Louis laid restlessly on his bed, chewing at his bottom lip as tears brimmed his eyes, ready to spill over and down his cheeks. He was approximately 3 seconds away from having a mental breakdown and possibly crying himself an ocean that he would then proceed by drowning himself in. His mind was reeling, reeling, reeling and he just wanted it to stop, or at least slow down because it was becoming unbearable. See, the problem was that Louis wanted to wear his blue jeans today, paired with his red and white striped shirt. Which wouldn't be a problem, if he could find the shirt in question. He is absolutely positive it was washed, and he was also absolutely positive that he had put it away, yet, it was nowhere to be seen. He didn't know if he had put it in the red section, or possibly the white section of his closet, and really, he couldn't even remember organising his wardrobe at all. And honestly, he kept getting distracted from even looking for the shirt in the first place because lately, his little fish Anemone, had been acting strange, which is strange, because Louis doesn't even know how fish are even suppose to act. So he wilts. He wilts like the confused little flower he is because all he wants to do is wear his favourite striped shirt, but no matter how hard he looks he can't seem to find it because his mind is spinning so fast and won't let him focus on finding the shirt alone because everything he sees feel too vivid. Like how his bed seems oddly more comfortable, making him never want to get up. Each crease looks like little coffins to lay down in and possibly never get out of and each little fleck of dust that floats by his eyes are reminding him that he needs to feed Anemone. Its just- everythings just deflating him a... ... middle of paper ... ...aces one of the marks a new thought bubbles inside of him and he finds himself daydream of the West Coast of America, and David Beckham, and kissing. Kissing, that was something that came to mind way too often. He thinks its because hes never been kissed and its one of those things, that after a certain age, you just kind of just crave with a bit of anguish and jealousy and a sigh-worthy of emotions. His sisters been kissed for soddings sake and she still in elementary school. His mates have also been kissed, all by pretty girls with flowy hair and light eyes. Louis has to let himself wonder if he wasnt gay if he would have been kissed by now too, even though he can't even remember a time a girl properly talked to him, besides telling him to stop doing whatever he may be doing. He sighs into the tabletop, adding to the marks sprawled across it, thinking: someday.
After all the experiences Louie went through and the knowledge of knowing he is going to survive through Squalor conditions he felt optimistic. “He felt something alight land on his head it was an albatross slowly Louie raised his hand fingers
overcomes him and he becomes consumed with the idea of creating life, “Summer months passed while I was thus
“I know I’m starting at a very young age. Not even fifteen and already so independent- that’s a little hard for other people to understand. I’m pretty sure Margot would never kiss a boy unless...
It was a dream fall, my body languid and fastidious as to where to land, until the floor became impatient and smashed up to meet me. A moment later I came to. An hypnotic voice said FIVE emphatically. And I lay there, hazily watching a dark red spot of my own blood shaping itself into a butterfly, glistening and soaking into the soiled gray world of the canvas” (Ellison 25).
Killinger’s eyes darted across the room, still recuperating from the grogginess of his swelling pain, burning with a red tint of anguish. The black and white crackle of the T.V buzzed in the corner of the room. A crooked mirror etched over the nearby wall. Clothing was spewn across the room, almost as if someone had been desperately packing for a quick getaway. It was all too quiet, but the faint murmur of cascading water could be heard behind the bathroom door.
Sometimes it hardened and seemed to expand until I felt my guts were going to come spilling out or that I was going to choke or scream,” (Baldwin 37) enables the reader to imagine and feel the depth of his fear for his brother. The use of intensive details is an important asset in creating sympathy in the reader.
Firstly, within this passage, Louise’s internal tension grows as she notices her physical deterioration. The narrator seems to become mindfully
The cold gray light cast faint shadows onto the bike path that wound along the coast of Lake Huron and through scattered pine forest and picnic areas. Gusting wind blew around little piles of leaves, as the path made its way through an open area next to the great lake. Whitecaps and the larger swells from the lake occasionally broke up and over the small retaining wall that separated the path from the menacing water. The little boy on his bike pedaled as fast as he could through these stretches, and imagined one of the waves reaching up and over the wall, plucking him up and carrying him out into the vast expanse. He fought to keep down his panic as he rode for what had been hours through the ominous weather which, besides being cold and wet, included occasional flashes of lightning and the low menacing growl of distant
Her lungs burnt and her breath caught in her throat. Every second she wasted was a second closer to losing him. Then she saw him, a distorted shadow in the moonlight. She cried out his name again through chapped lips. Tears pooled in her eyes, like a gentle ocean resembling her bleeding heart. Mascara smudged around her cheeks like charcoal. She stumbled forwards, her legs threatening to give way. Rough edged rocks tore at her clothes, slashing her trousers like something in a horror movie. But she had to keep going. After all they had been through, she couldn’t lose him now. Not
I even noticed that Fowler would glance at me every so often, before continuing his conversation. Pyle had attempted to grab my attention, but his voice was like a whisper compared to the noise surrounding us. He’d come up to me and said “Phut-on avoir I’honneur,”, he was asking me to dance. Despite the fact that I wanted it so badly to be Fowler to be the one asking me, I nodded my head and agreed anyway. The next thing I knew, he had taken a hold of my hand and led me to the floor. When we danced, Pyle held me so far away from him, almost like he thought it was a sin to touch a woman. His dancing was horrible. It was even worse than Fowlers. I laughed at this thought. Pyle looked nervous. He began to tell me about himself and he mentioned someone, York Harding, I think his name was. He told me that he was his favourite author, and recommended some of his
Rainsford started out of the bedroom slowly and quietly, looking both ways to make sure it was clear to go. He started down the long hallway, being careful of his steps. He heard cries as he got closer to the end of the hallway near the stairs. He tried to see if he could see anyone from the stairs but failed to see where the cries were coming from. He started down the stairs carefully and slowly.
"I love you, Zai." He whispered, holding her deep brown eyes, with his piercing blue orbs, "And, I'll remember this day forever." Not averting his gaze, Kyle fumbled for words. "What you said, last night, that you wanted to be mine?" Pulling her closer, and hands slightly trembling on her skin, the Army vet swallowed hard, then leaned in for a kiss. A kiss that whilst similar to the others, was simultaneously different, filled with a previously unexhibited need. Or that could have simply been Kyle's imagination, brought on by apprehension. "I was thinking we'd leave tonight, and put a few more miles between us and Everglades, before the parcel arrived at Cole's,
starts to think of how he can be a part of the dream he also gets happy and
Sitting on the floor, Adam had his shorts around his ankles while some girl sat on his knee, with her skirt hitched up around her hips. And you know the worst part? Adam just looked at me, winked and carried on, as though it were nothing out of the ordinary for him to be bumping fuzzies with some insanely attractive girl inside a library. (Bumping fuzzies being, of course, the silly euphemism that Adam always uses for sex on his radio show.)
Convinced, Nagisa nodded reluctantly, grabbed his backpack, and climbed up the stairs, the pain in his neck expanding wider. He went to his dark and gloomy room, sitting on his...“mattress,” and sat in silence, thinking about the things that happened in his life. Unconsciously, Nagisa cried, tears dripping down from his chin. He gasped.