THE SCREW THROUGH CINDER’S ANKLE HAD RUSTED, THE engraved cross marks worn to a mangled circle. Her knuckles ached from forcing the screwdriver into the joint as she struggled to loosen the screw one gritting twist after another. By the time it was extracted far enough for her to wrench free with her prosthetic steel hand, the hairline threads had been stripped clean.
Tossing the screwdriver onto the table, Cinder gripped her heel and yanked the foot from its socket. A spark singed her fingertips and she jerked away, leaving the foot to dangle from a tangle of red and yellow wires.
She slumped back with a relieved groan. A sense of release hovered at the end of those wires—freedom. Having loathed the too-small foot for four years, she swore
He remembered the dream he had, and threw the hatchet against the wall of the ledge. And indeed, it created sparks.
“But that night she was like the little tottering, stumbling, clutching child, who all of a sudden realizes its powers, and walks for the first time alone, boldly and with over-confidence. She could have shouted for joy. She did shout for joy, as with a sweeping stroke or two she lifted her body to the surface of the water.
has to hold it in place; she has now been reduced to a limp corpse.
It took her a long time to catch her breath,but she finally managed to spit out the words,
from the first bar, she quickly swung her feet over to the side for leg support.
The monotonous motion of ironing gave her time to think about her life. She found it calming. The mother had the time to think about coming to terms with and overcoming the past
The overwhelming sensation of freedom enveloped her. She was so elated that she was not quite sure what had come over her.
“They weren’t strong enough. I let them expand, rising and falling with each breath. It was glorious, at first. Until a gust of wind hit me hard, thrusting me into the sky. I lost control and flew into the hydro wires. I messed up.”
“Okay, Mom. I'll be up in a sec.”, he said as he pulled the covers up over his head, revealing his large feet that were hanging off the edge of the bed. His mom let out a sigh and left his room. Mark groaned and threw the blankets off of him and sat at the edge of the bed. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and went to the bathroom to brush
like a sleepwalker’s . . . She adjusted the noose round her neck. Hugo was
Knocked down, face flat on the floor, she cried herself to sleep for the longest time. “This was an impossible chase. I can’t do this anymore,” she thought to herself.
I really felt like that little girl again, ready to jump. I had to hurry. Trudging on faster, my breath ripping my lungs between my hard clenched teeth. I had to run. I clawed at the ground, bending to all-fours like an animal, coughing and choking on my own hair, wild with the wind.
As displayed in many fairytales, the Marxist theory is significant in today's society. An example of this would be the fairytale "Cinderella" as it displays examples of a fairytale that can be look at from a Marxist perspective. Cinderella can be looked at from a Marxist perspective due to the noticeable class ranking throughout the film.
She looked up to the ceiling to show him the imprint of the collar he had once wrapped around her neck. He always tightened it far too much and it would always leave her neck sore and raw.
Sighing, he uncrossed his legs and slid forward, feeling the immense weight of them dangling there. It made him feel vulnerable, like it would be so easy for the monster from his dreams to appear suddenly and push him off. At the same time, however, it felt satisfying to be one of two people in the city crazy enough to be doing it.