One Lonely Night
Her eyes glistened with tears as her lips trembled. The face of a woman, so powerful and with undeniable strength, had become weak in the sight of what lay before her. The man she loved. The man she cherished. What made her cry? For love had to be the strongest of all emotions to induce even the smallest of tears
The time was 7:30 on a Monday morning. The smell of gasoline lingered in the air long enough for anyone to notice. Sunlight filtered through the brush. The cry of an animal in the distance startled some doves in the clearing, and they took off in marvellous flight. Metal lay strewn about the grass. A body lay on the ground, eyes closed. A large cut was spread on its leg. A bird flew into the clearing and landed on the body. A throaty cry escaped from its beak, as it drowned out the wail of sirens approaching in the distance.
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.
The night was tempestuous and my emotions were subtle, like the flame upon a torch. They blew out at the same time that my sense of tranquility dispersed, as if the winds had simply come and gone. The shrill scream of a young girl ricocheted off the walls and for a few brief seconds, it was the only sound that I could hear. It was then that the waves of turmoil commenced to crash upon me. It seemed as though every last one of my senses were succumbed to disperse from my reach completely. As everything blurred, I could just barely make out the slam of a door from somewhere alongside me and soon, the only thing that was left in its place was an ominous silence.
He can hear her steps down the stair to the cellar. He almost burst into tears. Patrick knows that he can’t give up now, not after he have broken her heart and made up everything so she can leave him. There was no Rebecca, he had no son, his parents didn’t force him into this marriage he was the one who made things look like that both their parents wanted them to get married. Patrick was afraid that she wouldn’t agree to this marriage. I can’t stop now, Patrick thought to himself it’s working she’s believing it; he told himself to hold back the tears but one still slip down his cheek.
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.
“Now is the time to cry to your heart’s content,” The doctor said in a soporific voice. “Tears are the best medicine.” Maria unburdened herself without shame, as she had never been able to do with her casual lovers in the empty times that followed lovemaking… This was, for the first time in her life, the miracle of being understood by a man who listened to her with all his heart and did not expect to go to bed with her as a reward. (76)
Thomas lived with his family in a two story house in Windy Hill. He had a little brother names Frankie and a dog named Max. One autumn morning, Thomas jumped out of bed and stared out the window at the quiet cobblestone streets below. Leaves the colors of a brilliant sunset glided and danced along the streets edge, playing a rustling tune. Thomas smiled, he couldn’t wait to see the vending trucks pulling up outside, and the town folks hurrying about as they prepared the streets for the Festival Of Ghouls.
She had been crying in the dark, trying so hard to sleep but it just wouldn't come to her. It was then that she heard the door creek open, she saw Gus there, staring at her in the darkness. She could feel what he wanted, even from that far away. He moved
I looked around at everyone in the room and saw the sorrow in their eyes. My eyes first fell on my grandmother, usually the beacon of strength in our family. My grandmother looked as if she had been crying for a very long period of time. Her face looked more wrinkled than before underneath the wild, white hair atop her head. The face of this once youthful person now looked like a grape that had been dried in the sun to become a raisin. Her hair looked like it had not been brushed since the previous day as if created from high wispy clouds on a bright sunny day.
Previously, the narrator has intimated, “She had all her life long been accustomed to harbor thoughts and emotions which never voiced themselves. They had never taken the form of struggles. They belonged to her and were her own.” Her thoughts and emotions engulf her, but she does not “struggle” with them. They “belonged to her and were her own.” She does not have to share them with anyone; conversely, she must share her life and her money with her husband and children and with the many social organizations and functions her role demands.
Her lungs burnt and her breath caught in her throat. Every second she wasted was a second closer to losing him. Then she saw him, a distorted shadow in the moonlight. She cried out his name again through chapped lips. Tears pooled in her eyes, like a gentle ocean resembling her bleeding heart. Mascara smudged around her cheeks like charcoal. She stumbled forwards, her legs threatening to give way. Rough edged rocks tore at her clothes, slashing her trousers like something in a horror movie. But she had to keep going. After all they had been through, she couldn’t lose him now. Not
Shannon heard her stepfather coming up the stairs and quickly raced for the closet where she had already prepared her hiding place. Huddled under a pile of clothing, she listened as he came closer. He stopped as he entered the room and she knew he would be surprised to find her bed empty. He must be trying to figure out where to look next. Her heart pounded so hard she thought he must surely be able to hear it and she scarcely breathed as he stopped outside the closet door. Opening it slowly he looked inside but seemed unable to see her as he closed it and walked into another room. He called her name but she lay motionless until she heard him on the stairs. After a few more drinks he would pass out in front of the TV but afraid he might come back, she waited until she heard her mother come home from work. She slowly and quietly opened the closet door and tiptoed back to bed. Sleep did not come.
It is the first time that Lizabeth hears a man cry. She could not believe herself because her father is “a strong man who could whisk a child upon his shoulders and go singing through the house.” As the centre of the family and a hero in her heart, Lizabeth’s dad is “sobbing like the tiniest child”She discovers that her parents are not as powerful or stable as she thought they were. The feeling of powerlessness and fear surges within her as she loses the perfect relying on her dad. She says, “the world had lost its boundary lines.” the “smoldering emotions” and “fear unleashed by my father’s tears” had “combined in one great impulse toward
“Hmm, it’s awfully quiet for a party” I mused; as I got closer to the seemingly silent house. “What the…….” I uneasily whispered I stopped right in front of the house, as I noticed there were no lights on and the main door was broadly open. I gazed at the seemingly cold, dark house; cold shudder trickled down my spine as if ice had replaced my spine. Glancing around fearfully I released a shuddering breath, and slowly without making any noise and went into the house.
Time slowed. Men surrounded our bed and glared down at us. There was a collective breath. Then they reached for us. I tried to fight, but it only loosened my hold on Phibe, and she was ripped out of my arms like a doll from a child. My screams were probably heard all the way across the sea, in the old English town that I’d left for a better life. Phibe reached for me, her screams matching my own, but the man that held her snatched her arm back. There was a stomach-churning crack. Phibe screamed until her voice
She would not have grieved over someone she did not love. Even in the heat of her passion, she thinks about her lost love. She knew that she would weep again when she saw the kind, tender hands folded in death; the face that had never looked safe with love upon her, fixed and gray and dead. Her love may not have been the greatest love of all time, but it was still love. Marriage was not kind to Mrs. Mallard, her life was dull and not worth living, her face showed the years of repression.
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.’