The light, so brilliant and beautiful, everywhere always everywhere, filling every corner and creves. Shining around me, through me, from me. I feel delishesly warm, the heat spreading though out my entire body. All my nerves and senses completely aware of all life, even the smallest miniscule particles. Then the voices, they are always next, as much as I relish hearing them, I also dread it because I know what is coming after. “You are complete” they whisper in a warm, kind tone, one that puts me right at ease. “You must do it, for all life to continue” the voices getting louder, clearer with each word spoken. By this time I can normally define certain voices from the rest. They starts out sounding as one, as if a million voices all speaking in unison, but as the conversation goes on I can start to tell them apart, today I’m looking for one in pictular. I never why I’m looking for the one voice slightly different or even who they are, I just know that I’m looking for them. A feeling that if I find them everything will be explained. But I never do, oh sometime I feel like I’m close, ...
Have you ever forgot something, but you never knew you forgot it? Like it just slipped your mind and instead of going somewhere that you can remember, it dies in a bottomless pit. Your parents remember and your older siblings remember, but you do not. You were too young to remember it. Completely normal, everyone has gone through this. Astronauts, great philosophers, and even celebrities have gone through this. Kristen Ohlson, a freelance writer who has written several books and articles, wrote about this in her article the great forgetting.
Lying and keeping secrets can only hurt someone in the end. This is true for David in the book “The Memory Keeper's Daughter,” written by Kim Edwards. He intentionally deceived others, but his dishonesty was meant for good intentions based on his and his family’s best interest. Or so he thought.
In the articles, “Are These Stories True? (Nope.)” by Kristin Lewis and “The Story That Got Away” by Debby Waldman, the appeal of fake news and counterfeit stories is explained. One reason why people may find it interesting is because they are re-telling stories that they have heard before, but with a slight twist to make it seem worse than it was. For example, in the folktale “The Story That Got Away”, it gives an illustration of why it is appealing by saying, “At the schoolyard, Yankel told his friends his latest story. ‘Reb Wulff put salt in the rugelach. Not sugar! Salt! Imagine that!’ Yankel said. ‘Those rugelach tasted like stones!’” (Waldman, 14). The boy, Yankel, was recounting what he heard in his father’s shop, which may have seemed
There are different types of parent and child relationships. There are relationships based on structure, rules, and family hierarchy. While others are based on understanding, communication, trust, and support. Both may be full of love and good intentions but, it is unmistakable to see the impact each distinct relationship plays in the transformation of a person. In Chang’s story, “The Unforgetting”, and Lagerkvist’s story, “Father and I”, two different father and son relationships are portrayed. “The Unforgetting” interprets Ming and Charles Hwangs’ exchange as very apathetic, detached, and a disinterested. In contrast, the relationship illustrated in the “Father and I” is one of trust, guidance, and security. In comparing and contrasting the two stories, there are distinct differences as well as similarities of their portrayal of a father and son relationship in addition to a tie that influences a child’s rebellion or path in life.
Marilyn Manson said, “But what’s real? You can’t find the truth, you just pick the lie you like best.” Through the actions of her characters in the novel, The Memory Keeper’s Daughter, Edwards poses the question, “are the consequences of lying ever good?” She answers this question also with her characters with the answer that lying is always bad, no matter what reason you give for it.
Have you ever dreamt of your dream house? Have you ever wanted to invest in the stock market? Have you ever dreamt of winning a large sum of money in a short time? If so, I strongly advise you to read the short story ‘Paper’. In the story, Tay Soon and his wife dreamt of owning a big house so they tried their best to collect their money to buy it. As the stock market was growing interest at that time, they decided to invest some money in the market so as to pay their house. Luckily, they won the money for their house in the market. However, they were so greedy that they continued investing in the market. The market crash came and they lost all their money. Because Tay Soon could not accept it, he went mad. Finally, the madness drove him to death and his mother decided to build a paper house which he had dreamt before. In ‘Paper’, Catherine Lim uses irony to admonish people not to be greedy; otherwise, a person may lose his life and family.
In Rick Riordan’s The Lost Hero, the protagonists Jason, Piper, and Leo embark on a challenging quest to rescue Hera from the clutches of the awakening Gaea. Their quest is filled with life-threatening obstacles that can be seen from different points in the novel such as in the beginning, at the climax, and at the end. Jason, son of Jupiter, waking up on a bus holding hands with Piper, daughter of Aphrodite, apparently his girlfriend and Leo, son of Hephaestus, while having no memory is part of Hera’s plan to unite the Roman and Greek demigods. As the prophecy states, the camps must unite and a team of seven of the most powerful demigods shall be tasked with a mission of defeating Gaea’s forces. To others, this plan is a suicide mission, but the team shall prevail as long hope remains.
A Heart With A Superfluous Chromosome Forty-six. This is the number of chromosomes a person has in their body. Forty-seven. The. This number represents the number of chromosomes present in the body of a person with Down syndrome.
The two main characters of the story, Irene and Clare, leave the reader wanting to know more about the life that two very different cultures live. The racism, society, and views of all people have changed since the time period the book was based off of. Irene is left unaccepted into the world and ashamed to be a Negro, where Clare is fighting to keep her Negro past a secret to everyone around her. Reading Passing by Nella Larson is an eye opening experience that will have a lasting effect on the reader.
The very idea of a slave revolt that would overthrow the colonial rulers and establish an independent black nation was an unfathomable occurrence to most people living in 1791, the year when Haitian slaves rose up in unison to oppose their treatment and even the idea of slavery itself. According to Haitian professor and author, Michel-Rolph Trouillot, this event was so unthinkable that even the common narrative given to most students of western history fails to include any mention of Haiti and her revolution1. The deliberate exclusion of Haiti's past is not only important to politically correct college students quick to moan about historical injustices as a means of arm chair activism. The silencing of Haiti's history, and the lack of a honest discussion about Haiti's place in the Western world has had serious consequences for Haiti even in the present day.
It all started with a something so simple as a sandwich. A small, hole-in-the-wall, stop-and-go-slash-sub-shop that served the best sandwiches I'd ever eaten. Of course, that wasn't its real purpose. The store was a quick-stop place, a mini-mart, if you will. You could pick up milk on the way home, or, if you fancied a soda and candy for the road, that could be bought, too.
It was a chilly night as I was walking down the path to my house to see my wife and children when I heard someone talking. I was very curious about who would be down this path at this time for it was very late into the evening and I had just gotten off work at the office. I walked very quietly towards the voices that I heard. As I crept up behind a bush I could hear a voice saying...
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.
The voices of the day come back to hunt her, to torment her through the pain and suffering that she endures everyday a new lie is spread, more vicious than the one before. The lies of her haters, the lies of the one that she used to love, she covers her ears but the voices still slip in spilling over slicing way through her head clear to her heart. There is no end to the pain, the torment, the hate, the darkness that eats away at her soul. She screams but like always there is no answer. Through the pain, the torment, the hate; through it all there is a voice, her voice the
I looked up at the black sky. I hadn't intended to be out this late. The sun had set, and the empty road ahead had no streetlights. I knew I was in for a dark journey home. I had decided that by traveling through the forest would be the quickest way home. Minutes passed, yet it seemed like hours and days. The farther I traveled into the forest, the darker it seemed to get. I was very had to even take a breath due to the stifling air. The only sound familiar to me was the quickening beat of my own heart, which felt as though it was about to come through my chest. I began to whistled to take my mind off the eerie noises I was hearing. In this kind of darkness I was in, it was hard for me to believe that I could be seeing these long finger shaped shadows that stretched out to me. I had this gut feeling as though something was following me, but I assured myself that I was the only one in the forest. At least I had hoped that I was.