N'Gaou's head whipped back to the sound of elicated footsteps through the eerie silence. A young girl came into view, tears ran down her enoby face glistening in the sun. She cowered back under the intense gaze of N'Gaou, her dark eyes flickered all around searching for a quick escape. "I wish not to hurt you" said N'Gaou takigg a tentative step foward with both hands poised in the air in surrender "I simply want to know what happened" he creeped towards her cautiously "perhaps you know the answer" he settled a few feet away from her dropping his hands to his side. Chantal's eyes dropped to her ashsn feet, her hands clasped tightly in front of her, "they came" her voice was below a whisper almost beigg washed away with the wind but N'Gaou
The night was tempestuous and my emotions were subtle, like the flame upon a torch. They blew out at the same time that my sense of tranquility dispersed, as if the winds had simply come and gone. The shrill scream of a young girl ricocheted off the walls and for a few brief seconds, it was the only sound that I could hear. It was then that the waves of turmoil commenced to crash upon me. It seemed as though every last one of my senses were succumbed to disperse from my reach completely. As everything blurred, I could just barely make out the slam of a door from somewhere alongside me and soon, the only thing that was left in its place was an ominous silence.
The book, Memoirs of a Geisha, is about a girl, Chiyo, who was born in a fishing village in Yoroido, Japan. Chiyo was born into a lower income village; she and her sister, Satsu, were sold by their father into the geisha society to make up for the lack of medicine that her mom needed. Satsu ended up in the pleasure district in Kyoto and Chiyo was forced to go to an Okiya house to work to become a Geisha for the rest of her life. The meaning of a geisha is artisan, it is a Japanese hostess trained to entertain men with conversation, dance, and song.
A specific aspect of the production that stood out to me in Trevor Biship’s production, Assassins, is the musical number The Ballad of Guiteau. The Ballad of Guiteau stood out to me because of the music, Rob Murray’s delivery and the connection I made with the character Charles Guiteau.
As a child, Lena was always kept away from strangers by her mother, fueling her curiosity and imagination. In order to keep the “bad man” from planting babies in Lena, her mother had barricaded the door to the basement and told her not to enter. However, Lena’s curiosity finally enabled her to pry open the door, but she fell into a dark chasm. When she is rescued by her mother, she said “…after that I began to see terrible things. I saw these things with my Chinese eyes, the part of me I got from my mother.” (103) Lena completely overlooked the warnings that were presented to her by an authority figure, her mom. Her mom constantly reminded her of the terrible events that could happen, but Lena felt she was so separated from the world she lived in that she became very curious. She wanted to see the world veiled by her mother’s restrictions, and even face danger she was always kept way from. As a result, she suffered the consequences of seeing everyth...
The constant changing of technology and social norms makes difficult for different generations to understand one another and fully relate to each other. Diction and slang change as years pass and what is socially acceptable may have been prohibited in the previous generations.
... But the very passions themselves were aroused within her soul, swaying it, lashing it, as the waves daily beat upon her splendid body. She trembled, she was choking, and the tears blinded her”
The gentle early morning breeze blew across their faces like the whispering winds sway the trees. They had been walking all night long, and finally made it across the border. My mother’s hair was ruffled up, her nose had a steady trickle of blood running into her open mouth. She grunted softly as she lifted her hand up. Tears streamed down her eyes. She knew she had finally made it to her destination.
She was beginning to recognize this thing that was approaching to possess her, and she was striving to beat it back with her will--as powerless as her two white slender hands would have been. When she abandoned herself a little whispered word escaped her slightly parted lips. She said it over...
She sat there silently, taking in the chaos that surrounded her. Her village now in smoldering ruins as the sun came up. She sat amongst the rubble, covered in sweat and soot, still numb from what she experienced the night before. It happened so quickly there was no time to react. The marauders came late and in such force, there was no time to do anything and nowhere to run. All around her in the darkness, she could hear the cries of her people and the maniacal laughter of the warring tribesman who had come to kill them all without any thought of mercy.
face away toward the Gulf, whose sonorous murmur reached her like a loving but imperative
He turned his head toward me and peered at me through swollen eyes. “I begged her not to go with him,” he said quietly. “Do you hear me, I begged her!”
There was a silence in the room; an odd dusty silence. Sophie shut her eyes, not minding the tear racing down her cheek, or how hard her heart pounded deep inside her chest, or that she didn’t feel either.
I ran. That’s all I could remember until, finally, the root of a tree sticking up through the ground grabbed my foot, and I went tumbling over and over, somersaulting over dead leaves and rolling down a slight incline when I hit my head upon the base of the tree itself--or maybe it was another tree. I can’t be sure.
She looked out towards the sky, weak rays of sunlight were breaking through the horizon. She knew people were beginning to stir. She also knew that she would have to leave soon. She just wished she didn’t have
Imagine a young girl; the harsh African sun is kissing her bronzed skin. The warm golden sand tickles her petite and tattered feet. The immense gold earrings she wears beats against her slender neck. Her stature is of a queen, yet she walks to an uncertain death. She stands in front of a small hut, or a tent. She glances back and sees the majestic sun that had once kissed her neck now set and somewhat leave her abandoned. She exists alone in front of that diminutive hut or tent and out comes a man. He is exhausted and is ready to go home to his companion and his supper. He looks a bit annoyed that she has come so late. His hands are stained with a ruby tint and his clothes the same. He motions the young girl in. Hesitantly, she makes small and meager steps to the entranceway. She steps into a minute room with little or no lighting. She stares upon two women and a rusty table that holds the screams of the girls that went before her. The man motions her to sit in the table. She slowly places her body on the stained and rusty table. She is a bit afraid that the table will not hold under her weight; nevertheless, she is held up. The man places his cold and clammy hands on her collarbone and pushes her back to the table. As she lies there she looks to her left and sees his instruments; a bloody and rusty razor blade.