The door attendant closed the heavy wooden doors as a man walked into the room sealing him off from the fresh spring afternoon. The visitor came in alone while his companion waited for him on the other side, patiently awaiting his arrival. Just after the doorway, a line of men and women weaved its way through the back of the room, up between the old dark wooden pews on either side of the aisle, and sneaked its way into the back room. The line slowly crept towards the end of the room and was becoming shorter and shorter. When he finally reached the beginning of the row of pews, he noticed a small podium a few feet in front of him. A woman and child stood in front of the man, and they signed their names and address on a black book lying on the podium. The little boy asked the mother, “What do we need to sign our names for?” “They use it so they know who to send the ‘Thank-You’ letters to,” said the mother. “But, why would the Hills send ‘Thank-You’ letters?” “To thank the people who came to support them today.” After the woman finished signing their names and address in the book the door man picked up the podium and moved it towards the far end of the room. He took the black book from the podium and placed it into his black jacket pocket. The door attendant then began to walk towards the other end of the line and disappeared into the other room. The little boy looked ahead in line to see what was going on and said to his mother, “Who was it that died?” “It was Miss Alice from down the street,” said the mother. “She passed away from old age.” The man in front of the mother and child turned around and said, “It’s a shame what happened to her husband.” He stuck out his hand. “My name’s Rick.” The mother grasped his ... ... middle of paper ... ...ked down the steps and towards their cars. Just before they were forced to separate they stopped and Martha said, “Goodbye Rick, it was a pleasure to meet you! You, your wife, and I should really get to know one another!” “Sure thing, I’ll see you later!” said Rick just before he turned around and walked towards his old truck. The man from the end of the line shuffled down the porch and stepped onto the black pavement. He sauntered towards the back of the parking lot approaching his car. His wife stood leaning on the end of the car waiting for him to get out of the building. His wife’s hair was cut short enough to only barely reach the grey collar of her dress. In her hair, she snuggly tucked away a purple flower behind her ear. She didn’t say a word to him, just smiled, and they got into their Red Dodge Viper Convertible and disappeared into the traffic.
“Thank you, sir. I just don’t understand what’s happening, this seems so surreal...Mr. Morris, Where is Lizzie?”
“The day that I found out about my mother, I was at school,” he said, “I remember I was on the playground. Somebody came up and said ‘you’re laughing, huh?’ from behind the gate. ‘Your mother is dead.’ The man said.
The gentle early morning breeze blew across their faces like the whispering winds sway the trees. They had been walking all night long, and finally made it across the border. My mother’s hair was ruffled up, her nose had a steady trickle of blood running into her open mouth. She grunted softly as she lifted her hand up. Tears streamed down her eyes. She knew she had finally made it to her destination.
What if the past had no meaning and the only part of our lives that matters is that which is happening presently? To further exacerbate the matter, all hope for some form of salvation and ever-lasting life from a God are entirely futile; that when life is over, all forms of existence are over as well. Such a desolate point of view is illustrated in Albert Camus’ The Stranger. Camus used characters such as the protagonist, Meursault, to establish his belief that life is nothing more than physical existence and that one can only define their life’s value based off of the events happening at the time in question. Whether Camus himself agreed with this viewpoint is irrelevant as throughout his novel, the striking contrast between Meursault and the society he found himself in clearly epitomized Meursault as an anomalous sociopath. The events resulting from the protagonist’s detached and brutally honest personality, as well as a dearth of a moral conscience, exemplify the extent at which amorality can be commensurate to madness.
Arriving at Lacey’s house I walk to the backdoor letting myself into the house. Lacey was putting on tanning lotion in the kitchen, “Lacey,” I called to her, “my mom wants me to pick up snacks for the beach, do you want to go into town with me?”, “Sure,” she replied, “do you mind if my cousin comes with us?”, “Of course I don’t mind,“ I answered, “but we have to get moving, my dad only left me the car to use ‘til noon.”
Meursault's actions reflect his inner self in many ways. He is the protagonist in the story. He emotionally really doesn't care about other people like is mother and Marie. Many events end up leading to the his murder of an Arab.
She spoke about how life became so different, and having to live a life without Charles took years to learn. The number of life lessons she needed to learn without Charles was overwhelming but Alice showed a lot of self-awareness, explaining that she understood life needed to keep going, and that she needed to be there for the people still in her life. The interviewer was flabbergasted on how insightful and humble Alice was throughout this sensitive subject. Alice also spoke highly of her children as well, but also lost one of her daughters from breast cancer in the early 2000's, which she stressed really challenged her religious values and taught her how to accept that things are out of her control, and in God’s hands. Alice has outlived her great-grandson, who passed away in a car accident a few years past, which made her
The heavy door seemed like a prison door that was meant to keep inmates inside. The Nurse on the other hand who was attending the visitor’s desk was dressed in a white uniform. She was as cold in her reception, similar to the day that was cold outside. Marian does not tell the nurse her true intentions of being there except that she was a campfire girl wanting to visit some old lady. When asked by the nurse in a manly voice “Acquainted with any of our residents?” (122), Marian nervously pushing her hair behind and stammers “With any old ladies? No – but – that is, any of them will do”. (122) showing that the both of them were really not concerned about the
The small legs that whisked back and forth in the open space of the vehicle were full of energy. The young girl spent the day with the two people she admired the most. A bigger version of herself sat in the passenger seat with her husband driving next to her. They laughed over conversation. Every so often, the girl would stick thin fingers against her mother’s shoulder to receive her attention. She would say something trivial and obvious, but her mother would still entertain her. She absorbed every phrase her daughter said as if each filled her with a tremendous joy and was the greatest thing ever spoken. Her mother had selected a black dress for her today with a large white ribbon tied around her midsection. Her hair had been combed back in two braids so that the tips were touching her shoulder blades. They were coming home late from a Christmas party at church.
Just then Janine’s heart drops. She yells at the top of her lungs, “HA! You’re not my mother! Go away, or I’m calling the police!”
French author and playwright Albert Camus once said, “He who despairs over an event is a coward, but he who holds hope for the human condition is a fool.” In the The Stranger and The Guest this philosophy is expanded on by demonstrating how those who do not conform to society are isolated, and portrayed as a threat to society because of their unique beliefs.
Albert Camus states that “In our society any man who doesn’t cry at his mother’s funeral is liable to be condemned to death” (Camus, 18). In the book The Outsider, Meursault defies local convention by not showing the sadness that is expected of him at his mother’s funeral. Ultimately, his life is dependant on this very decision of whether or not to show emotion. In the society that Meursault lives in, one is expected to conform to their standards and social norms. Anyone who deviates from these norms is considered an outcast and destined to die at the hands of society. Meursault was expected to show outwards signs of grief whether it was real or not. Even if the grief is artificial, most people will play to the audience and show signs of grief to minimize the risk of losing their life. Meursault’s was conflicted between following society’s rules and being true to himself. The nurse at his mother's funeral warned him that “if yougo slowly, you risk getting sun-stroke. But if you go too fast, you perspire and then in the church you catch a chill. She was right. There was no way out” (Camus, 22). The nurse’s admonition is consistent with his internal struggle. To Meursault, walking too fast is similar to conforming to society and walking too slow means following his own path. There is no middle ground to the situation, no happy median and no suitable compromise. Meursault faces the challenge of whether or not to conform on three main levels; physical, emotional and spiritual. He has the constant battle between following his physical self; his id, and doing what is right. Meursault also has to decide whether or not to be true to his emotions and decide if lying during his trial is a suitable course of action. Finally h...
while moving and handling Mrs D from the bed to the armchair, the moving process was explained to her and what she was expected to do before the move, she was happy and she was reminded each step to take, and she participated well and moved safely to the armchair.
The dark, black sky was covered with a million bright shining stars. The moon shimmered above a small town in the suburbs of London. The gentle wind swept past the bare trees and danced with the leaves below it, creating a colourful array of orange, yellow, red and brown. Across the street, a light was on in a small house where a tall, dark haired woman stood, talking to her two children Nicola and Erin. While she was tucking them in Erin asked, “Mummy, will you tell us a story please?” “I’m sorry but its time to go to sleep now,” she said. “Please mummy,” begged Nicola “Okay but only one story,” she replied “This story is about how I got lost when I was a young girl and how I met an incredible man. It all began when…”
“We’ve been trying to get a hold of you for hours; I’m afraid I have some bad news your mother had a car accident and unfortunately died…”