Fog of the Night
HOLLAND, 1872: I suppose my story began on a midnight in September back in the year of 1872, when I was but seventeen years of age. A lone carriage made its way down the lonely cobblestone street that led to my residence near the abbeys of Amsterdam. The frigid air was coated with a rather dense layer of fog. There was something eerie about it, the fog, as though it were forewarning for a terrible event that was nigh upon occurring. At least, that was how the locals had fancied it. I, otherwise, was unconvinced, dismissing their superstitious beliefs as childish. My belief was that only logic and reason told the truth. The only source of truth above those was God Himself, as John Calvin had said.
I watched the carriage draw nearer and nearer to my house, as the silhouette of it became more and more defined. I had lain awake because of a waking nightmare. In that nightmare, I had been surrounded by fog, and I could see nothing past it. I had heard a voice: “Come to me,” it had said, “give me a host so that I may fulfill my duties of revenge.” Then it echoed, “Come to me… Come to me… Come to me…” It seemed that the owner of the voice had gone, until it reached out its dead hand, grabbed me, pulled me into the foggy abyss, and… that’s when I had awoken.
Somehow, I knew whom was inside the carriage. It was, without a doubt, my maternal English uncle, Thomas McBrown, and my cousin and friend, Simon McBrown. They had come all the way from Rotterdam, undoubtedly with business of great urgency, for they had sent no letter notifying their departure. They eventually pulled up near my house and began to dismount from the carriage. I was about to answer the door when I heard my mother do it herself. Why is she up at the pres...
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...o do it,” she said in a weak voice with tears streaming down her face, aiming the knife at her neck. “Cecile,” I said as I began to move for her, “Don’t.” “The wicked must pay,” she said, “Well then… let it be done, Wesley, just as you wanted.”
That was how my sister, my innocent and loving sister, had taken her own life. It happened all because she wanted to protect me. I’m sure she is with the Elect now, in Heaven, but I shall miss her dearly. So here I am today, as I watch my sister be carried in a casket at her own funeral, thinking that I was wrong; perhaps it is not dangerous to believe that the impossible is possible. I now say that skepticism is the way in which most are the real fools. Many did not believe our story after that. Simon and I knew that until minds were opened, the incidents that occurred in the fog of the night would remain a mystery to all.
I had only to close my eyes to hear the rumbling of the wagons in the dark, and to be again overcome by that obliterating strangeness. The feelings of that night were so near that I could reach out and touch them with my hand… Whatever we had missed, we possessed together the precious, the incommunicable past. (170)
The darkness of her bedroom crept into her body. As time progressed the sounds of the evening grew louder leaving her in a state of fear. Amongst the dark room she would see the shadow of someone standing outside her bedroom window. She didn’t know why someone would want to hurt her. Afraid to tell her parents she found refuge underneath the sheets of her bed. After several sleepless nights she spoke to her mother about the mysterious person outside her window. Her mother shrugged it off and told her that no one was there and not to worry. Her mother believed that this was either her imagination or eating too close to her bedtime. However, Elyn was determined to catch this mysterious man. Next, she enlisted the help of her brother Warren. Frightened they hid in the closet waiting to capture the bandit. Unfortunately, this heroic attempt was unsuccessful as the bandit never revealed himself to anyone but her. Soon it became apparent to everyone that no one was outside her window. But, these feelings of a watchful eye never fled her. As a result, Elyn spent many nights terrified underneath her sheets only falling a sleeping from
I didn’t know where exactly I was going. But I didn’t care. I walked aimlessly in search of shelter, a place where I could seek refuge. Hours went by, and I was losing hope. When out of the corner of my eye, through the distant, dense foliage. I noticed what could have been salvation. I was fatigued and in a feeble state, was I hallucinating? Or was this real? I stumbled through the valley, my eyes fixated on the dwelling ahead. Much to my delight it was very real. I arrived at the cabin and surveyed the surroundings. The shack itself was isolated, old and tattered, as if unattended to for an eternity. I knocked on the door, and suddenly became overwhelmed by a supernatural feeling. I could hear frantic rumbling and murmuring inside, evidently the occupant wasn’t expecting a visitor. I waited a while longer, and finally the door creaked open and I was greeted by three of the utmost repulsive looking creatures I had ever had the displeasure of laying my eyes on. As disgusted as I was, I was in no position to turn away, I needed their help. They welcomed me into their abode and provided me with nourishment and directions on how to return
Out of a courtesy to Death the speaker decided to stop everything she was doing to go on the carriage ride with him. She wa...
Although, half of the essay was split into two different points of view of what happened before her aunt’s suicide. The first point of view was by Kingston’s mother, who gave a short perspective as to what happened to her sister-in-law. The second point of view was by Kingston herself, who gave her own version as to what she believed had occurred during those tragic moments, even though she wasn’t there during those events. Kingston believed that there were good reasons why her aunt did what she did, and that she was completely innocent as to what happened with her. However, Kingston’s mother believed that her sister-in-law was completely at fault and disgraced the family. Her mother intimidates Kingston by telling her the story and says she must not tell anyone, yet the author reveals her mother’s thoughts in her
I must say that this film is very traumatizing. There are some images in this film that will be burned and scarred into my mind for as long as I live. I have seen many holocaust films, but no one was as near as dramatic and depicting as Night and Fog. However I did like the theme of this movie. It is very sad but yet realistic. Our minds are murky and dull. We tend to only remember the important situation in our lives. Yet we don’t remember the importance of our own history. I say OUR history be cause we all are human beings on this earth. Whether we believe in Allah, Jesus, Jehovah, or whatever higher power, we are all one race, and that the human race. It is very sad to know that human beings were treated and slaughtered just because of an ideology of superiority complex. Al though the Jewish people were massacred I learned that we must always keep a sense of hope in order to assure our own survival. When I saw in the movie the moments where there were journals that read about favorite foods and important dates, my heart was filled with sadness. Not because these victims didn’t have this to eat but because of the false illusions that they had to dream in order to stay sane.
Despite the gathering winter she felt relieved to see that her sixteen- year old daughter, now her only child after the early death of her son James, was acting normal again. For the past fortnight the younger Elizabeth had been carrying herself in a strange manner. While walking along normally she would sometimes cry out. Last week she had shrieked at extremely inappropriate time in Sunday dinner and that day in church she had been overcome with irreverent laughter. She was always quick to offer a reasonable excuse to spare the swift punishment usually dispensed to children at the time, but the extravagance and immodes...
For a country girl traveling to the city, the cheapest, and slowest, form of travel was the wagon. For a mere "shilling a day, which meant a halfpenny a mile," she might even have the luxury of lying in the soft straw. Nights however might also have to be spent either in the wagon or in a bam along the way since no respectable inn would lodge someone who rode in a wagon (George, Hogarth 51 ) . Not nearly so comfortable, but much more dignified, was the stage coach. ...
The setting for this novel was a constantly shifting one. Taking place during what seems to be the Late Industrial Revolution and the high of the British Empire, the era is portrayed amongst influential Englishmen, the value of the pound, the presence of steamers, railroads, ferries, and a European globe.
A Long Day’s Journey Into Night, by Eugene O’Neill, is a deeply autobiographical play. His life was rampant with confusion and addictions in his family. Each character in this play has a profound resemblance, and draws parallels and connections with a member of his own family. The long journey that the title of the play refers to is a journey into his past. Fog is a recurring metaphor in the play; it is a physical presence even before it becomes a crucial symbol of the family’s impenetrable confusion. It is referred to in the text as well as stage directions in this play. It sets the mood for the play in all its somber hues.
The use of fog and other weather is significant in the novel Heart of Darkness, because it allowed author Joseph Conrad to use the impressionistic way of writing to cover up details and allow more imagination to the reader to discover what is happening. When Marlow is journeying through the jungle, he either seems distracted, which prohibits him from seeing the full view, or the weather is blocking the details of his surroundings. Marlow describes one moment as, The sun rising is supposed to help clear things up, but in this situation it only makes the fog even more prominent. He compares the fog to something solid that he can’t see past and can’t hear anything past either, also blinding the reader from everything outside of the trees. Another
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.
He just threw his advise and vanished as if he was an illusion leaving behind one single evidence of his subsistence - the dried goat’s blood over my face. The short man stayed there longer canvassing the blade in his hand by his eyes covered with alternating glimpse of hesitation and clouds of tenaciousness. I stayed on obnubilating in my shelter until he commenced moving away. Subconsciously, I found me propelling myself up and over with the world around me turning upside down. I felt so weak but my enthusiasm kept me persuading this deep wish of following him.
Stop!” I yelled in my dream like state. I became paralyzed, I couldn’t lift my head or move my legs to save me from this horror. I was being held down against my will. All of a sudden, Destiny popped into my head. Whatever this malevolent creature was, he knew how Destiny disappeared. I could move my body, and the mumbling stopped. I sat straight up and looked over to my gray chair in the corner of my room.
She slammed the door behind her. Her face was hot as she grabbed her new perfume and flung it forcefully against the wall. That was the perfume that he had bought for her. She didn't want it anymore. His voice coaxed from the other side of the door. She shouted at him to get away. Throwing herself on the bed and covering her face with one of his shirts, she cried. His voice coaxed constantly, saying Carol, let me in. Let me explain.' She shouted out no!' Then cried some more. Time passed with each sob she made. When she caught herself, there was no sound on the other side of the door. A long silence stood between her and the door. Maybe she had been too hard on him, she thought. Maybe he really had a good explanation. She hesitated before she walked toward the door and twisted the handle. Her heart was crying out to her at this moment. He wasn't there. She called out his name. "Thomas!" Her cries were interrupted by the revving of an engine in the garage. She made it to the window in time to see his Volvo back out the yard. "Thomas! Thomas....wait!" Her cries vanished into thin air as the Volvo disappeared around the bend. Carol grew really angry all of a sudden. How could he leave? He'll sleep on the couch when he gets back. Those were her thoughts.