Revenge. Desire. Death. These first three words entered into me the instant the man grabbed me inside his pocket. His thumb rubbed against my ornately designed handle. His body felt tense as he crept forward. Although I had no eyes I could sense we were in a large building. The man, a thief, slowly pulled me out of his pocket as he entered a dimly lit, but largely furnished room. I felt excited and nervous, the man’s energy pouring into me. The only other person in the room was a richly dressed man who loafed on a red velvet couch. The man gripped me tighter, began a conversation with the rich man, and then arguing. Finally the thief lunged at the man and thrust my sharp blade into his chest, while he screamed in agony. Scared, the robber flew out of the house, and left me in the room. Soon the authorities arrived. They inspected, poked, and snooped, and filed me into an evidence bag. It was constricting, uncomfortable, and confining. The police continued to search the building while they drove me away to a lab. During the night I detected someone in the room, rustling around. The noise became louder and louder, and eventually it was right next to me. Annoyingly, the plastic obstructed my senses, so I couldn’t identify the person. Then my bag was unfastened. It was my owner! The thief. He slipped me out of the bag and exited the lab through a window. It was dark and murky outside; I felt the chilly air rush on me as my owner rushed away from the building. I was once again filled with excitement. What would my owner accomplish next? I hoped it would be something just as thrilling. The man slowed down as we reached the edge of a cliff heading off into the sea. There was no one else around but us. What was my owner planning? He... ... middle of paper ... ...ged him. The thief saw me on the ground, and grabbed me, standing defensively. The thief lunged at my owner and they wrestled on the ground. My owner’s wife and daughters crowded in a corner, watching with horror. The thief lashed at my owner’s throat, but he grabbed the thief’s hand right before I cut him. I desperately tried to go the other direction, I screamed in my body with all my might. Then, I felt the thief’s strength slackening, my owner’s becoming stronger. And suddenly my blade swerved the other direction and stabbed the man in the belly. My owner’s family rushed over, hugged him, and cried. Two men rushed in, alerted by the noise. They helped lift the body of the thief and carried him outside. My master came back and picked me up, wiped the blood of my blade, then placed me back on the table. He patted my handle and whispered, “Thank you my friend.”
Book Review of The Subtle Knife by Phillip Pullman This week I chose to read the novel 'The Subtle Knife' written by Phillip Pullman. Philip Pullman was born in Norwich on 19th October 1946. The early part of his life was spent travelling all over the world, because his father and then his step father were both in the Royal Air Force. He spent part of his childhood in Australia, where he first met the wonders of comics, and grew to love Superman and Batman in particular. From the age of 11, he lived in North Wales, having moved back to Britain.
A unique word choice introduces this essay, causing readers to be misguided. Staples begins by saying “My first victim was a woman…”(383). This choice of words obligated our minds to perceive this man as a criminal who was about to tell us his story. Staples allows himself to be portrayed as such a horrible person because that is exactly what people viewed him as. He uses self-blame as though he has accepted the fact of reality that he was viewed as a criminal and always will be. It seems as though he wanted to mislead us as readers so we would make the same mistake others did. A feeling of great guilt is created for judging this man that we barely knew. In such a simple way, Staples creates an ...
...ng so, he began roaring and screaming, in order to build excitement from the crowd. What a mistake this was. As he was exciting the crowd he gave crucial seconds to his opponent. As soon as Striger recovered, he was in search of the knife. It was the same knife which caused drastic cuts onto him. It was only an arms length away. Striger stretched out his hand and grabbed reaching the tip of the blade. With his finger tip he pushed back the knife towards himself and then grabbed on to it firmly. Vintage stood not so far of from where Striger laid. The wounded Striger was now up and in search of Vintage. As soon as he found caught up with him he pounced onto him as a lion leaps over it’s pray and stabbed him right across his neck. Blood was flushing out of the neck as though it was an open tap. Vintage sucked in his last breath and then feel fast to the ground, dead.
guilt, greed, betrayal, and murder are no strangers. In this story an honorable warrior and
“Gimme that bag!” The officer continued, ripping Melanie's brand new bag from her shoulder. “Well….well…..well… look what we have here!” The officer laughed as he pulled a sharp, blood red knife from Melanie's bag!
In Flannery O’Connor’s short story, A Good Man is Hard to Find, a family gets in a car accident on a deserted dirt road. Unluckily for them, they are found by a group of three escaped convicts, led by a man who calls himself The Misfit. These convicts systematically execute the family in twos as the Misfit talks with the grandmother. While the catalyst for this execution is the grandmother’s verbal recognition of The Misfit as an escaped criminal, it is clear that he commits his crimes for deeper reasons. The Misfit is angry on a fundamental level, and acting out on this anger is the closest he can come to feeling pleasure in this life.
"Then up he sprung, and with his knife - And with his knife He let out
One day my owner pulled me out of his pocket then turn me on with his thumb then said, “blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah ,then i said turn back two blocks turn to the right then your your destination will be on your right then he put me back in his pocket but he forgot to turn me off.I tried to keep my mouth shut but there were so many questions to answer the then fell asleep then i woke up to hearing to sliding glass door are we home i whispered then i heard logan stomping on floor i’m home i whispered but i didn’t hear derrick then peeped out of my owners pocket we're not home i almost yelled then the oldest boy got curious then looked at me i pretend to be off then he
In the short story “Killings,” by Andre Dubus, revenge, loss, and consequences are explored. Richard Strout, a man of little to no morality, committed a crime of passion, which I do not think is a justifiable crime, since he murdered a man who was in a relationship with his wife that he is separated from. Strout is an impatient and violent man with no boundaries. This is evident since he did kill Frank in front of his children and his estranged wife.
...Once more the odious courtesies began, the first handed the knife across K. to the second, who handed it across K. back again to the first. K. now perceived clearly that he was supposed to seize the knife himself, as it traveled from hand to hand above him, and plunge it into his own breast. But he did not do so, he merely turned his head, which was still free to move, and gazed around him. He could not completely rise to the occasion, he could not relieve the officials of all their tasks; the responsibility for this last failure of his lay with him who had not left him the remnant of strength necessary for the deed....
When the focus is strictly on this fulfillment of desire, the importance of the present begins to supersede that of the future and distorts not only judgement, but also relationships. In the instance of this comical short story, Tom’s relationship with his wife is distorted by his emotion, a negative guide to life. Tom’s feelings are focused on gaining the treasure offered to him by the Devil which turns his attention towards the deal with the Devil and away from the well-being of his wife. When she decides out of avarice to bargain with the Devil herself and disappears, Tom is concerned about the articles she took with her stating “Let us get hold of the property […] and we will endeavor to do without the wife” (243). In this case, his desire is so strong that it clouds the love he feels for his wife. This is a prime example for the way emotion is able to distort relationships. Not only does it distort his relationship but Tom also suffers himself because of his decisions. “The black man whisked him like a child into the saddle, gave the horse the lash, and away he galloped, with Tom on his back, in the midst of the thunderstorm” even after he believed that he was safe (244). This plotline common to literature demonstrates a Faust myth where one knowingly or unknowingly sells their soul to the
As seen in the Novel, most acts of anger and violence are down to failed dreams and hope, with the one or two exceptions and that they are both ways of letting how you feel known and a way to make you feel better.
Through previous years, philosopher’s have tested numerous theories that help us in defining the nature of our being, often these are stalled by the nuanced thought behind our heart and mind. Philosophers often believed that we were slaves to our passions despite our reasoning, even now this could be proven by acts of love, but more than often proven it can be seen through our desire for revenge. Unlike it’s counterpart [avenge], revenge is both a verb and a noun that can be not only acted upon but attained. Revenge is what one seeks after being wronged and often an action never thought through by reason, but a fight of a person’s passions towards a self declared justice. Portrayed in a copious amount of movies, songs, and art, the theme of revenge has been held iconically within Shakespeare's most famous play, Hamlet. Centered around corruption of the mind, body and soul, Hamlet is seen by many as the embodiment of revenge through it’s characters (Hamlet, Laertes, and Fortinbras); it is within their actions and development that each character portrays the dichotomy of their passion and reason to prove that we are slaves to our passions until reason catches up.
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.
A shirt slipped over his head, BA quickly put on his sweats and headed out the door. Not heading for the car, he figured running the three blocks would be faster. When they arrived, police cars surrounded the place. An officer recognized the couple and motioned to come upstairs. In the apartment the crime scene people were already at work doing their thing.