It was a 2 bedroom apartment on the upper side across from the river.
She could see the river from the bathroom window. She often would stand on the short stool and look out a small window down to the water moving across the bay. At night the lights from the boats would shine through the haze and light up the night like it was Christmas. Red and green lights would dance across the river and then fade into the night. She turned around, sat on the edge of the tub and cried, but no tears came. She could hear the soft voices creeping in under the door from the living room. The words spoken so clear in the next room by the time they reached her ears were broken and distorted. She strained to make out syllables, piece together phrases, reconstruct thoughts. But she could not. Why was life such a struggle? So many things passed her by everyday things that she thought she was a part of but now realized she had no control over and like the boats on the river she was just drifting along with the current of life. She stood up and walked to the door. She could not leave. She tried to reach inside of herself to get the courage to walk out, to escape this place. The paint from the door was pealing and the sea green color from underneath was peeking through. She picked off the dried dirty white color only to revile the hideous color beneath. She was like this door. What was her real color she kept hidden? The drip of the faucet echoed in her hears. The wind moved the curtain and the spring breeze chilled her thin frame. She leaned over the sink and moved in closer to get a better look of her reflection in the mirror. The only part of her reflection she could focus on the dark night was her eyes.
She stared deep into them reviewing each and e...
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...hing from you. I have an issue that I would like you handle in the most discreet way”
“Yes, of course, you know you can always count on me.”
Jacob stepped down of the circle platform and sat next to Steven on the couch. “It has come to my attention there has been several break-ins at the Europa facility.”
Steven remained motionless. On the inside his heart skipped a beat. He hated Europa. A totally confined facility under water gave him the chills. How this was different from space flight he did not know but something about water and drowning he could not handle. “Yes, there have been 3 break-ins to the main warehouse and 2 additional ones into the office area.”
“Please look into those and report everything you find directly back to me no one else. Do not tell anyone about what you are doing. Do we understand each other?”
“Yes.” Steven said with an affirmative nod.
R: “I was personally not involved in the investigation. Much of the investigating was done ...
This environment serves not as an inspiration for mental health but as an element of repression. The locked door and barred windows serve to physically restrain her: “the windows are barred for little children, and there are rings and things in the walls.” The narrator is affected not only by the physical restraints but also by being exposed to the room’s yellow wallpaper is dreadful and fosters only negative creativity. “It is dull enough to confuse the eye in following, pronounced enough to constantly irritate and provoke study, and when you follow the lame uncertain curves for a little distance they suddenly commit suicide – plunge off at outrageous angles, destroy themselves in unheard of contradictions.”
My mind started to wonder though each room of the house, the kitchen where mom used to spend every waking hour in. The music room where dad maintained the instrument so carefully like one day people would come and play them, but that day never came, the house was always painfully empty. The house never quite lived to be the house my parents wanted, dust bunnies always danced across the floor, shelves were always slightly crooked even when you fixed them. My parents were from high class families that always had some party to host. Their children were disappointments, for we
As she spends more and more time isolated in her bedroom, with nothing else to occupy her mind, she gradually become fixated on the dreadful patterns of the paper and instantly foresee something else: the narrator eventually see a “strange, provoking, formless sort of figure, that seems to skulk about behind that silly and conspicuous design”(77). The narrator’s bedroom being a prison becomes more literal as from figurative when the loneliness and social negation intensifies her need for an escape from the pre-set nature of conduct created specifically for her (a mentally depressed and unwell women) by the people in her life especially by John. Throughout the story, the narrator’s psychological breakdown goes from a typical depressed mind and lacked awareness of identity, to a complete madness and reversed sense of self-esteem. She gradually changes the place she has in the physical world and fights back the social rejection she is facing by turning away from reality in exchange for a world where she has total control and can act according to her own will. The author uses the yellow wallpaper as a symbol for representing the phases of the narrator’s gradual deteriorating
Joe started pouring the drinks. " His story does neatly explain both Fermi's Paradox and the anthropic principle and why didn't he know where the exit was?"
In the poem The Glass Jar we witness the heart-wrenching episode in a little boy’s life, where he is made to discover a distressing reality. Putting his faith first in a monstrance and then in his own mother, he finds himself being betrayed by both. With the many allusions to nature (for example the personification of the sun and references to animals and woods and so on) Gwen Harwood constructs a dynamic backdrop which allow the responder to dwell on the subtle shifts in the child’s personality. The setting is the terrain of nightmares and dreams, where conscious will is suppressed and the reigns are handed to the subconscious mind.
“It was a large, beautiful room, rich and picturesque in the soft, dim light which the maid had turned low. She went and stood at an open window and looked out upon the deep tangle of the garden below. All the mystery and witchery of the night seemed to have gathered there amid the perfumes and the dusky and tortuous outlines of flowers and foliage. She was seeking herself and finding herself in just such sweet half-darkness which met her moods. But the voices were not soothing that came to her from the darkness and the sky above and the stars. They jeered and sounded mourning notes without promise, devoid even of hope. She turned back into the room and began to walk to and fro, down its whole length, without stopping, without resting. She carried in her hands a thin handkerchief, which she tore into ribbons, rolled into a ball, and flung from her. Once she stopped, and taking off her wedding ring, flung it upon the carpet. When she saw it lying there she stamped her heel upon it, striving to crush it. But her small boot heel did not make an indenture, not a mark upon the glittering circlet.
In the poem “The Lady’s Dressing Room,” written by Jonathan Swift, one may say he portrays himself to be a chauvinist by ridiculing women and their cryptic habits. However, others may say he wants to help women from the ideals placed upon them by society and prove to be an early feminist. This poem written in the 18th century represented women to be fake and sleazy at first. Then during the 20th century, the feminist movement used it as an attack against women, depicting the poem’s meaning as not valuing their rights and freedoms. The truth far hidden from these points of views became uncovered recently. This essay will explain both sides of the views and using critical thinking will uncover the real message the author intended to portray.
I saw her walk over to the dressing table. I watched her appear in the circular glass of the mirror looking at me now at the end of a back and forth of mathematical light. I watched her keep on looking at me with her great hot-coal eyes: looking at me while she opened the little box covered with pink mother of pearl. I saw her powder her nose. When she finished, she closed the box, stood up again, and walked over to the lamp once more, saying: "I'm afraid that someone is dreaming about this room and revealing my secrets." And over the flame she held the same long and tremulous hand that she had been warming before sitting down at the mirror. And she said: "You don't feel the cold." And I said to her: "Sometimes." And she said to me: "You must feel it now." And then I understood why I couldn't have been alone in the seat. It was the cold that had been giving me the certainty of my solitude. "Now I feel it," I said. "And it's strange because the night is quiet. Maybe the sheet fell off." She didn't answer. Again she began to move toward the mirror and I turned again in the chair, keeping my back to her.
Once her husband, John, realizes the deepness of depression that his wife is in due to her birth of their child he decides to take action. He decides to isolate his wife from the world for her own betterment. Once arriving in her newfound place of isolation where there is no stimulation, except for her journal, the narrator is placed within a room that is lined with yellow wallpaper. This yellow room is meant to free her from any stresses, but her dislike for the wallpaper concerns her. The pattern of yellow begins to become more of an obsession, being this is her only stimulation due to her confinement. She begins to visualize a woman behind her yellow wallpaper, this woman she sees seems to be trapped pacing behind the paper as if she is trying to free herself. It is not long before the narrator begins with withdrawal pieces of this wallpaper from the wall in attempt to free this trapped woman. As the novel ends the woman who once was in such disgusted with this yellow room now traps herself, locking herself away from
Through metaphors, the speaker proclaims of her longing to be one with the sea. As she notices The mermaids in the basement,(3) and frigates- in the upper floor,(5) it seems as though she is associating these particular daydreams with her house. She becomes entranced with these spectacles and starts to contemplate suicide.
The street lights outside flickered with age, popping and gently fizzing with every stream of electricity that ran through the bulb. Sat inside of the laundromat and watching the flickering lights, I was awaiting the wash cycle’s end. Clothes that were dirtied from last night were being rehabilitated by vicious lashes of water and soap. It was the holy cleansing we all deserved. The shirts, pants and socks all pushed up against the restricting glass of the washing machine’s door, fighting for freedom while I just sat there, aware of the cruelty and the drowning but yawning my cares away. The inside of the laundromat was cast in a harsh cyan light that pained the eyes at such late times as these. It was around 9 p.m., and the only people present included myself and a
Standing a mere three feet tall at most, it guards the door of my bedroom as a silent sentry. Its dual levels have been incessantly reordered to house each item in an aesthetic and efficient manner. The faded brown of the wood highlights the array of bright covers that lay at the front, patiently waiting to be withdrawn and analyzed once more. This humble bookcase is the crowning jewel of my personal space. The walls are lined with a diverse selection of truly enthralling books, all penned by arguably the most astute minds of all time. The knowledge of centuries lies at my finger tips, breathlessly hungering for me to turn the pages and absorb its riches.
Just after this quick bend, the crew became visible helping people on. Just before I entered the transportation unit, I looked down at the gap left between the door and I. The metal around the entry door was rusted and worn, which gave me an eerie feeling. Reluctantly, I stepped aboard and felt uneasy as I saw those responsible for taking us to our destination. I would soon know for sure, how I felt about my now plausible career.
place I would have to go to before and after school. I have always loved my