My head thumped with pain as the carriage tugged through the ancient path. It seemed to be midnight, not that I cared to notice, clutching the precious Totem in one arm, wrapped in that pretencious silk cloth, my other arm flexing, a storm of spasms comes and goes every time the grooved wheels run over a stone. As far I remember since that only bowl of warm rabbit-stew and pint of Farthing Ale there was an endless alternating pattern of views that wheeled overhead: forest canopy, sky and water dripping from the mossy growth along the sides of the cliff.
Dangerous cliff roads.
Along that bright afternoon, I conjectured that those eerie, head-like, greenish, black spotted growths on veiny vines were premature Boshinu, or rather Creeper, referred to by the Men in their crude speech. Too young to pose any threat, like some infants of the Men, suckling nutrients from their mothers' wombs. Too weak to move a single finger or eyelid. When found near our walls the Boshini were most urgently cut down by our usual hearty lumbermen. Their unappetizing craniums lobotomized of seeds and Sulfur Salts. While the former are fed to our cats, the Sulfur is bundled in leather, to be stored underground by our Elders...
Another bump, my headpain spiked again, nerves singing in pain.
Why - or how - did I loose my line of thought at such a time as this? I wanted to
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Real crimson blood. What used to be scarcely directly overhead my sorry self were now clouds, grey and white clouds. Ghosts. Every each one slowly contorting into faces displaying of hellish agony, thundering with their raging remorse, hapless souls lit up by white streaking light. Different people enjoying the same hell. The Rocks sang. A fucking cheerful rhyme, but I don't understand them. They are screaming. The horses were singing. The Rocks were singing. The Horses were screaming. There was fire while I couldn't see anything. My eyes were screaming snakes. The Rocks laughed
By noon they had begun to climb toward the gap in the mountains. Riding up through the lavender or soapweed, under the Animas peaks. The shadow of an eagle that had set forth from the line of riders below and they looked up to mark it where it rode in that brittle blue and faultless void. In the evening they came out to upon a mesa that overlooked all the country to the north... The crumpled butcher paper mountains lay in sharp shadowfold under the long blue dusk and in the middle distance the glazed bed of a dry lake lay shimmering like the mare imbrium. (168)
In the poem, “Traveling Through the Dark”, the author, William Stafford, uses many poetic devices that enhance the true meaning of the poem. The poetic devices found in the poem include poem’s persona, tone, word choice, imagery, symbolism, and comparisons. Stafford uses these poetic devices to help the readers to experience and visualize the situation that the narrator is going through.
The first half of my book “The Cellar” written by Natasha Preston, was so good that I could not put the book down. The girl, at that point, had no memories which include her name and anything before she woke up on a dirty, bloody cabin floor. She looked down at her throbbing hand and found that two of her fingernails were missing.
When I found myself on my Feet, I looked about me, and must confess I never beheld a more entertaining Prospect. The Country round appeared like a continued Garden, and the inclosed Fields, which were generally Forty Foot square, resembled so many Beds of flowers. These Fields were intermingled with Woods of half a Stang, and the tallest Trees, as I could judge, appeared to be seven Foot high. I viewed the Town on my left Hand, which looked like the painted Scene of a City in a Theatre.
“The dreary road, darkened by all the gloomiest trees of the forest, which barely stood aside to let the narrow path creep through, and closed immediately behind,”(325).
Although there were many other things to worry about as I transported my flock, my mind still drifted to the merchant's daughter. The dark night sky gave my memory time to fade into familiar sounds and colors that made my recollection of that day clear and vivid.
The drive to cross the Kentucky border had taken hours and hours of strenuous patience to finally arrive in another state. The view was by far country like as hints of cow manure could be smelled far from a distance. We drive through small towns, half the size of our hometown of Glen Ellyn had been the biggest town we've seen if not smaller. The scenery had overwhelmed us, as lumps of Earth from a great distance turned to perfectly molded hills, but as we got closer and closer to our destination the hills no longer were hills anymore, instead the hills had transformed to massive mountains of various sizes. These mountains surrounded our every view as if we had sunken into a great big deep hole of green pastures. Our path of direction was seen, as the trails of our road that had followed for numerous hours ended up winding up the mountainous mountains in a corkscrew dizzy-like matter.
I sipped slowly on a cup of hot chocolate after the sun set, and pondered in my head what my first activity might be when I woke up in the morning. Should I build an impenetrable snow fort inspired by images of Minas Tirith? Or perhaps amass a pile of snowballs to use for the inevitable war that I would start with my sister. Quickly I became distracted by the beautiful, handcrafted wood which formed the dwelling. The rich orange and distressed brown mixed perfectly to create something so easy on the eyes, I had difficulty comprehending how it came to be. The smooth and flawless texture led me to run a hand over to test for splinters. The smell of the wood was intertwining with smells from the fireplace, the kitchen and my cup of hot chocolate. All of these sensations came together to form a feeling of tenderness, akin to a mother’s embrace. I never wanted to return back home. I had discovered a place so perfect, so inviting and peaceful, I vowed to never return to the familiarity of home. This was only the first day with vastly more to look forward
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...
As I looked around me, all I could think was, “Wow, there are a lot of images of death and pain surrounding me right
The sights were breathtaking and it was a way to see the things my grandfather saw in his life, many left unchanged from his childhood. His family owned a horse farm and the house was beautiful at sunset, with the sun illuminating the rolling hills while creeping under the tree line. The village he grew up in, Maidstone, has the river medway running through it. It is a quintessential English town, complete with Tudor style houses, cobble stone streets, and even a castle. I imagined my grandfather walking these streets as a young lad, being reckless and stupid before embarking on the challenge of participating in war. Being there, after the planning and searching I did for the trip gave me a gratifying feeling of peace. I had met my grandfather vicariously through taking a journey through his life in England.
The Creature That Opened My Eyes Sympathy, anger, hate, and empathy, these are just a few of the emotions that came over me while getting to know and trying to understand the creature created by victor frankenstein in Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein. For the first time I became completely enthralled in a novel and learned to appreciate literature not only for the great stories they tell but also for the affect it could have on someones life as cliché as that might sound, if that weren’t enough it also gave me a greater appreciation and understanding of the idiom “never judge a book by its cover.” As a pimply faced, insecure, loner, and at most times self absorbed sophomore in high school I was never one to put anytime or focus when it came time
Her spry, Timberland-clad foot planted itself upon a jagged boulder, motionless, until her calf muscles tightened and catapulted her small frame into the next stride. Then Sara's dance continued, her feet playing effortlessly with the difficult terrain. As her foot lifted from the ground, compressed mint-colored lichen would spring back into position, only to be crushed by my immense boot, struggling to step where hers had been. My eyes fixated on the forest floor, as fallen trees, swollen roots, and unsteady rocks posed constant threats for my exhausted body. Without glancing up I knew what was ahead: the same dense, impenetrable green that had surrounded us for hours. My throat prickled with unfathomable thirst, as my long-empty Nalgene bottle slapped mockingly at my side. Gnarled branches snared at my clothes and tore at my hair, and I blindly hurled myself after Sara. The portage had become a battle, and the ominously darkening sky raised the potential for casualties. Gritting my teeth with gumption, I refused to stop; I would march on until I could no longer stand.
SparkNotes Editors. “SparkNote on Long Day's Journey into Night.” SparkNotes.com. SparkNotes LLC. n.d.. Web. 6 Jan. 2014. .
“The offing was barred by a black bank of clouds, and the tranquil waterway leading to the uttermost ends of the earth flowed somber under an overcast sky – seemed to lead into the heart of an immense darkness.” (96)