Wait a second!
More handpicked essays just for you.
More handpicked essays just for you.
Don’t take our word for it - see why 10 million students trust us with their essay needs.
Recommended: The metaphor essay
Eman Zaheer Personal Metaphor The deafening sounds of gun shots filled the air only to be united with the shrilling sound of a scream I couldn’t decipher as my own or another’s. Bullets are shot towards a man I have never known, my ammunition being my only friends to help me through a dark war of death. Fighting for so long, it’s almost impossible a time where I haven’t wanted to wave my white flag, to surrender, and to give up. Yet, through the injuries and the white tears I fight in this war, as I go through my path through life. My life is a war, of lifeless bodies and the triumphant victories. A gun set in my hands and ammo at my side. At war with weapons, my ammo are my friends keeping me alive through seemingly impossible scenarios. …show more content…
The clock’s ceaseless ticking went on key with the groaning of the fan. The room lit only by a faint light of a window and the glow of a laptop. My head groaned in pain along with the loud hum of the computer. My eyes slowly moved from word to word, studying every crevice in the lines. My hands moved without thought, calculating each problem in every way possible. My hands moved in robotics motions only to be accompanied my gears in my head shifting to thinking about how badly I was going to fail this midterm. My mind spun into disaster, my brain suffocating me of oxygen and yelling that I was a disappointment. My stomach churned making my throat an acidic wasteland making my voice to vanish into thin air. My eyes stung as hot tears ran down my cheeks, leaving puffs of pink under my eyes. My phone rang a toon known to me as the sound of my friend calling. I slumped out of my chair and dragged my lifeless feet to the table to get my phone. My hand grabbed the phone and answered regardless of my mind’s tricks. There was a second on silence before a cheerful voice spoke on the other
It is inevitable when dealing regularly with a subject as brutal as war, that death will occur. Death brings grief for the victim’s loved ones, which William Faulkner depicts accurately and fairly in many of his works, including the short story “Shall Not Perish” and The Unvanquished. While the works differ because of the time (The Unvanquished deals with the Civil War while “Shall Not Perish” takes place during World War II) and the loved ones grieving (The Unvanquished shows the grief of a lover and “Shall Not Perish” shows the grief of families), the pain they all feel is the same.
After an event of large magnitude, it still began to take its toll on the protagonist as they often “carried all the emotional baggage of men who might die” during the war (O’Brien 1187). The travesties that occurred with the brutality of war did not subside and began to affect those involved in a deeply emotional way. The multitude of disastrous happenings influenced the narrator to develop a psychological handicap to death by being “afraid of dying” although being “even more afraid to show it” (O’Brien 1187). The burden caused by the war creates fear inside the protagonist’s mind, yet if he were to display his sense of distress it would cause a deeper fear for those around him, thus making the thought of exposing the fear even more frightening. The emotional battle taking place in the psyche of the narrator is directly repressed by the war.
Poets have often addressed the theme of how soldiers at war long to come back home and return to a normal life in solitude away from the harshness and ruggedness of war. But, what happens once they are back? Are their days as solemn, nights as tranquil as before? Seldom are these questions answered. This poem is of a soldier who is bombarded (no pun intended) with questions about war on his return and the subsequent discomfort that he faces in realizing that his hands have the blood of many foreigners (War Poets). The war changes the identity of an individual, the way he sees himself and those around him. And this blood that every soldier bears is something that water might clear, but the conscience always bears. In order to survive, soldiers have to kill their enemies who in reality are no different than themselves. They are to kill out of force and not out of choice. Once a soldier is back, things are never the same again even if the people and surroundings
Bullets flying through the air right over me, my knees are shaking, and my feet are numb. I see familiar faces all around me dodging the explosives illuminating the air like lightning. Unfortunately, numerous familiar faces seem to disappear into the trenches. I try to run from the noise, but my mind keeps causing me to re-illustrate the painful memories left behind.
Growing up as an only child I made out pretty well. You almost can’t help but be spoiled by your parents in some way. And I must admit that I enjoyed it; my own room, T.V., computer, stereo, all the material possessions that I had. But there was one event in my life that would change the way that I looked at these things and realized that you can’t take these things for granted and that’s not what life is about.
A Farewell to Arms is against the extreme violence, the massive destruction, and the sheer senselessness of war; the mental effect it has on people and cities; and the brutal change it makes in the lives of its survivors once victory and defeat become meaningless terms. Unlike other books that glorify courage in battle and make everything come out ok for the brave individual, this book attempts a real portrayal of a different kind of war, one fought with machine guns, in trenches, and with lots and lots of casualties.
I am a Dublin kid. I have lived here my entire life. Dublin is a wealthy city; the median income is around $114,000, which is over twice the median income of the state of Ohio (Dublin, Ohio). It is even labeled “The Happiest Suburb in America” (Allan). However, there’s also another name that we’ve given to our community: the Dublin Bubble. It is the idea that kids who have grown up here are sheltered from the “real world”. Although many have debated on the connotation of this term, I believe it is largely negative. The figurative bubble may shield us from harsh realities; however, it can also pave the path for ignorance. As I stand in front of my own peers, I encourage you to take a trip outside of the Dublin Bubble and educate yourself on global issues.
The sound of guns and screams was an unwelcoming and disturbing experience. It began in Afghanistan, an uncontrollable and unorganised society where there tears of sadness and rage was a common occurrence. The nation was beginning to collapse and my mind raced for ideas. I knew that I would have to give up the life that I was supposed to live here in Afghanistan. I had to escape, but how? It did not matter, as what concerned me was how far I was going to travel and how my life would continue on. What would be the outcome? Would life be any different or better? I have a wife and a daughter who cry for a future and as a father, I had to do what's best for my family. My life was on the line.
The third maddening buzz of my alarm woke me as I groggily slid out of bed to the shower. It was the start of another routine morning, or so I thought. I took a shower, quarreled with my sister over which clothes she should wear for that day and finished getting myself ready. All of this took a little longer than usual, not a surprise, so we were running late. We hopped into the interior of my sleek, white Thunderbird and made our way to school.
On 04/29/17, at 1:58pm, I Deputy Warden N. Christian was dispatched to 2002 Bairsford Drive on an injury-possible dangerous or vicious dog, owner known. I arrived at the location and spoke to victim Joe Battle. Mr. Battle stated on 04/28/17 at approximately 2:50pm, he was dropping off a male minor at the location from school. As he was approaching the house with the minor, a female minor was waiting at the screen door. Next to her was a black/grey large mix breed dog. Mr. Battle stated he seen the dog barking and when the female minor opened the screen door to let the male minor into the house the dog came out and chased Mr. Battle. The dog bit Mr. Battle on the left leg. Mr. Battle stated the dog broke skin, but he didn’t go to the hospital
This war-torn land shows nothing but death and the dying. The ground is muddy from the rain, it’s dank and sodden. Up above the trench line is barbed wire and … nothing else. No birds, no animals … no people. A few dead bodies of the brave men going to assassinate the enemy by night fall, but stopped dead in their tracks, they got picked off by the sharpshooters. No! No one ever makes it! Never! There is a constant sound of gun blasts and the sound of explosions from the grenades. The dark is lit up by the flashes of the guns against the silver clouded sky. Nobody dares to look up for more than a few seconds otherwise they will be taken out.
Always stuck in the past and dreading the future she struggled to grasp her own understanding of what she could do to save herself. Now that she was drowning in her own fear she didn’t think that she could possible find a way out. Pause, take a breath and breathe. She looked up, making eye contact with her professor just in time to hear her say that the midterm wasn’t until the next class and that today she would help them prepare. The girl’s heart sunk and flopped down to the pit of her stomach, but she could breathe again. Fear released the vice like grip it had on her mind long enough for her brain to instruct her lungs to fill with air and exhale. The windfalls were calming her down and she could no longer see red. This whole time she was in the throes of her anxiety for nothing at all. The test wasn’t for days and she still had time to prepare. But days from now her body knew that it would be back in the familiar territory of the yellow bile filled land of distress. It was literally only a matter of hours before she would once again be crippled by her own fear of
I was awoken to a loud knock on the door Then all of a sudden we were pushed to the floor They yelled at us and made us pack our bags We were given yellow star shaped tags If we don't get out of here we will die
Thumbs Out A girlfriend of mine once defended me to her father by saying, calmly, “Not everyone who wanders is lost.” The dad kicked me out of the house anyway. But the damage had been done. Not everyone who wanders is lost.
Something new and awkward was happening to me taking all my attention. Nevertheless, I tried hard to comfort myself by forcing in a simple sense that it will be all right. But, I couldn’t resist the undeniable feeling of my universe squeezing too much. A feeling that went for so long that I couldn’t remember what came before. A dreadful feeling that was continuously fed with an alarming wish to escape consuming my resistance and leaving me completely exhausted. I didn’t want to surrender, in a final attempt I kicked my legs out straight but nothing happened. I tried to stretch out, to escape to make the suffering stop and merge again with the universe I used to know.“Please stop!”, I closed my eyes firmly yet no sound came out. My mouth was firmly glued by thick layers of mud.… I had no choice but finally relenting.