Three droning tones served as the morning call of the bustling businesswoman. She awoke in the city that never sleeps to the blaring alarm of her phone and the view of the Manhattan skyline through the tall glass windows encompassing her. She was somewhat accustomed to the sirens and sounds of the city indicating the dawn, yet still, she could not persuade herself to ascend from the dishevelled bed sheets because of the dispiriting drip-drop of drizzle on the autumn horizon. A strong black coffee was calling her name; the phantom, unyielding aroma painted the walls of the two-bed apartment, permeating Jane's nostrils as she longed for caffeine. She grudgingly traipsed her way towards the kitchen: winding through doorways and narrowly missing …show more content…
For Sophie to afford a ticket to her shelter out of the drizzly autumn day, she budgeted just enough change so that she could splash out on a small hot chocolate to warm her up from the inside. The queue was a long, but worthwhile wait as she knew a hot drink would greatly benefit her and her positivity. She glanced outside to the rampaging maze of pedestrians on their way to work. Most likely to an office where they loved what they had to do - no day the same. Oh, how she longed to be back in their shoes, like before she fell from grace, but it was too far-fetched after what she did. All that was left for her to do today was to take the subway to an unknown destination, where she could offload her backpack and set up another living space for the next week or so. A ticket was $3 dollars, which fortunately Sophie could just afford with the remainder of her change. She exchanged the coins for a ticket and clambered down the long staircase to reach the train platform. One thing that she noticed was a pleasant warmth surrounding her, a shock to her previously sustained climate. Seven minutes later and the train arrived, filled with busy people going about their day - she could remember when she was in their position, all she used to do was complain to the person sat next to her about the radical movements of the stocks and shares, back when she could afford to own any. Sophie waited several seconds before embarking on the train to avoid any possible confrontation with hurried workers. The train was packed, and she could barely see through the clumps of workers. In the end, she decided to sit herself down on the dusty blue floor, as there were no seats available. Soon after, she removed the sheet from her backpack and wrapped it around herself in a desperate attempt to get comfortable for her long tour
The author illustrates the “dim, rundown apartment complex,” she walks in, hand and hand with her girlfriend. Using the terms “dim,” and “rundown” portrays the apartment complex as an unsafe, unclean environment; such an environment augments the violence the author anticipates. Continuing to develop a perilous backdrop for the narrative, the author describes the night sky “as the perfect glow that surrounded [them] moments before faded into dark blues and blacks, silently watching.” Descriptions of the dark, watching sky expand upon the eerie setting of the apartment complex by using personification to give the sky a looming, ominous quality. Such a foreboding sky, as well as the dingy apartment complex portrayed by the author, amplify the narrator’s fear of violence due to her sexuality and drive her terror throughout the climax of the
She thought about her family, and the neighbors, and the town, and the dogs next door, and everyone and everything she has ever met or seen. As she began to cry harder, she looked out the window at the stores and buildings drifting past, becoming intoxicated suddenly with the view before her. She noticed a young woman at the bus stop, juggling her children on one side of her, shielding them from the bus fumes.
“I envied the people in the train because they seemed to be going somewhere” (Lesley,7).
The fourth was furnished and lighted with orange—the fifth with white—the sixth with violet. The seventh apartment was closely shrouded in black velvet tapestries that hung all over the ceiling and down the walls, falling in heavy folds upon a carpet of the same material and hue. But in this chamber only, the colour of the windows failed to correspond with the decorations. Its pendulum swung to and fro with a dull, heavy, monotonous clang; and when the minute-hand made the circuit of the face, and the hour was to be stricken, there came from the brazen lungs of the clock a sound which was clear and loud and deep and exceedingly musical, but of so peculiar a note and emphasis that, at each lapse of an hour, the musicians of the orchestra were constrained to pause, momentarily, in their performance, to harken to the sound; and thus the wal gay company; and, while the chimes of the clock yet rang, it was observed that the giddiest grew pale, and the more aged and sedate passed their hands over their brows as if in confused revery or meditation.
The speaker in “Five A.M.” looks to nature as a source of beauty during his early morning walk, and after clearing his mind and processing his thoughts along the journey, he begins his return home feeling as though he is ready to begin the “uphill curve” (ln. 14) in order to process his daily struggles. However, while the speaker in “Five Flights Up,” shares the same struggles as her fellow speaker, she does little to involve herself in nature other than to observe it from the safety of her place of residence. Although suffering as a result of her struggles, the speaker does little to want to help herself out of her situation, instead choosing to believe that she cannot hardly bare recovery or to lift the shroud of night that has fallen over her. Both speakers face a journey ahead of them whether it be “the uphill curve where a thicket spills with birds every spring” (ln. 14-15) or the five flights of stares ahead of them, yet it is in their attitude where these two individuals differ. Through the appreciation of his early morning surroundings, the speaker in “Five A.M.” finds solitude and self-fulfillment, whereas the speaker in “Five Flights Up” has still failed to realize her own role in that of her recovery from this dark time in her life and how nature can serve a beneficial role in relieving her of her
“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
As I walked toward a bus full of strangers, using my sunglasses to shield the tears forming in my eyes, I couldn’t help but to be apprehensive of what was to become of the next twenty-three days of my life. As I trudged up the stairs of the bus leaving behind all that was known, I couldn’t help but wonder; What have I gotten myself into?
In “On the Subway” by Sharon Olds, the author contrasts two divergent people. Olds come to many conclusions as a result of the experience. Sharon Olds utilizes tone, poetic devices such as metaphor, and finally imagery.
The city seemed less hectic here and a little less crowded. I had read online that the once murder capital of New York City was now the fourth safest neighbourhood behind the upper east and upper west sides. I unlocked the door into the lobby of the apartment, the lobby was small and had one wide stairwell at the back of the room. Aunt Allison's apartment was a third-floor apartment, but the third floor seemed to be less of a trek than I had expected. I hadn't been in this apartment before
She continues in this sequel to talk about the abuse she faced and the dysfunction that surrounded her life as a child and as a teen, and the ‘empty space’ in which she lived in as a result. She talks about the multiple personalities she was exhibiting, the rebellious “Willie” and the kind “Carol”; as well as hearing noises and her sensory problems. In this book, the author puts more emphasis on the “consciousness” and “awareness” and how important that was for her therapeutic process. She could not just be on “auto-pilot” and act normal; the road to recovery was filled with self-awareness and the need to process all the pieces of the puzzle—often with the guidance and assistance of her therapist. She had a need to analyze the abstract concept of emotions as well as feelings and thoughts. Connecting with others who go through what she did was also integral to her
In the book “How I Live Now” by Meg Rossoff, the main character, Daisy, is faced with war, love and tragedy all at once. In Daisy’s battle to stay alive she realizes that love exists and recognizes that Oslo is where she belongs. Already knowing her limitations, Daisy comes to an understanding that eating and not being anorexic is okay. Her determination moves the reader in a way that changes what they think of her. It shows that tragic events can change someone in the simplest ways.
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.
The shrill cries of my alarm echo across vermilion painted walls, stirring my consciousness into an aware state. It is precisely eight o’clock on a warm summer Monday; the distant cries of mockingbirds can be heard above the soft whirring of cars passing our genteel residential street. My ears scan the house; it is quiet – barely a sound other than the tinkling of tags as our pets navigate the living room. The still morning air brought realization, with no children running around Mother must have already left for work. Never leaving my lax position I stretch and sigh, it is nice to not have to baby-sit my sister’s kids – my nieces and nephew – but I do miss the mornings where my mother would still kiss me goodbye.
Walking, there is no end in sight: stranded on a narrow country road for all eternity. It is almost dark now. The clouds having moved in secretively. When did that happen? I am so far away from all that is familiar. The trees are groaning against the wind’s fury: when did the wind start blowing? Have I been walking for so long that time hysterically slipped away! The leaves are rustling about swirling through the air like discarded post-it notes smashing, slapping against the trees and blacktop, “splat-snap”. Where did the sun go? It gave the impression only an instant ago, or had it been longer; that it was going to be a still and peaceful sunny day; has panic from hunger and walking so long finally crept in? Waking up this morning, had I been warned of the impending day, the highs and lows that I would soon face, and the unexpected twist of fate that awaited me, I would have stayed in bed.