The silence disquieted him, his arrhythmic heartbeat raging in his ears like a torrential downpour. He resided, alone, in a cathedral built upon the lies Elias heard, of false promises he knew he never should have believed. Loneliness attacked him at all angles. There were no numbers that could assuage his tremors, no patterns that could erase his memories that spilled out of him, wrenching him in four different directions: down, out, up, forward. Above him came an echo of birds crying in mourning, their wings fluttering, as he stood, expelled from the elevator that gave him no other consolation than a reminder of everything he left behind. In front of him, three tables stood in the center of the room, each one different than the last. …show more content…
The golden hues turned to greys and greens and all of a sudden the familiar fumes of his home filled his senses. A familiar scene lay upon his eyes: his home. He reached down, trying to feel the ground but yet little sensation came as his fingertips grazed the rough pavement. He tried shouting at a passerby—a worker rushing to a factory—but no head turned to greet his bewildered eyes. The sun was just rising over the tall skyscrapers, and his home, squat and grey, looked better than he remembered. He walked up to the door, and walked through—the door was ajar. Inside, he could hear wailing. Odd, he knew, for there were no children in the Eamon household besides Exton and himself. He turned to look at where the calendar always hung: turn right, near the door, rusty nail, always a year off. But it was not there. Instead, the calendar had been replaced by a photo of a smiling family—his, he presumed, though he had never seen the photo before. He realized, too, in that moment that his clothes were now questionably dry; and he took a step closer to the photograph, looking at two children, smiling, beside their father and mother. Elias had barely known his mother. His grandmother had always forbidden contact except on their birthdays, and the memories he had, or was told, about her were not his fondest. And yet, there she was: a smiling ghost of the past, wrinkles barely lining her face, strong arms supporting her two
Saint Basil Cathedral is a beautiful and huge building and I would love to see. The Cathedral standing high with its detail in beauty is alone neat. Colorful not just with its beauty but has a colorful history as well. This is a place that one day I hope to visit and explore not just in books and on line. This building’s creator was Ivan the forth, also known as “Ivan the Terrible.” The original name is actually Cathedral of Vasily the Blessed. It is also known as Cathedral of the Intercession of the most holy Theotokos on the Moat, by the people of Russia. In English it is known as Pokrovsky Cathedral. It was constructed in 1555-1561 by Ivan the 4th. It was the city’s tallest building until the completion of Ivan the Great Bell Tower
The Failure of the First and Second Reconstruction The First and Second Reconstructions held out the great promise of rectifying racial injustices in America. The First Reconstruction, emerging out of the chaos of the Civil War, had as its goals equality for Blacks in voting, politics, and use of public facilities. The Second Reconstruction, emerging out of the booming economy of the 1950's, had as its goals, integration, the end of Jim Crow and the more amorphous goal of making America a biracial democracy where "the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave holders will be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood. "
The window was cold to the touch. The glass shimmered as the specks of sunlight danced, and Blake stood, peering out. As God put his head to the window, at once, he felt light shining through his soul. Six years old. Age ceased to define him and time ceased to exist. Silence seeped into every crevice of the room, and slowly, as the awe of the vision engulfed him, he felt the gates slowly open. His thoughts grew fluid, unrestrained, and almost chaotic. An untouched imagination had been liberated, and soon, the world around him transformed into one of magnificence and wonder. His childish naivety cloaked the flaws and turbulence of London, and the imagination became, to Blake, the body of God. The darkness lingering in the corners of London slowly became light. Years passed by, slowly fading into wisps of the past, and the blanket of innocence deteriorated as reality blurred the clarity of childhood.
The first half of my book “The Cellar” written by Natasha Preston, was so good that I could not put the book down. The girl, at that point, had no memories which include her name and anything before she woke up on a dirty, bloody cabin floor. She looked down at her throbbing hand and found that two of her fingernails were missing.
Thomas lived with his family in a two story house in Windy Hill. He had a little brother names Frankie and a dog named Max. One autumn morning, Thomas jumped out of bed and stared out the window at the quiet cobblestone streets below. Leaves the colors of a brilliant sunset glided and danced along the streets edge, playing a rustling tune. Thomas smiled, he couldn’t wait to see the vending trucks pulling up outside, and the town folks hurrying about as they prepared the streets for the Festival Of Ghouls.
I could hear the car engines roaring to life, horns honk above me. Tiny footsteps echo throughout the tunnel as I leant up against a brick wall. The tunnel seemed to carry on forever like there was no ending. Yellow dimmed lights lead through the path of the tunnel. I tried to control my breathing which got heavier by the second.
Another instance in which his anguish at her abandonment is connoted is when the “house [echoes] with desertion” (Carter 50). Despite the fact that the house is rather grand and is beautifully furnished, there fails to be the reverberations of any sounds that would deem the dwelling alive. Rather, it is only the sounds of emptiness which engulfs the house. Comparatively, the mindset of the Beast is st...
The narrator describes his frightening and sad surroundings, which reflect his state of mind caused by the death of his dear friend. The narrator opens his sad tale with “Once upon a midnight dreary” and later offers, “it was in the bleak December.” He describes his chamber as containing “many quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore” and his fireplace as “each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.” With such images as the old musty books and the dying fire, a mood is set that represents the lonely and frightened state of mind of the narrator. Later, he sees curtains moving without a window open, and hears someone tapping on his chamber door. We begin to see that the narrator is losing touch with reality because he is deeply depressed by of the ...
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.
Background and situation play a pivotal role in understanding the narrator's psychological condition. The passage describes the narrator's dwelling and its surroundings, including the front and back lawns, the pump handle, and the clothesline. The narrator's nightly strolls and struggle with insomnia indicate a mind filled with restlessness and internal turmoil. The mention of birdsong and the gradual brightening of the sky signify the passage of time and the imminent arrival of morning, underscoring the narrator's sleep
With both hands resting lightly on the table to each side of his white foam cup, Otis stared into its deep abyss of emptiness with his head bowed as if willing it to fill again, giving him a reason to enjoy the shelter that the indoors provided. I could almost touch the conflict going on inside of him, a battle of wills as if he was negotiating with an imaginary devil on one shoulder and an angel on the other. I sensed a cramp of discomfort seizing his insides, compelling him to flee, then a silent resolve, as if a moment of clarity had graced his consciousness.
...er close scrutiny so that they appear to be magnified and distorted even before the death of the father which starts the action and reactions of the plot. McEwan then puts the children in an almost impossible position as they attempt to carry on as usual after the death of both parents. McEwan sets the action in an anonymous derelict urban environment which he describes in elliptical terms so that the minimum effective clues are given to the reader to visualise the flat and cheerless area in which the family survives. This landscape reflects the tenebrous confines of Jack's individual mental world and the family's collective and tormented minds. Through this complex filter the reader feels the sadness of the children's fate and the tragedy of the soulless society in which such events can happen.
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.
I wearily drag myself away from the silken violet comforter and slump out into the living room. The green and red print of our family’s southwestern style couch streaks boldly against the deep blues of the opposing sitting chairs, calling me to it. Of course I oblige the billowy haven, roughly plopping down and curling into the cushions, ignoring the faint smell of smoke that clings to the fabric. My focus fades in and out for a while, allowing my mind to relax and unwind from any treacherous dreams of the pervious night, until I hear the telltale creak of door hinges. My eyes flutter lightly open to see my Father dressed in smart brown slacks and a deep earthy t-shirt, his graying hair and beard neatly comber into order. He places his appointment book and hair products in a bag near the door signaling the rapid approaching time of departure. Soon he is parading out the door with ever-fading whispers of ‘I love you kid,’ and ‘be good.’
Unlike Jarryd, Riley had a rather pleasant evening when she got home. She was greeted with nothing but silent of the dark house she called home. Her mother wasn't around, which meant she was off being passed around by a group of guys. Nothing for her to worry about, that woman wasn't getting mother of the year any time soon. Or ever.