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Task 5- I received a concise letter in the hand of a man wishing to sell his property, the estate of Bly, requesting a prompt sale, composed of a few words and requesting total confidentiality; which failed to express why this sale should be expedited, but I knew well not to ask. My curiosity was temporarily allayed when approaching this fine residence, as rays of warmth bathed my skin in a warm glow. The Gothic structure loomed ahead, its gloomy countenance dispelled my initial feelings of relaxation. It was a well framed house, flanked at opposite ends by towers- beautifully crenellated structures-, however the cawing of rooks circling overhead filled me with perturbation. Approaching the deteriorating mahogany door, standing proud amidst the encroaching vines, it creaked with an ominous groan as I stepped into the dark foyer; as the shadows in the house swallowed the light, it took a few moments for my eyes to adjust and register what would once have been a grand staircase now shrouded in dust and a grand living room before me, taking in a musty and damp breath, similar to the dampness of ageing wine in a cellar. I lighted a candle to compensate the sudden darkening of the large impressive room. A fluttering by …show more content…
Atop a bedside table lay an ugly withered fern, framed like a rose, beside a black glove with three small stitches. It struck me as atypical that such an ugly spray of fern would even be picked from the beautiful garden below. It was here that I heard the ominous ticking of a grandfather clock portentously counting the minutes left. The day was grey enough with the lingering candle light, one step towards the window had sufficed, allowing for a shadow of a child to appear, the scene was visible momentarily like a flash of lightning, as the screaming wind shut the curtains and banished the
The timeline carries on chronologically, the intense imagery exaggerated to allow the poem to mimic childlike mannerisms. This, subjectively, lets the reader experience the adventure through the young speaker’s eyes. The personification of “sunset”, (5) “shutters”, (8) “shadows”, (19) and “lamplights” (10) makes the world appear alive and allows nothing to be a passing detail, very akin to a child’s imagination. The sunset, alive as it may seem, ordinarily depicts a euphemism for death, similar to the image of the “shutters closing like the eyelids”
The guest waked from a dream, and remembering his day’s pleasure hurried to dress himself that might it sooner begin. He was sure from the way the shy little girl looked once or twice yesterday she had at least seen the white heron, and now she must really be made to tell. Here she comes now, paler than ever, and her worn old frock is torn and tattered, and smeared with pine pitch. The grandmother and the sportsman stand in the door together and question her, and the splendid moment has come to speak of the dead hemlock-tree by the green marsh. But Sylvia
“It was a large, beautiful room, rich and picturesque in the soft, dim light which the maid had turned low. She went and stood at an open window and looked out upon the deep tangle of the garden below. All the mystery and witchery of the night seemed to have gathered there amid the perfumes and the dusky and tortuous outlines of flowers and foliage. She was seeking herself and finding herself in just such sweet half-darkness which met her moods. But the voices were not soothing that came to her from the darkness and the sky above and the stars. They jeered and sounded mourning notes without promise, devoid even of hope. She turned back into the room and began to walk to and fro, down its whole length, without stopping, without resting. She carried in her hands a thin handkerchief, which she tore into ribbons, rolled into a ball, and flung from her. Once she stopped, and taking off her wedding ring, flung it upon the carpet. When she saw it lying there she stamped her heel upon it, striving to crush it. But her small boot heel did not make an indenture, not a mark upon the glittering circlet.
The fourth was furnished and lighted with orange—the fifth with white—the sixth with violet. The seventh apartment was closely shrouded in black velvet tapestries that hung all over the ceiling and down the walls, falling in heavy folds upon a carpet of the same material and hue. But in this chamber only, the colour of the windows failed to correspond with the decorations. Its pendulum swung to and fro with a dull, heavy, monotonous clang; and when the minute-hand made the circuit of the face, and the hour was to be stricken, there came from the brazen lungs of the clock a sound which was clear and loud and deep and exceedingly musical, but of so peculiar a note and emphasis that, at each lapse of an hour, the musicians of the orchestra were constrained to pause, momentarily, in their performance, to harken to the sound; and thus the wal gay company; and, while the chimes of the clock yet rang, it was observed that the giddiest grew pale, and the more aged and sedate passed their hands over their brows as if in confused revery or meditation.
I stumbled onto the porch and hear the decrepit wooden planks creak beneath my feet. The cabin had aged and had succumb to the power of the prime mover in its neglected state. Kudzu vines ran along the structure, strangling the the cedar pillars that held the roof above the porch. One side of the debacle had been defeated by the ensnarement and slouched toward the earth. However, the somber structure survives in spite. It contests sanguine in the grip of the strangling savage. But the master shall prevail and the slave will fall. It will one day be devoured and its remains, buried by its master, never to be unearthed, misinterpreted as a ridge rather than a
Today is the day before we go over the top. I’m dreading it, dying or
She describes the September morning as “mild, benignant, yet with a keener breath than the summer months.” She then goes on to describe the field outside her window, using word choice that is quite the opposite of words that would be used to describe a depressing story. She depicts the exact opposite of death, and creates a feeling of joy, happiness, and life to the world outside her room. After this, she goes into great detail about the “festivities” of the rooks among the treetops, and how they “soared round the treetops until it looked as if a vast net with thousands of black knots in it had been cast up into the air”. There is so much going on around her that “it was difficult to keep the eyes strictly turned upon the book.” Descriptions like these are no way to describe a seemingly depressing story about a moth, but by using these, joyful descriptions, Woolf connects everything happening outside to a single strand of energy. These images set a lively tone for the world around her, and now allow her to further introduce the moth into the story.
Description of the house follows, very high ceilings, old mansion it seems, with chimney stains, it has been let go. Jumps in time to narrators ex-husband making fun of narrators fantasizing about stains. The next paragraph is the father in a retirement home, always referring to things: ‘The Lord never intended’. This shows how old people have disdain for new things, the next generation appears to be more and more sacreligious. Shows streak of meanness when ‘spits’ out a reference to constant praying, narrator claims he does not know who he is talking to, but appears to be the very pious mother.
(75) The Intended’s street is compared to an alley of a cemetery, and the grand piano in the drawing room to a sarcophagus, extending the “ominous, dark qualities of the wilderness” to her home
Whether people like it or not, a multitude of aspects of life inevitably change overtime. Likewise, this was the case for the once glorious palace in the poem, The Haunted Palace, by Edgar Allan Poe. The speaker explicitly describes how the palace used to be a vivacious, gorgeous place, but overtime it became dreary and the life was sucked out of it. The speaker’s attitude that things that were once marvelous can turn bad was greatly supported through the use of personification, diction, and imagery.
Similarly, the furniture in the house is as sullen as the house itself. What little furniture is in the house is beaten-up; this is a symbol of the dark setting. The oak bed is the most important p...
The room is dark and melancholy, corners cannot be seen and the only supply of light in the room is a small window. Although the room is miniature the two women find it a challenge to navigate. As she collects filth Mrs. Samsa finds herself staring at the hospital located on the other side of the street and wonders, “how could help be so near and yet so far?” an impression of guilt and regret appears on her old timeworn face, her hands tightened on the old wooden broom. Suddenly a shriek is heard, Gregor’s deceased exoskeleton had moved, concealed by a white sheet. It turns out that the lethargic servant woman had done nothing but put the corpse under a white sheet in the darkest corner of the unused room. Grete stands in a firm weary stance, her mother approximates herself fearful yet more curious. Unexpectedly a crack is heard; the atrocious stench from the inside of the rotten exoskeleton overwhelms the small room and moving can be heard from within the cadaver. Out of the blue, a life giving gasp for air comes from the corpse. The shape of a human backside rose fr...
Kneeling down, he runs a finger along one rose, the blossom still curling with life. Pale petals drenched in dew, leaves like wax, thorns jagged and defiant. His eyes search the grave for a trace of this new intruder. He is curious but miffed; he had believed himself to be the only visitor here. He felt a sense of belonging with the grave, as though his own name should be scrawled beneath that of the deceased.
Inside the nicely decorated room with taupe walls just the perfect hint of beige, lie colorful accessories with incredible stories waiting to be told. A spotless, uninteresting window hangs at the end of the room. Like a silent watchman observing all the mysterious characteristics of the area. The sheer white curtains cascade silently in the dim lethargic room. In the presence of this commotion, a sleepy, dormant, charming room sits waiting to be discovered. Just beyond the slightly pollen and dust laden screens, the sun struggles to peak around the edges of the darkness to cast a bright, enthusiastic beam of light into the world that lies beyond the spotless double panes of glass. Daylight casts a dazzling light on the various trees and flowers in the woods. The leaves of fall, showcasing colors of orange, red, and mustard radiate from the gold inviting sunshine on a cool fall day. A wonderful world comes to life outside the porthole. Colossal colors littered with, abundant number of birds preparing themselves for the long awaited venture south, and an old toad in search of the perfect log to fall asleep in for the winter.
We all remember these grey gloomy days filled with a feeling of despair that saddens the heart from top to bottom. Even though, there may be joy in one’s heart, the atmosphere turns the soul cold and inert. Autumn is the nest of this particular type of days despite its hidden beauty. The sun seems foreign, and the nights are darker than usual enveloped by a thrill that generates chills to travel through the spine leaving you with a feeling of insecurity. Nevertheless, the thinnest of light will always shine through the deepest darkness; in fact, darkness amplifies the beauty and intensity of a sparkle. There I found myself trapped within the four walls of my house, all alone, surrounded by the viscosity of this type of day. I could hear some horrifying voices going through my mind led by unappealing suicidal thought. Boredom had me encaged, completely at its mercy. I needed to go far away, and escape from this morbid house which was wearing me down to the grave. Hope was purely what I was seeking in the middle of the city. Outside, the air was heavy. No beautifully rounded clouds, nor sunrays where available to be admired through the thick grey coat formed by the mist embedded in the streets. Though, I felt quite relieved to notice that I was not alone to feel that emptiness inside myself as I was trying to engage merchant who shown similar “symptoms” of my condition. The atmosphere definitely had a contagious effect spreading through the hearts of every pedestrian that day. Very quickly, what seemed to be comforting me at first, turned out to be deepening me in solitude. In the city park, walking ahead of me, I saw a little boy who had long hair attached with a black bandana.