurid red glow of the waning sun. Below, a cloud of grey plaster dust twisted and writhed amid the sea of debris as intermittent eddies of wind gusted by.
In Natasha Trethewey’s poetry collection “Native Guard”, the reader is exposed to the story of Trethewey’s growing up in the southern United States and the tragedy which she encountered during her younger years, in addition to her experiences with prejudice. Throughout this work, Trethewey often refers to graves and provides compelling imagery regarding the burial of the dead. Within Trethewey’s work, the recurring imagery surrounding graves evolves from the graves simply serving as a personal reminder of the past to a statement on the collective memory of society and comments on what society chooses to remember and that which it chooses to let go of.
"Sure sure just don't come home while you're still high. I'll kick you out faster than you can say.." "Goodbye mom" I said sighing as I walked out the door. I got into my car and drove to the hospital stopping at the local coffee shop first for some coffee. I was going to need it.
Joseph said he went back inside his residence for about two to three minutes, then walked back onto his front porch. Joseph said he saw two subjects, dressed in all black, walk from the direction of 7th ST SE and H ST SE to Jason and Jennifer's residence at 721 7th ST SE, and both subjects entered the residence. Joseph said he could not see who the subjects were, but he knew they entered Jason's residence. Joseph stated he did not believe the either of the subjects were Katie, because Katie is a "big" girl and hard to miss. Joseph said about one minute after the subjects entered Jason's residence, Katie exited the front door of the residence and stood on the front porch.
So much can happen in a few minutes, to everyone else, it's just a few minutes nothing special, but to me those few minutes were a lifetime... it started when Radiant Hope brought out the crystal heart from her bag, she handed it to me saying, it was the lock that kept the umbra imprisoned, and that smashing it will free the umbra forever... Okay, she didn't say that last part fully since Rabia finished what she was going to say, and a part of me wondered if Hope would have finished her sentence. As I held the crystal heart everything around me didn't seem to matter, I barely even reacted when the main six and her friends went down, my focus was on the heart.
One of the most unique creatures are fish. As I am sitting here in my room, my fish are swimming about with not a care in the world. I wonder what it would feel like to be a fish.