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Impact of media on individuals
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-The night was filled with darkness, which bred darkness into even more darkness. The head lights would cut into the night like a rapier and the defining silence would be shattered by the screaming of horsepower beneath the hood and the booming of Devildriver’s-”I Dreamed I Died” over the vehicles system. I could barely hold my eye’s open, the nightmares lately were to almost to much. The twisted faces laughing they’re twisted laughs, dark figures watching over me as if they were waiting for my final breath so they can pounce like hungry lions. But they can wait, it’s like I used to tell the boys in delta. No dieing tonight! Shit heaven doesn’t want me, and hells afraid that I’m going to take over anyway. I could see some lights piercing through the thick blackness ahead, looks like a roadside motel. Maybe a truck stop.- -Pulling into the parking lot I gave the place a once or twice over, checked out the surroundings. It appeared to be a motel with a diner around the side, I’d park toward the outskirts of the parameter so that I could keep the vehicle concealed. Stepping out I’d take another quick look around, there wasn’t anything that seemed out of the ordinary so I retrieved my lighter and lit the cigarette that was hanging loosely from my lips. The embers would glow a cherry neon red in the darkness, exhaling the smoke I pulled the hood of my jacket up over my head and began to move. Every movement was graceful, but every step had purpose behind it. Entering the main office I’d find an old man waiting behind the desk, he was completely uncaring of my presence, caught up in his encore western channel film festival I would speak out, my voice hard edged yet smooth all at the same time. [color=400000]” Give me a room old man…... ... middle of paper ... ... got off my shift, they told me what you did at the dinner. I just wanted to thank you.” the words seemed heart felt enough, giving her a nod a grin would slowly creep it’s way across my lips. [color=400000]“Don’t worry about it, some people give shit and some people take it…Then you’ve got people like me who just clean it all up afterwards.” [/color]she would move closer, gripping me around the neck and kissing my lips softly. “You didn’t have to do it though, most wouldn’t have.” she smiled and backed away “Thank you..” would be the last words she said to me before disappearing into the darkness of the parking lot. Still a bit confused by the kiss I just shut the door, locking it once again and moved to the bed. Tucking the handgun beneath the pillow I would lay there a few moments before closing my eye’s and drifting of, maybe the nightmares wont find me tonight.
He just turned and left without a word. I touched Lennie’s grave. The rough touch of the wood deflecting to my fingers. I walked back to the ranch. Everyone was asleep. I wanted to run away tomorrow but I couldn’t let this chance pass up. It also prevented any chance of Candy following me. I tiptoed out of the room and went straight to the woods. I made sure to mix myself in with the shadows of the trees. I saw the river and It felt like I did it...until I felt something grab me by my neck. I quickly got flipped over and pushed to the ground.
He strolled by a police patrolled park about six blocks from his apartment. The park, as it was on most nights, was completely empty. He turned down a short side street in order to loop back to his apartment when he first noticed him. At the far end of the street, on his side, was a silhouette of a man. He was a very slender man with long arms and legs. He had what looked like a very slim fitting, tailored, pinstripe suit. It was hard for him to make out the face. He didn’t think anything of it and thought it was just muddled lush.
	Robert Hunter had his poetic beginnings in the Palo Alto, CA coffeehouse scene in the mid-sixties. It was there that he began writing poetry and found his future song writing partner Jerry Garcia.
I drop my vigil as I drive through Henderson Nevada. From the clouds, mountains and small skyscrapers, the twilight cast a weird silhouette around the city. I felt safe, as if the ratio of civilians had the police outnumbered. I turn off the radio to sense the silence that Lake Mead evoked in the sunset. Winding up the highway, the sky pulled like a magnet, my hair stood on end, the roof of the car like static electricity. I head north-west towards Vegas into the orange twilight. I light a joint and savor the powerful ringing in my ears as I focus my attention on the electric silence, invisibly driving me into Las Vegas.
A gust of air audibly exited my lungs as I opened the creaky door of my mother’s beat up four door car. Charley didn’t have the same spring in his step that was present in his youth, but he did his best to run over and hop in. I wish he didn’t try so hard. My heart sank as he made vain attempts at pulling himself into the vehicle. I bent down and gave him a little assistance. He was quick to turn around and look at me anxiously. He never felt comfortable if I wasn’t sitting with him. I took my place in the back seat and slowly closed the door.
Long, wide roads, small houses, steel fences, tall palm trees, a black Toyota parked at a yellow colored house, an abandon house, which looked like it was hunted, the front door was open and you can see from afar that inside there is nothing but darkness. The house was surrounded by trees and it was secluded from all the other houses around it. These were my view as I walked into an unfamiliar building called Thomas Jefferson Middle School. As I opened the blue wooden door and walked in the building, a tremendous chill came over me, which I have never felt before. The building was very cold; I started shivering as I was walking in. It was old and was not well cared for. The colors of the walls were faded and the elevators made the sound of
I was instantly overcome with an insurmountable feeling of safety. I see your face nuzzling my side, i don't question it. I put my arm gently around you, trying not to wake you up. Unbeknownst to me, you were already awake and you look up and smile at me. I wrap my arm around you and you pull yourself closer to me. We laid like that for hours, not talking, just the soft patter of rain on the widow. After we decide enough is enough we get out of bed and go downstairs to watch some TV, I think Supernatural was on, but I can't really remember. All I know is that you loved it. A couple hours pass and you tell me that you're hungry. So I get off my lazy ass and make you some of the best stir fry you have had in your life. After we pigged out I figured that we shouldn't just sit on those calories, and I make you get up for a walk. We both put on light jackets as it's still drizzling and we don't want to get sick. I unlock the door and we step outside, as soon as I shut the door behind us I grab your hand and we
“These boys, now, were living as we'd been living then, they were growing up with a rush and their heads bumped abruptly against the low ceiling of their actual possibilities. They were filled with rage. All they really knew were two darkness’s, the darkness of their lives, which were now closi...
...anticipation. There was an envelope beneath me, I noticed as I moved away from the spot I had been laying. One addressed with my name and my heart raced for the unexpected, for the hope that maybe my dreams would come true. I wanted it to be from him, I wanted to see his writing, I wanted to be able to imagine him, hunched over a small piece of paper, contrasting its ivory with the ink in his pen, finding and trying the words that world phrase his own desires perfectly. That calligraphy that decorated the front screamed at me to open, to know. To go out into the world today and be able to say whatever was enclosed in this beautifully handwritten letter. But I didn’t. I let it stay closed as I slipped it into my purse, finished my packing and left this city for the next, not remembering why I came in the first place, but knowing that something good came out of it.
So there I was, thundering (or carefully maneuvering) my way up Route 9. After a quick stop at the local police station to re-orient myself (as I missed a left turn), I pulled into the small parking lot of the small, two-story, stucco-and-shingled building with an enormous satellite dish on it. I double-checked my questions, made sure my recorder was working, and headed in. I sat in the small waiting area as the secretary went to fetch Simon. Palms sweaty, I rubbed them on my jeans to calm myself and let out a little nervous energy.
That fat guy, convinced he was a pure rock god, might’ve had me staring at my girlfriend’s laptop screen in some joyous form of bewilderment, but it was truly about feeling something deeper. The other night, on my way home from grocery shopping, I drove by our old apartment. The entire block was dark except for one lonely shaft of light emanating from the bedroom window I once shared with someone I loved very much. A room I spent many wonderful days in, a room I’ve spent many sleepiness nights longing for. Sometimes I’ll even wake up thinking I’m there again, only to find myself in the here and now. I tried to imagine who would be up at three o'clock in the morning and what the hell they might be doing. Maybe they were getting up for some unusual shift change at work, maybe they just couldn’t sleep, or maybe they were watching a YouTube video of some fat teenager acting a fool, and creating a moment in time they’ll never
It was a beautiful night. It was perfect for a walk. As I strolled further into the park a figure approached me. It was as dark as pitch so I couldn’t make out who it was. It was late; you wouldn’t usually see anyone at this time. My heart was beating faster and faster. The strange thing was I wasn’t frightened; it was just my heart beating rapidly. As the masculine figure approached, I began to walk slower. That was when I heard the voice.
It's dark out. The street remains quiet and the sounds of the city have faded. A woman walking down the street crosses, her heels thumping against the sidewalk. As she walks further into the night she feels a presence upon her. Suddenly the worries of the day have escaped her mind. All she can think about was the increasing echo of heavy footsteps behind her. Heart beating, she skips along the street, heels thumping with every step. She reaches a stoplight, and her heels come skidding to a stop. Her chest is aching and she's beginning to accept her fate, when, the man steps into the light with her. At first she looks away, praying that he won’t choose her as his next victim. As the seconds vanish, she decides to turn, to take a peek at the man breathing quietly beside her. Her brown hair whips around her shoulder and she clutches her handbag studying the man. It was difficult to make out his face in the poorly lit corner, but as she examined him she took note of his shiny blue eyes and light complexion. Without delay, her shoulders relax, and she releases the tight grip
I wearily drag myself away from the silken violet comforter and slump out into the living room. The green and red print of our family’s southwestern style couch streaks boldly against the deep blues of the opposing sitting chairs, calling me to it. Of course I oblige the billowy haven, roughly plopping down and curling into the cushions, ignoring the faint smell of smoke that clings to the fabric. My focus fades in and out for a while, allowing my mind to relax and unwind from any treacherous dreams of the pervious night, until I hear the telltale creak of door hinges. My eyes flutter lightly open to see my Father dressed in smart brown slacks and a deep earthy t-shirt, his graying hair and beard neatly comber into order. He places his appointment book and hair products in a bag near the door signaling the rapid approaching time of departure. Soon he is parading out the door with ever-fading whispers of ‘I love you kid,’ and ‘be good.’
It was a maddening rush, that crisp fall morning, but we were finally ready to go. I was supposed to be at State College at 10:00 for the tour, and it was already eight. My parents hurriedly loaded their luggage into the van as I rushed around the house gathering last minute necessities. I dashed downstairs to my room and gathered my coat and my duffel bag, and glanced at my dresser making sure I was leaving nothing behind and all the rush seemed to disappear. I stood there as if in a trance just remembering all the stories behind the objects and clutter accumulated on it. I began to think back to all the good times I have had with my family and friends each moment represented by a different and somewhat odd object.