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The rain falls ominously around us where we sit huddled underneath a fallen tree. Our clothes are blood stained and shredded. Ena huddles against my side, her face hidden under my arms. I wrap a protective arm around her and look out into the misty surroundings, my senses alert for any sign of pursuit. A flash of lightning illuminates the small copse of trees followed almost momentarily by the distant rumble of thunder. Now is our one and only chance. The storm will cover our tracks; make us more difficult to follow. I tighten my arms and pull my sleeping daughter into my arms and cradle her against my chest. She’s seven now, but I’m strong. I can carry her and run. The rain makes the mud slick and conditions treacherous, but I’m still faster than all the people hunting us. All but him.
Ena wakes up in my arms and whimpers in pain. I’m shocked; I hadn’t even noticed she was hurt. As soon as the thought forms in my head I slide to a stop and sit her on a tree branch that hangs low over the track. Her face, so like mine, is pale and drawn with pain. Slowly, I lift her thin t-shirt over her stomach and gasp. There’s a large red welt about the size of a tennis ball. The edges are a deep, angry red but it darkens into a violent purple at the centre. A snarl rips between my teeth. I know exactly what has caused the mark, and her Father will pay for it.
As if on cue, the sound of hunting horns echoes behind us. It is so like Benjiman to do things traditionally. Not that pursuing your wife and only surviving child is traditional. I feel my heart tear, as though a knife has been dragged through it, at the thought of my other daughter. Ozzy was Ena’s twin and now, because of their masochistic Father, she is lying dead at the base of a tre...
... middle of paper ...
...ting the earth as power corrupted him.
I fall to my knees and embrace my sobbing, shaking daughter, the only part of my Beloved I have left.
“It’s okay... we’re going to be okay.” I tell her. She nods her head and clutches my clothes desperately.
“I love you.” I repeat brokenly. Love is War, and War finds you where you least expect it... Delivered by those you Love most.
Internet sources;
http://www.experiment-resources.com/stem-cell-pros-and-cons.html
http://www.allaboutpopularissues.org/history-of-stem-cell-research-faq.htm
http://uk.answers.yahoo.com/question/index?qid=20080623033246AAHcu4a
http://www.bionetonline.org/english/content/db_cont1.htm
Written Sources;
The Ethics of Biotechnology, by Jonathan Morris
Redesigning Humans, by Gregory Stock
Remaking Eden, by Lee M. Silver
The Second Creation, by Ian Wilmut, Keith Campbell and Colin Tudge
Beloved is a novel set in Ohio during 1873, several years after the Civil War. The book centers on characters that struggle to keep their painful recollections of the past at bay. The whole story revolves around issues of race, gender, family relationships and the supernatural, covering two generations and three decades up to the 19th century. Concentrating on events arising from the Fugitive Slave Act of 1856, it describes the consequences of an escape from slavery for Sethe, her children and Paul D. The narrative begins 18 years after Sethe's break for freedom. The women in the house knew it and so did the children...by 1873 Sethe and her daughter Denver were its only victims". The novel is divided into three parts. Each part opens with statements to indicate the progress of the haunting--from the poltergeist to the materialized spirit to the final freeing of both the spirit and Sethe. These parts reflect the progressive of a betrayed child and her desperate mother. Overall symbolizing the gradual acceptance of freedom and the enormous work and continuous struggle that would persist for the next 100 years. Events that occurred prior and during the 18 years of Sethe's freedom are slowly revealed and pieced together throughout the novel. Painfully, Sethe is in need of rebuilding her identity and remembering the past and her origins: "Some things just stay. I used to think it was my rememory. You know. Some things you forget. Other things you never do. But it's not. Places, places, are still there.
If the storm had lulled at little at sunset, it made up now for lost time. Strong and horizontal thundered the current of the wind from north-west to south-east; it brought rain like spray, and sometimes, a sharp hail like shot; it was cold and pierced me to the vitals. I bent my head to meet it, but it beat me back. My heart did not fail at all in this conflict, I only wished that I had wings and could ascend the gale, spread and repose my pinions on
Halfway up it was beginning to look doubtful, the wind was picking up and everyone was getting out rain gear to prepare for the storm. I voiced my doubts to Phil and he said we might as well keep going until the lighting got too close. So we did. The thunder grew in volume and the echoes magnified the noise to a dull roar sometimes. Then suddenly it began to ebb. The wind died down and lightening came less frequently. I exchanged relieved looks with Phil after a bit, but kept the pace up--I didn’t want to take chances. Eventually it hit us, but by then it was nothing more then a heavy rain. We kept moving, if slower, and made it over the ridge with no other problems. That night I enjoyed the meal a little more and slept a little deeper realizing how much is important that easily goes unnoticed until something threatens to take it away.
Beloved, like many of the other books we have read, has to deal with the theme of isolation. There was the separation of Sethe and Denver from the rest of the world. There was also, the loneliness of each main character throughout the book. There were also other areas of the book where the idea of detachment from something was obvious. People’s opinions about the house made them stay away and there was also the inner detachment of Sethe from herself. The theme that Toni Morrison had in mind when the book was written was isolation.
Pablo Neruda’s “My ugly love” and William Shakespeare’s “Sonnet 130” are commonly well-known to describe beauty in a way hardly anyone would write: through the truth. It’s a popular fact that many modern-day poets compose poems that make love seem perfect and use phrases that often costume the truth by masking true beauty with words. Yet, Shakespeare and Neruda, both sincere people, chose to write about what love really is, it matters more what’s on the inside than what is found on the outside. The theme of true beauty and love are found through Shakespeare and Neruda’s uses of reflection of imagery, uses of organized structure, and uses of sensory devices to describe the meaning of beauty and love.
The clouds roll by saturated with teardrops, evidence of the burden they carry. Pure blue is wiped from the sky, replaced by a gun-metal gray shot through with a bruised night. The trees shudder with chills as they brace themselves for the downpour. Then, the clouds slow down, dragging themselves forward, bogged down by the weight of their luggage. A few tears spill, darkening the earth at the points of contact. They pause. Should they move on, move just a little bit farther? No, thunder and lightning follow, the first heart-wrenching sob that unleashes torrents of grief. As the clouds above hold each other while they weep, I watch as a small, pink worm pushes through to the surface emerging from the tear-streaked soil. The world rages around him while he tests the air and gathers his bearings. It is not cautious, nor contemplative;
Who Is Beloved by God? After reading the novel Beloved by Toni Morrison, many readers may find it helpful. themselves asking who Beloved really was. There are basically three answers that would satisfy this question that she is the actual baby.
times represent a unique calmness. Toni Morrison doesn’t make any exceptions to this idea. In her novel Beloved, Toni Morrison uses trees to symbolize comfort, protection and peace. Morrison uses trees throughout Beloved to emphasize the serenity that the natural world offers. Many black characters, and some white and Native American characters, refer to trees as offering calm, healing and escape, thus conveying Morrison’s message that trees bring peace. Besides using the novel’s characters to convey her message, Morrison herself displays and shows the good and calmness that trees represent in the tree imagery in her narration. Perhaps Toni Morrison uses trees and characters’ responses to them to show that when one lives through an ordeal as horrible as slavery, one will naturally find comfort in the simple or seemingly harmless aspects of life, such as nature and especially trees. With the tree’s symbolism of escape and peace, Morrison uses her characters’ references to their serenity and soothing nature as messages that only in nature could these oppressed people find comfort and escape from unwanted thoughts. Almost every one of Morrison’s characters find refuge in trees and nature, especially the main characters such as Sethe and Paul D. During Sethe’s time in slavery, she has witnessed many gruesome and horrible events that blacks endure such as whippings and lynchings. However, Sethe seemingly chooses to remember the sight of sycamore trees over the sight of lynched boys, thus revealing her comfort in a tree’s presence: “Boys hanging from the most beautiful sycamores in the world. It shamed her- remembering the wonderful soughing trees rather than the boys. Try as she might to make it otherwise, the sycamores beat out the children every time and she could not forgive her memory for that” (6). Although Sethe wishes she would’ve remembered the boys instead, she probably rationalized this thought because when she asks Paul D about news of Halle, she pictures the sycamores instead of the possibility that Halle has been lynched: “‘I wouldn’t have to ask about him would I? You’d tell me if there was anything to tell, wouldn’t you?’ Sethe looked down at her feet and saw again the sycamores” (8). When Schoolteacher whips Sethe, leaving her back leathery with scars, she refers to the scar as a chokecherry tree to soothe and to lessen the physically and emotion...
Toni Morrison's novel, Beloved, reveals the heartbreak love and its power to throw an individual into an internal battle against himself. In the beginning of the novel, Sethe, the main character, is seen as a woman who as a woman that has submitted to an isolated life and who cares not to interact with others around her. Yet, this has not always been the case. Sethe was once a woman so full of love. She had admired her husband, Halle, her four young children, Denver, Howard, Buglar, and Beloved, and she the days of the Clearing. And thus, when Sethe had finally reached 124, she fell faint. She had loved too much.
I peered around through the rain, desperately searching for some shelter, I was drowning out here. The trouble was, I wasn’t in the best part of town, and in fact it was more than a little dodgy. I know this is my home turf but even I had to be careful. At least I seemed to be the only one out here on such an awful night. The rain was so powerfully loud I couldn’t hear should anyone try and creep up on me. I also couldn’t see very far with the rain so heavy and of course there were no street lights, they’d been broken long ago. The one place I knew I could safely enter was the church, so I dashed.
We’d gotten used to the screamed threats, and now the frost-tipped night seemed too quiet without them. Everything was silent, and then everything was madness. Our fragile door exploded inward. Phibe screamed. My arms reached for her. I wrapped my body around hers to be a shield, to protect her, and she clung to me in return.
A shrill cry echoed in the mist. I ducked, looking for a sign of movement. The heavy fog and cold storm provided nothing but a blanket, smothering all sight and creating a humid atmosphere. The freezing air continued to whip at my face, relentless and powerful. Our boat, stuck in the boggy water. Again a cry called. Somewhere out there was someone, or something.
The year is 2003. It’s the beginning of July in a small suburb town. A little girl sits in her backyard on a covered swing. The sun sat in a cloudless sky, casting shadowy patterns across the cushion on the swing. She can hear her younger sisters laughing and splashing in the pool that is just a few feet away. But she was not interested in swimming, because her attention was on the book on her lap that she had just gotten yesterday. Her feet brushing against the grass with every motion of the swing. Her eyes eagerly scanning the pages, trying to soak up as much of the story she could. Before her mom told her to put the book down and spend time with her family.
Imagine a young girl; the harsh African sun is kissing her bronzed skin. The warm golden sand tickles her petite and tattered feet. The immense gold earrings she wears beats against her slender neck. Her stature is of a queen, yet she walks to an uncertain death. She stands in front of a small hut, or a tent. She glances back and sees the majestic sun that had once kissed her neck now set and somewhat leave her abandoned. She exists alone in front of that diminutive hut or tent and out comes a man. He is exhausted and is ready to go home to his companion and his supper. He looks a bit annoyed that she has come so late. His hands are stained with a ruby tint and his clothes the same. He motions the young girl in. Hesitantly, she makes small and meager steps to the entranceway. She steps into a minute room with little or no lighting. She stares upon two women and a rusty table that holds the screams of the girls that went before her. The man motions her to sit in the table. She slowly places her body on the stained and rusty table. She is a bit afraid that the table will not hold under her weight; nevertheless, she is held up. The man places his cold and clammy hands on her collarbone and pushes her back to the table. As she lies there she looks to her left and sees his instruments; a bloody and rusty razor blade.
“I love you. I can love you like nobody else could. If I can’t have you, nobody can have you”