She begins by describing the house. Mostly her descriptions of the house are positive until she reaches the room with the yellow wallpaper. "It was a nursery first and then playroom and gymnasium, I should judge; for the windows are barred for the little children, and there are rings and things in the walls." The irony here, it is abundantly clear that the room was used before to house and insane person. Every thought she has comes back to the wallpaper. The "revolting" color, the strange pattern makes her feel irritated. She tries to convince her husband to sleep in another room, but he becomes a great source of frustration when he belittles her. She cannot say anything about her treatment or her illness without him reprimanding her like a child. An example of this is when husband and wife talk one
Her bedroom was closed but with an “open window” (463), with a roomy armchair she sank into. As she is looking out the window she sees “the tops of trees,” “new spring life,” “breath of rain was in the air,” and she could hear a peddler below in the street, calling to customers, and “patches of blue sky showing” (463). The author depicts in the previous sentence that when she uses “breath of rain was in the air,” rain is more like a cleansing so she could be feeling a sign of relief but can’t recognize it. She sat with her head on the cushion “quite motionless,” except when a sob came in her throat and “shook her,” like a child “continuously sobbing” (463) in its dreams. The author uses imagery in the previous
After hearing of her diagnosis, the narrator travels from his residence in “California to New York” where his mother lives (3). Staring out of his airplane window, he noticed a change in the scenery. The “mountains giving away to flatlands” is used to not only describe the scenery, but how his life is changing (3). He will no longer be living a lavish life in California, but a depressing one that would “bring tears to his eyes” (22-23). He got a “sense of slippage” at the thought of losing his mother (3). When he finally arrived to his parent’s residence, the narrator was greeted with “brittleness and frost” (4). The author uses these two words with a cold denotation to describe more than just the weather on Long Island (4). Brittleness and frost are utilized to display the narrator’s feeling, as well as the theme of the book. The weather wasn’t the only thing the narrator noticed when he entered his parent’s town. His mother's actions caught his attention as well. When she held his hand, he again felt a sense of slippage (9). It mirrored the sensation he experienced on the airplane. His mom is slipping out of his hands, while life
cold, harsh, wintry days, when my brothers and sister and I trudged home from school burdened down by the silence and frigidity of our long trek from the main road, down the hill to our shabby-looking house. More rundown than any of our classmates’ houses. In winter my mother’s riotous flowers would be absent, and the shack stood revealed for what it was. A gray, decaying...
Hollow eyes glanced around the pristine apartment, the gray scale color scheme seems to match the women clasping her hands together, pursing her lips and searching for approval from the girl that stood in the doorway. Automatically, the girl deduced the woman was quite wealthy, especially in the neighborhood she'd now live in. The streets were busier, filled with nicer cars instead of busted ones without their fenders falling apart at the edge. Her nimble fingers explored the wall as she took careful steps into the living room. Winnie wasn't acclimated to this life style: the wallpaper wasn't being striped at the corners, stainless carpets without nothing questionable left behind, no sign of undesirable critters, and silence. She could finally
The rain cried as if the heavens had torn apart and came down to Earth to show its sorrow, beating a gentle yet violent tattoo on the roof. The cool breeze blew fiercely through the shelter sending a shiver down Liesel’s spine, awakening her from her slumber. She peered through the rotten sheet of linen that barely covered her shrivelled, thin body as the sound of little feet and nibbling rustled through her ears. Not of the children, but of mice, eating their way through her pillow; an empty potato bag. She heaved herself up, and staggered off the cement floor, wondering if it was wet or stone cold. Her head spun as she stood for a minute leaning against the mouldy walls to get her orientation back.
The silence was okay, she could’ve lived with that. But it was the coldness that scared her; the coldness suspended in the air between them: her mommy washing dishes in the kitchen, head bent, hair swooped to the side, hiding her left cheek, and her daddy, sitting on the sofa reading the Sunday paper in silent indifference. She was caught in the middle, with her toys scattered around her, shivering at the coldness of it all. She knew.
She attempts to look better for the sake of her husband, her conscious mind wants to be better to get out of that place. Her unconscious mind is beginning to connect the wallpaper with a mental trap. In the middle of the story a journal entry shows how the narrator sees herself like the house. Outside she looks calm and beautiful, but inside there is chaos, like the wallpaper in the dreaded room. As she sees the wallpaper as more chaotic, her thoughts also become more
The arrival of winter was well on its way. Colorful leaves had turned to brown and fallen from the branches of the trees. The sky opened to a new brightness with the disappearance of the leaves. As John drove down the country road he was much more aware of all his surroundings. He grew up in this small town and knew he would live there forever. He knew every landmark in this area. This place is where he grew up and experienced many adventures. The new journey of his life was exciting, but then he also had a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach of something not right.
A mixture of ice and snow blanketed the semi-frozen, forest ground. The ice was like razors on my bare feet. The crisp, December air burned my lungs and stung my skin. My feet thudded rhythmically against the ground. Adrenaline pulsed through my veins. Every part of me wanted to give up—to stop, but I couldn’t.
Walking, there is no end in sight: stranded on a narrow country road for all eternity. It is almost dark now. The clouds having moved in secretively. When did that happen? I am so far away from all that is familiar. The trees are groaning against the wind’s fury: when did the wind start blowing? Have I been walking for so long that time hysterically slipped away! The leaves are rustling about swirling through the air like discarded post-it notes smashing, slapping against the trees and blacktop, “splat-snap”. Where did the sun go? It gave the impression only an instant ago, or had it been longer; that it was going to be a still and peaceful sunny day; has panic from hunger and walking so long finally crept in? Waking up this morning, had I been warned of the impending day, the highs and lows that I would soon face, and the unexpected twist of fate that awaited me, I would have stayed in bed.
I wandered around the path near the lake because it was always peaceful and quiet there in the morning and the trees that hung over the wide walkway only drew me in more. The cool wind blew continuously, and some of the leaves that barely hung on to the branches were pulled along with it. They floated while dropping slowly, and one of the leaves chose my head as a landing spot. I brushed my hair with my hand, not caring if doing so messes up my hair, since the wind already accomplished that job the second I took a step outside my house.
It’s been hours now. The sun rises over the horizon and shines through the bedroom windows. I walk downstairs. My feet are no longer carried throughout the house by the same motivation. Before, I moved about under the thought that I would find him, or a piece him in something small, but that 's gone now. The floor feels colder than usual. I take my final turn in the centre of the living room. I’m sure I’ll be back, but it won’t be the same. I take in this final moment of a frozen life. My frozen