Using The Lemon Orchard as a starting point imagine you are any one of the men in the story. Descripe your thoughts and feelings as you walk through the lemon orchard. When I was roused from my sleep and led to a lemon orchard, by four white men for wipping, I wasn’t even given the time to tie my shoes. They just dragged me out. Also, I was the only one who wasn’t warmly dressed. There was a chill in the air and mud on the ground. The full moon was hidden behind thick clouds as if it didn’t want to witness what was about to happen to me. As we were walking in complete silence, in the dark lemon orchard, my fear wa mixed with obstinacy. I was obstinate because I was reluctant to answer their questions or show them any reaction. I knew that if I aswered, I would have said the wrong answer and it would be a reason for them to harass me. I wasn’t shivering because of the blistering cold but because I was very highly strung. I knew that if I faced them all I wouldn’t be able to cope with them. I could probably attack the guy with the shotgun. If I took the shotgun I could take control over them. That’s why I didn’t take any action. I had to be patient and see what they were upto before taking any action or answering them. They called me ‘dumb’ because I neither spoke nor showed any reaction My wrists were tied tightly behind and it was giving me pain. The rope felt like the thorns of a rose burried in my skin. The boss that was holding the launthern threatened me by saying that he would shoot me. After I heard those words flowing out of his dirty mouth, I realised that I was in real trouble. I took a quick look at him and he seemed as serious as a bull which had seen a pile of red clothes. It made me realise that the people aro... ... middle of paper ... ... always looked down upon us trying to assimilate us all the time. What I was subjected to and what I heard were all dreadful and were like the rustling of the leaves or the harsh whispering of the wing. Still I could admire the moon’s coming out from behind the clouds, the growing pleasent scent of the lemon trees. I thought this is what a decent human being should feel in situations like this. Just before death. This is it! Now they are going to blow my head of before I wasn’t even given the chance to say goodbye to the people I cared for. The light coming from the moon between the trees was like heaven was getting ready for me and God was calling me. I’m not scared any more but it doesn’t mean that they won. I still got my dignity! You should never lose your hope and faith in yourself and in God, even if you are in desperate situations, way beyond your control.
“Strange Fruit” by Billie Holiday conveys the inhumane, gory lynchings of African-Americans in the American South, and how this highly unnatural act had entrenched itself into the society and culture of the South, almost as if it were an agricultural crop. Although the song did not originate from Holiday, her first performance of it in 1939 in New York City and successive recording of the song became highly popular for their emotional power (“Strange fruit,” 2017). The lyrics in the song highlight the contrast between the natural beauty and apparent sophistication of the agricultural South with the brutal violence of lynchings. Holiday communicates these rather disturbing lyrics through a peculiarly serene vocal delivery, accompanied by a hymn-like
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.
The Lemon Tree by Sandy Tolan recounts the events of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict through the lives of two individuals: Dalia, a Bulgarian jew, and Bashir, a Palestinian muslim. The Lemon Tree is a story of persecution , its consequences, and of human nature. In the 1940s the Nazis began the holocaust, a mass extermination of the jewish people and others that the Nazis deemed as “undesirable”, prompting many Jews to flee and seek refuge. Jewish emigration from countries in eastern Europe was met with anti semitic immigration policies in the west, thus leading to the mass migration of Jews to Palestine. The tensions between the jewish and arab Palestinians eventually evolved into the Arab-Israeli War of 1948. Citizens of Palestine were
Death’s whisper traveled in my ear, wrapping around my mind, “I can take you away from this madness. Beyond this hell, that is life.” “Will it be more peaceful there?” I asked. “As serene as heaven above.” Possessive Depression responded. My heavy heart fluttered at the thought of serenity. No more painful days, or lonely, restless nights. No more of this living death. Anxiety murmured all my insecurities tempting me to make the decision, as every tick-tock from the clock he held, echoed in my brain, putting fear in me of things that will never happen. I thought about the invitation to eternal sleep, “I would finally be able to extract this smiling mask…” Thus, I decided to join the dance of death, done dealing with my dilemmas.
I would shut my eyes because I knew what was coming. And before I shut my eyes, I held my breath, like a swimmer ready to dive into a deep ocean. I could never watch when his hands came toward me; I only patiently waited for the harsh sound of the strike. I would always remember his eyes right before I closed my own: pupils wide with rage, cold, and dark eyebrows clenched with hate. When it finally came, I never knew which fist hit me first, or which blow sent me to my knees because I could not bring myself to open my eyes. They were closed because I didn’t want to see what he had promised he would never do again. In the darkness of my mind, I could escape to a paradise where he would never reach me. I would find again the haven where I kept my hopes, dreams, and childhood memories. His words could not devour me there, and his violence could not poison my soul because I was in my own world, away from this reality. When it was all over, and the only thing left were bruises, tears, and bleeding flesh, I felt a relief run through my body. It was so predictable. For there was no more need to recede, only to recover. There was no more reason to be afraid; it was over. He would feel sorry for me, promise that it would never happen again, hold me, and say how much he loved me. This was the end of the pain, not the beginning, and I believed that everything would be all right.
Not a soul responded, they continued to roll in a bunch of machinery and equipment gear. One of them had already put on a pair of gloves and turned on the bright lights above me. I cringed and closed my eyes at the bright light. There was nowhere to escape to, I was completely tied down and it didn 't look like they were going to untie me anytime soon. I had no control of my own body, nor did I have control of what they were going to do to me, and for that I started to weep.
For twelve years I’ve tried to hide my pain and fear from you. I’ve been trying to ignore the horror stories, unknowingly blinding myself from the stories of hope. I’m not as bitter as this story may lead you to think. In fact, I am an adamant believer in the statement (overheard three years ago in the Coffee House): “God has never taken anything away from me that he hasn’t replaced with something better.”
This is about how a man broke into the orchard, took a bunch of cherry
The ride home had been the most excruciating car ride of my life. Grasping this all new information, coping with grief and guilt had been extremely grueling. As my stepfather brought my sister and I home, nothing was to be said, no words were leaving my mouth.Our different home, we all limped our ways to our beds, and cried ourselves to sleep with nothing but silence remaining. Death had surprised me once
Greg Ridley, a character in Walter Dean Myers Story "The Treasure Of Lemon Brown,” was sitting on the stoop of his apartment, awaiting another long lecture from his father about his grades. He looked up at the building, knowing he should go inside... but he didn't, Instead he walked away, storm cloud emanated his dark, somber mood. Eager to get out of the rain, Greg recalls an old house across the street. When Greg goes into that house, he does not value family, but through the course of the story Greg develops an understanding of what family is, and what real treasure is.
As I inched my way toward the cliff, my legs were shaking uncontrollably. I could feel the coldness of the rock beneath my feet when my toes curled around the edge in one last futile attempt at survival. My heart was racing like a trapped bird, desperate to escape. Gazing down the sheer drop, I nearly fainted; my entire life flashed before my eyes. I could hear stones breaking free and fiercely tumbling down the hillside, plummeting into the dark abyss of the forbidding black water. The trees began to rapidly close in around me in a suffocating clench, and the piercing screams from my friends did little to ease the pain. The cool breeze felt like needles upon my bare skin, leaving a trail of goose bumps. The threatening mountains surrounding me seemed to grow more sinister with each passing moment, I felt myself fighting for air. The hot summer sun began to blacken while misty clouds loomed overhead. Trembling with anxiety, I shut my eyes, murmuring one last pathetic prayer. I gathered my last breath, hoping it would last a lifetime, took a step back and plun...
The voices in my head become a swelling crescendo. I forcefully grab my head in between my hands as the words echo through my skull. Pain pulsates with every word. I squeeze my temples hard with my palms but the pain is unbearable. Clawing at my face, a scream rips through me; sapping every last drop of energy in my body. Like a rag doll, I collapse onto the cold concrete floor as a growing darkness overcomes me.
Standing on the balcony, I gazed at the darkened and starry sky above. Silence surrounded me as I took a glimpse at the deserted park before me. Memories bombarded my mind. As a young girl, the park was my favourite place to go. One cold winter’s night just like tonight as I looked upon the dark sky, I had decided to go for a walk. Wrapped up in my elegant scarlet red winter coat with gleaming black buttons descending down the front keeping away the winter chill. Wearing thick leggings as black as coal, leather boots lined with fur which kept my feet cozy.
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.
Citrus is a generic term for the group of flowering plants belonging to the genus Citrus in the common rue family Rustaceae. Members of the citrus family include grapefruit, oranges, lemons, limes, mandarins, tangerines, kumquats, and others. Phylogenetic relationships within the Citrus genus are complex. Analysis of 36 accessions of Citrus indicate that many named species, including lemons, sweet limes, and oranges, are of hybrid origin (Nicolosi et. al, 2000).