The first light flooded a tsunami in her eyes. She slowly opened them in order to minimize the irritation. It was pointless because Dolores had realized it was impossible to avoid another day. All she wanted to do was stay in her warm linen haven of a bed. But, She knew the moment she put her feet down, her whole body would feel the cold shock of the real world.
The cold shock ripped through her, but she did not respond nor react, she could not let it win.
Walking down the narrow maple-floored corridor, it seemed to chill her bones every time she stepped. The light beckoning from the bedroom bay windows was stationary almost painted in place, unmoving in her presence. She continued on as the house creaked as if about to break but remained locked in place. She walked into her bathroom which still had the faint smell of her late husbands cologne. She tried to decipher the voice speaking to her through the now squeaking door; could it be his? But sometimes, she wondered if that sound was the sound of her heart, beckoning to her, every day, to scream.
The door of the Pontiac GTO clanged behind her, It had been his pride and joy. He had fully restored the engine. As the engine rumbled to life she could smell engine fuel. When, he used to come home from work every night that was the smell that would announce him. She had always adored and disliked the smell at the same time. Now it was a painful yet comforting sentiment. The Pontiac plant was looming in the distance of the road the powerful smoke stacks like swords, and there the GTO’s constant sputtering of the scent was like a million wounds at once. She had always remembered the day when she had received the call in the middle of teaching her C Period math Class, No...
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...thought it was an eye sore. The only thing she liked about it was the white patch with the sewn black words which proudly said Mark Santos, Machine Operator, Pontiac Plant, #71197 Detroit, Michigan.
As the uniform stared at her, she noticed a handkerchief sticking out of the left breast pocket. She couldn’t help but take a sniff of the smell before giving to Mark.
He took the handkerchief. and wiped his face off without a word.
“Do you need a ride home?”
His eyes sank as she asked the question.
Why don’t you come on over to my house tonight?
She saw a little nod.
The Engine roared to life once again, and again the smell wafted around the car.
“Jeez, lady something’s wrong with your car….”
She didn’t respond, as she was dazed in the smell that for once….made her feel content as she was in control of the car, going along the no longer, dark and distant road.
Physical exhaustion followed her first storm of grief. At first she did not. know what was coming to her. She could not even give it a name. When she started to recognize it, she was trying to beat it back with sheer willpower.
Under the orders of her husband, the narrator is moved to a house far from society in the country, where she is locked into an upstairs room. This environment serves not as an inspiration for mental health, but as an element of repression. The locked door and barred windows serve to physically restrain her: “the windows are barred for little children, and there are rings and things in the walls.” The narrator is affected not only by the physical restraints but also by being exposed to the room’s yellow wallpaper which is dreadful and fosters only negative creativity. “It is dull enough to confuse the eye in following, pronounced enough to constantly irritate and provoke study, and when you follow the lame uncertain curves for a little distance they suddenly commit suicide – plunge off at outrageous angles, destroy themselves in unheard of contradictions.”
Looking through the eyes of the current resident living in the hanted house, a ghostly couple rambles through what once was theirs looking for their “treasure”. Searching feverishly for the missing piece that would cure their restlesness, it seems as though they cannot grasp what they’ve lost. At the conclusion of the short story, the previous inhabitants find their desired treasure in the love between the living couple. This was the treasure the past couple had forgotten - true love. Wolf’s diction establishes the relationship between the couples and the house. Incorporating the word “beat” into her work while describing the house, Virginia coorelates the house to a heart, where love resides. Next, alliteration is used to romanticize the hunt for this hidden object. While the old couple attempts to remember where they left it, they reaize that it is “So fine, so rare, coolly sunk beneath the surface the beam I sought always burnt behind the glass” (Wolf 1). The S sound exemplifies the poetic nature of this story, something that is constanly used to portray the emotion of love.
“No thank you, sir,” Anne said, twisting out of his reach and hopping from the train. “There’s knack to holding it, if you don’t mind.” She glanced over the near empty platform. “It appears I’m to wait for my ride.” The thought wasn’t oppressive. Avonlea was a variable paradise. Gone were the wastelands of the outer provinces, replaced by lush grasses, strong and tall green trees, and a bright blue sky as far as the eye could see. Bees hummed and birds chirped amongst the treetops. Instead of recycled oxygen, here the air smelled of sunshine and warm apple pie. “Train’s early,” the stationmaster said. “Do you wish to go inside to the lady’s waiting room?” Hope lodged firmly in Anne’s heart. “I do believe I’ll wait outside. Right there on that bench.” She grinned. “So much more scope for the imagination, don’t you agree?” “I suppose…” the man muttered, but his doubt was lost on Anne, who’d already plunked down on the bench and was staring up into the heavens with unrestrained joy. She had done it. She’d left pain and terror behind and stepped into the light. Nothing would take this new world from her. No thing. And no one. A tremulous smile pulled at the corners of her mouth. Avonlea had a new protector. Lord save them
Throughout the story, the mood becomes more suspenseful. As Janet walks out of the strong spring storm and enters her cold damp house, she is overcome by feelings of isolation and loneliness. Her husband is not there; there are dead plants around her house as if nobody has been there for a lo...
The story starts out with a hysterical.woman who is overprotected by her loving husband, John. She is taken to a summer home to recover from a nervous condition. However, in this story, the house is not her own and she does not want to be in it. She declares it is “haunted” and “that there is something queer about it” (The Yellow Wall-Paper. 160). Although she acknowledges the beauty of the house and especially what surrounds it, she constantly goes back to her feeling that there is something strange about the house. It is not a symbol of security for the domestic activities, it seems like the facilitates her release, accommodating her, her writing and her thoughts, she is told to rest and sleep, she is not even allow to write. “ I must put this away, he hates to have me write a word”(162). This shows how controlling John is over her as a husband and doctor. She is absolutely forbidden to work until she is well again. Here John seems to be more of a father than a husband, a man of the house. John acts as the dominant person in the marriage; a sign of typical middle class, family arrangement.
“Why? Why? The girl gasped, as they lunged down the old deer trail. Behind them they could hear shots, and glass breaking as the men came to the bogged car” (Hood 414). It is at this precise moment Hood’s writing shows the granddaughter’s depletion of her naïve nature, becoming aware of the brutality of the world around her and that it will influence her future. Continuing, Hood doesn’t stop with the men destroying the car; Hood elucidated the plight of the two women; describing how the man shot a fish and continued shooting the fish until it sank, outlining the malicious nature of the pair and their disregard for life and how the granddaughter was the fish had it not been for the grandmother’s past influencing how she lived her life. In that moment, the granddaughter becomes aware of the burden she will bear and how it has influenced her life.
On the day of the full eclipse, Dolores Claiborne’s life changes forever. True, it had been changed by events beyond her control long before this fateful day, but she chooses this day to end her husband’s life so she and her family can go on living. Steven King masterfully weaves this tale of love, abuse, and denial in his novel, Dolores Claiborne, which was later turned into a movie directed by Taylor Hackford. Although the movie adaptation of the novel follows the story line very closely, there are a few changes made, such as the role of Dolores’ daughter, Selena, the intended audience to Dolores, and the importance of Salena being raped by her father.
No, it wasn’t out of euphoria, no it was secretive as I let the bulletproof fabric descend down her back, creeping down her dress making a trail along her spinal cord. Secretly, moving my hand to the product, I positioned my hand right atop of it, gliding the item to slip to her hip bone. Withdrawing my hand, I placed it upon her cheek slyly.
“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.
When he arrived at the home the servant who took his hoarse and directed him to the room that Mr. Usher was in greeted him. Inside the house was also very ornate, but it to had also been left alone for to long. The entire house had a gloomy atmosphere that would put a chill down most people’s spines. When he entered the room his friend was staying in he was warmly welcomed. He could not believe the changes that his dear childhood friend had endured.
The door opened. She stood in the breach surveying the parking lot. Satisfied she turned, locked the door and hurried across the deserted lot to her car, a red Toyota with more rust than red. The tap tap of her high heels beat a drum on the cracked asphalt. The moon scurried behind the clouds as if to hide its face in horror
We all remember these grey gloomy days filled with a feeling of despair that saddens the heart from top to bottom. Even though, there may be joy in one’s heart, the atmosphere turns the soul cold and inert. Autumn is the nest of this particular type of days despite its hidden beauty. The sun seems foreign, and the nights are darker than usual enveloped by a thrill that generates chills to travel through the spine leaving you with a feeling of insecurity. Nevertheless, the thinnest of light will always shine through the deepest darkness; in fact, darkness amplifies the beauty and intensity of a sparkle. There I found myself trapped within the four walls of my house, all alone, surrounded by the viscosity of this type of day. I could hear some horrifying voices going through my mind led by unappealing suicidal thought. Boredom had me encaged, completely at its mercy. I needed to go far away, and escape from this morbid house which was wearing me down to the grave. Hope was purely what I was seeking in the middle of the city. Outside, the air was heavy. No beautifully rounded clouds, nor sunrays where available to be admired through the thick grey coat formed by the mist embedded in the streets. Though, I felt quite relieved to notice that I was not alone to feel that emptiness inside myself as I was trying to engage merchant who shown similar “symptoms” of my condition. The atmosphere definitely had a contagious effect spreading through the hearts of every pedestrian that day. Very quickly, what seemed to be comforting me at first, turned out to be deepening me in solitude. In the city park, walking ahead of me, I saw a little boy who had long hair attached with a black bandana.
She's not sure what came over her at that minute, she doesn't even remember what she was thinking. But she does remember jumping on him, and knocking him to the floor, and then taking her knife and plunging it in and out of his back. She had no recollection of what happened for the next 10 minutes, perhaps she blacked out, but when she finally stood up, she knew what she had to do. She walked out to the garage and got a tarp down off the shelf. Her father used it to cover the wood pile, but she figured he probably wouldn't notice it was gone for a while. She took the tarp back into the kitchen and rolled the body on to it, checking to make sure that she didn't get blood onto anything that would be noticeably stained. The large pool of blood on the floor would be a problem, but she'd take care of that when she got back.
Away from the immense sea, white foams from the waves gather gently onto the golden shore. Now, half of a glowing, radiant light looms across the water 's horizon. The sea turns blood-red and darkness creeps up like a thief. The necklace that once reflected its passionate energy of fury moments ago now resembled a mere costume jewellery. Perhaps the loss of the necklace’s elegance and sophistication was the reason to why it was disregarded. Pity the owner did not see the necklace radiating its splendour at its peak. Anyhow, the nightfall creates a sensation of joy and tranquillity in me. Every sight and sound stimulates a sense of composure and serenity; and the effect is heightened by the absence of the noisy bustle of our daily work, only to be exposed to the never-ending music of the waves, and to breathe the fresh air instead of the stale atmosphere of classrooms. It is not easy to describe the effect of this sight; it can only be strangely deciphered in my mind. It is however, a very tangible and distinct emotion, though its allure really depends upon the reality of the world from a further point of view, away from the definite predictabilities of the world, all in which an instant becomes like a translucent drape which almost consents me to catch a glimpse of a ideal and more breath-taking reality. The worldly desires, expectations, worries, schemes, suddenly cease to exist. It is as though all of