Hollow eyes glanced around the pristine apartment, the gray scale color scheme seems to match the women clasping her hands together, pursing her lips and searching for approval from the girl that stood in the doorway. Automatically, the girl deduced the woman was quite wealthy, especially in the neighborhood she'd now live in. The streets were busier, filled with nicer cars instead of busted ones without their fenders falling apart at the edge. Her nimble fingers explored the wall as she took careful steps into the living room. Winnie wasn't acclimated to this life style: the wallpaper wasn't being striped at the corners, stainless carpets without nothing questionable left behind, no sign of undesirable critters, and silence. She could finally …show more content…
This is your new home. Your bedroom, is right down the hallway to the left. I remembered you said you liked the color yellow--so, I added some color." Pepper smiled softly at the tiny girl. Winnie's heavy eyes roamed the room until the landed on the hallway. She took silent steps until she reached her room. Vivid sunflowers were perched on her dresser, with a wooden jewelry box, fancy perfume Winnie had only read about in elite magazines, vanilla scented candles, and a mirror. Her closet had basic clothing, new and fresh: something that was new to Winnie as well. Her bed was huge, or at least for her. Her comforter looked like a silky cloud, anticipating for someone to sleep on. Winnie could practically hear it begging for it to be slept in. "Thank you," She squeaked out, turning around to see Pepper resting against the door frame. Winnie never thought she'd have a home, were there wasn't a leak in the ceiling or mold in the closet. She had quality items, no hand-me-downs from strangers on the street. She didn't need to make money on the streets with her special talent just to afford a bottle of water. The girl had a place to call home and actually want to return
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
I’d never been in a house like this. It had rooms off of rooms, and in each of them were deep sofas and chairs, woven carpet over polished hard-wood floors, tasteful paintings on the walls. She asked if I was hungry, and she opened the fridge and it was stuffed with food-cold cuts and cheeses, fresh
The house was quiet and peaceful on a pebbled street, the moving trucks pulled up as Clara followed. She stepped out of her car and looked at the house thinking of how this is a fresh start in her life. “Its perfect” she said with a smile on her face. As the movers pushed open the trailer door Clara walked through the white picket fence gate on to the pebbled path and felt the feeling that she was safe, she whispered to herself “Home”.
Once we conquered the spiders and climb over the massive piles of boxes, we open the spring loaded door and the smell of coffee and burning wood rushes over us. As we entered the living room we traveled back in time, to an old yet still messy Victorian house. In front of the door the floor is tile; four or five of the tiles are broken where my Papa dropped a hammer years ago. As we move deeper into the living room the floor changes to a gray carpet with yellow and brown stains in many different places. The big windows are draped with large lacey curtains and doilies surround the coffee table and all the sides' tables. We bounce down on a blue floral couch and set our stuff on the oak wood coffee table that is less than ten inches from our shins. Beneath this table there are golden po...
They had left the cardboard boxes in the back of the car. Connie Drywood huddled behind the steering wheel and stared through the windshield, presumably at a house, with a flat expression across her face as if it were every other house in America. By now she was used to the middle of nowhere. Dead leaves swooned in the yard. Loose shutters banged in the windows. It was November, a cold day and the house, with its slanted roof and yellow siding, looked a bit like an oversized wedge of cheddar cheese.
I had so many friends. They were soft, silent and sometimes sophisticated. They are the closest to me. I can tell them anything that I am thinking and they will always keep it a secret. However, I have been wondering if I could actually see the real animals outside,but my nanny is too busy while taking care of me. "Mr. Christopher, your parents are here!" yelled my nanny.
“What is that lovely smell,” she asked as she walked into the kitchen. It looked just the way it did when she left. The pastel yellow tiles still bright and freshly scrubbed. Mary sat down at the table and waited for her food to finish. Her mother set the plate and the glass down.
Thump-thump-thump-thump-thump-thump… “Maggie.” Channing Tatum was running towards me through a field of daisies. “Maggie,” he said through smiles. “Maggie. Maggie!” he yelled across the meadow. “MAGGIE!” I felt a slight stinging sensation on the top of my foot. Why is Channing Tatum yelling at me? “MAGGIE WAKE UP!!” I shot out of my wonderful dream, and returned to dull reality. As I sat up from my sleeping position in the old dingy red minivan, I bumped my forehead on the little notch used to hang garments from. “OW!!” I shrieked. My headphones fell off my head, and I saw my little brother in the middle seats motioning to my mom.
...th green shutters beside the windows. With one ring of the door bell, the door shot upon and Niva came running out. Happy tears filled our eyes, for it had been several years since we had last seen each other. She took us up to her apartment space, and there we shared all the great things and not so great things that had occurred in our lives while we were apart. The children swarmed the apartment and were racing around exploring each room, almost as if there was a hidden treasure in each. The rest of the night we all relaxed over a nice meal and listened to Niva’s funny stories of getting lost in the huge city.
Her house was once new and beautiful, just as she was as a younger lady. But later in life, she is described as “bloated”, with lost eyes looking like “two small pieces of coal pressed into a lump of dough” (85). Her depressing and completely anti-social life has lead to her depreciating appearance. Later, her house is described as “lifting its stubborn and coquettish decay” (84). Her appearance diminishes, along with her house. The emphasis on the decay of her and her house during the story helps the reader visualize and understand the sadness and dreariness of her life (and
However, before that, she rolls over on the bed and opens her sleepy eyes—not to a cement ceiling in a lonely cell—but a painted ceiling with lights strung across. At first, Sun is alarmed, suddenly feeling adrenaline speed up her heart and she sits up abruptly. As she looks around the room, she sees familiar things that attribute themselves to belonging Riley. A stereo, a pile of records, a flag of Iceland. Sun has seen these things before, but never in person.
Eleanor looked back at her building as she walked down west avenue. She was struck by the ostentatiousness of it. The windows, polished to an deadly shimmer and the somehow opalescent metal siding gave it an eery glow. It was repulsive, a false image of perfection, of superiority and in that moment it terrified her. The comfort she once felt was replaced by disgust for her city. She had ignored the oil in the roads leaking into the sewers, the miasma from the dumpsters and rubbish heaps and the filth littering the streets and now she watched horrified as she saw her home in its true
We seemed to be in two entirely different worlds while both sitting in her room. I was there playing with the little toys and the little doll house. It was a Tuesday, therefore it was a cleaning day in my made up world. My mutterings and shrieks were the only way they could communicate to each other to make the floral bed or push in the fake mahogany chair. It was incomprehensible to anyone else. The only other noise was my stomach rumbling with the way I imagine that an earthquake would sound during a snowstorm. We hadn’t had something to eat when we came home from school, a foreign idea in my house. When it had finally gotten to the point that I could no longer look at the doll’s kitchen out of jealousy, I started cleaning it up. Her room
The thick burnt scent of roasted coffee tickled the tip of my nose, just seconds before the old faithful alarm blurted a distorted top-forty through its tiny top speaker. As I wiped away the grit from last night’s sleep, the stark white sunlight blinded me momentarily as I slung my arm along the top of the alarm, searching for an off button. While stretching my hands and feet to the four posts of my bed, my eyes opened after several watery blinks. Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I crawled out of the comforter, edging awkwardly like a butterfly from a cocoon. The dusty pebbles on the chilled wood floor sent ripples spiralling from my ankles to the nape of my neck, when my feet hit the floor. Grabbing my emerald robe, recently bathed in fabric softener and a wintry wind, I knotted it tightly at my waist like a prestigious coat of armour. I walked over to the window of the hotel I was staying at, at Palm Beach. I looked outside. I just couldn’t believe that, for the first time in my life, I was in Australia.