“What have I done… What have I done….”
Grace didn’t understand this feeling, the guilt that coursed through her veins, seemed to bubble as Grace sat at the window of her family’s caravan, The soft rock and roll that feel from the small radio in her mobile sanctuary seemed to be the only thing that kept her calm these days. The those who opposed them, hunters were not known as a soft people, they were warriors, uncompromising, ready to go to any means to destroy the monsters that plagued their earth, but they still were a people, and Grace was a person, a person who let music soothe her. And yet, while the smooth sound of the Eagles sang through the small speakers from the radio, Grace didn’t feel that comfort. It was nowhere in sight. Her eyes were red, and dry, from the short crying jag she’d allowed herself. Not that Grace was one for crying in general, it was a weakness she didn’t exactly have the leisure of possessing. She recalled how the elders would tell her “No Amet would cease its rampage due to the tears of a young girl.” their little way of telling Grace to buck up for things to come, and she had. However the past events, fears she’d relented for them.
Her twenty third birthday had come and gone, a small celebration between the small moving camp, but it was a celebration nevertheless. She and her mother had gone through pictures, the film only few years old seemed older in the woman’s hands… one particular photograph she saw herself, her mother and her father. She wasn’t sure of the sensation that followed, but it was all wrong. She didn’t feel that sense of change she knew. When you’re sixteen, you feel different from that of when you were thirteen, when you were eighteen, you felt different from that of when you were ...
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...hoice did she have? Dagger still in her hands, she started out on foot off of the temporary campsite and made her way into the woods. She did her best to run at top speed, legs pumping, her mind already turning with what to do next. She wanted to stop, she wanted to cry, her entire body wanted to fall apart, but she didn’t have the leisure of coming to terms with this right here and now, Grace had to keep running, because she understood the look on Jeremiah’s face, the way he yelled, nothing hindering him as he threw that dagger. If she didn’t run now, they were going to kill her and their only reasoning behind it was it was what they were meant to do. So she continued on, biting on her lip to keep herself from openly sobbing. She could cry when the lights of the fire died and the voices died out when she was safe, but now she had to stay alive. Grace had to survive.
Grace is a very sweet and sensitive girl. She made some mistakes herself, but because of her foster parents she got through the tough parts. In Far From the Tree written by Robin Benway, she created a character that had a child in highschool and Her little girl was adopted and has a better life than what Grace could have offered her. Once Grace got told she had a sister named Maya she bursted into joy. Her heart was beating out of her chest when she was emailing Maya to meet up. When Maya replied with an answer Grace was ecstatic, but at the same time she did not know what to think. The moment when she saw the answer was ¨yes¨ she ran downstairs to tell her parents. Her whole life was now different because she had a relief that she had someone
...en-year-old girl”. She has now changed mentally into “someone much older”. The loss of her beloved brother means “nothing [will] ever be the same again, for her, for her family, for her brother”. She is losing her “happy” character, and now has a “viole[nt]” personality, that “[is] new to her”. A child losing its family causes a loss of innocence.
... sins, but she can’t take back what she did so she will forever have blood on her hands. This guilt and all of the lies she has told is giving her true trepidation and in the end she decided to end her terror by taking her life.
Another instance in which his anguish at her abandonment is connoted is when the “house [echoes] with desertion” (Carter 50). Despite the fact that the house is rather grand and is beautifully furnished, there fails to be the reverberations of any sounds that would deem the dwelling alive. Rather, it is only the sounds of emptiness which engulfs the house. Comparatively, the mindset of the Beast is st...
ThThe notion of getting older, one day has too frightened me. I wonder what could I have done in the past to change the future. I reminisce of all the things I have done with the people that I love. But, at the end the day, I look forward to getting older. I look forward to the memories that I will make, which one day will be stories told between two friends or family members about their crazy grandmother Gabriella. E.B. White 's essay represents the fears that adults, but mostly parents, face when seeing children grow up and experience life the same way they once did. These nostalgic moments turn to fear of losing their youth. I believe that White 's essay is a manifestation of a mid-life crisis that fails to show what life has to offer after
Marita Bonner starts her short essay by describing the joys and innocence of youth. She depicts the carefree fancies of a cheerful and intelligent child. She compares the feelings of such abandonment and gaiety to that of a kitten in a field of catnip. Where the future is opened to endless opportunities and filled with all the dream and promises that only a youth can know. There are so many things in the world to see, learn, and experience that your mind in split into many directions of interest. This is a memorable time in life filled with bliss and lack of hardships.
She begins talking about her childhood and who raised her until she was three years old. The woman who raised her was Thrupkaew’s “auntie”, a distant relative of the family. The speaker remembers “the thick, straight hair, and how it would come around [her] like a curtain when she bent to pick [her] up” (Thrupkaew). She remembers her soft Thai accent, the way she would cling to her auntie even if she just needed to go to the bathroom. But she also remembers that her auntie would be “beaten and slapped by another member of my family. [She] remembers screaming hysterically and wanting it to stop, as [she] did every single time it happened, for things as minor as…being a little late” (Thrupkaew). She couldn’t bear to see her beloved family member in so much pain, so she fought with the only tool she had: her voice. Instead of ceasing, her auntie was just beaten behind closed doors. It’s so heart-breaking for experiencing this as a little girl, her innocence stolen at such a young age. For those who have close family, how would it make you feel if someone you loved was beaten right in front of you? By sharing her story, Thrupkaew uses emotion to convey her feelings about human
Sharon Olds’s poem, “I Go Back to May 1937,” is an emotional piece that takes the reader back to the early days as the speaker’s existence was first thought about. The speaker is a female who describes the scene when her parents first met; she does this to show her wrestling thoughts as she wishes she could prevent this first encounter. She speaks about this topic because of the horrendous future of regret and sorrow that her family would experience, and also to contemplate her own existence if her parents had never met in May of 1937. Olds uses forms of contrasting figurative language, an ironic plot, and a regretful tone to convey the conflict between the speaker and her parents while she fully comes to understanding of past actions, and how these serve as a way for her to release her feelings on the emotional subject.
The second time Clara attended Harry’s composition class she was seen by Harry taking notes and enjoying the class. She got up to waltz when Barb Kjellerud asked for a volunteer. In the car Clara, says “What a wonderful class”. She finally was not thinking about her age. As Harry and Susan are ice skating, they notice Clara sitting on a bench watching them. Clara told Harry that she likes to watch happiness and that she wanted to see him and Susan together. A new side of Clara is beginning to unravel. Loving the little things in life is easy for Clara now and her age is no longer a
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
I sat back and let the sun bathe me in its bright, reminiscent light. The atmosphere around me was quiet, but just a few feet away people were mourning a great life. It was a life that some say was “lived to the longest and the fullest.” I ,on the other hand, held a solid disagreement. The “longest” couldn’t yet be over, could it? Seventy-five just seemed too short when I had only shared thirteen years with this fabulously, wonderful woman.
I slowly opened the front door -- the same old creak echoed its way throughout the old house, announcing my arrival just seconds before I called out, "Grandma!" She appeared around the corner with the normal spring in her steps. Her small but round 5'1" frame scurried up to greet me with a big hug and an exclamation of, "Oh, how good to see you." It was her eighty-fifth birthday today, an amazing feat to me, just part of everyday life to her. The familiar mix of Estee Lauder and old lotion wafted in my direction as she pulled away to "admire how much I've grown." I stopped growing eight years ago, but really, it wasn't worth pointing this fact out. The house, too, smelled the same as it's ever smelled, I imagine, even when my father and his brothers grew up here more than forty years ago -- musty smoke and apple pie blended with the aroma of chocolate chip cookies. The former was my grandfather's contribution, whose habit took him away from us nearly five years ago; the latter, of course, comes from the delectable delights from my grandmother's kitchen. Everything was just as it should be.
In the days leading up to her graduation, she was so excited about receiving her diploma for her academic accomplishments, even though she hasn’t accomplished a lot in life by experiencing a little bit of it. She felt like the birthday girl with her pretty dress, beautiful hair, and the presents she received from Uncle Willie and her mother. She felt like it w...
I cannot feel myself gradually aging as the speaker when he states that, “In me thou see’st the glowing of such fire / That ashes of his youth doth lie.” However, I see the lines of age begin to define themselves through those around me. Whether it be physical lines imprinted as maps of knowledge across the kind faces of my grandparents, or perhaps more mental lines as my friends begin to find courage and self-assurance within
I’m not going to tell you to go on and do well, become the doctors and lawyers and teachers of tomorrow. This isn’t a speech to tell you how to live or how to go on, but to remind you how you have for the past eighteen years of your lives. We’re all eighteen! Seventeen, seventeen and a half, who cares! We all grew up together. I’ve walked into school every day for the most part for the past thirteen years of my life and I’ve seen the same people, the same faces with the same old stories.