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Death of a salesman- commentary
Death of salesman and conclusion
The theme of death used in literature
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Recommended: Death of a salesman- commentary
It was a warm summer evening, and a cool breeze brushed across the meadows as the setting sun painted a brilliant array of lights across the grassy fields. The air was nice, not too humid and not too dry, but an area in between where one would consider staying out all night. The sun was fading into the horizon when a young man walked down a dirt path to his small, but well kept farm. He wore plain clothes, a straw hat, jeans, and a dirty button down shirt. He was nothing special, just an average farmer. He lived alone in his sturdy house, the one he had built himself. He had lived there for five years, and kept to himself, aside from the few visits he made to town. Every night he would lean out against his fence and watch the emptiness of the …show more content…
A fading shriek let out of him as he was torn into by the axe. The manager swung relentlessly, mutilating the already finished farmer, giddy and cheerful while doing so. Laughter could be heard across the fields as he finished the job. The manager stood there with a demented, murderous face. A mist came over the farm, and the moon was once again covered by the clouds. He dropped the axe, as a light breeze blew a business card from his pocket and onto the ground. “Cooper stone: bank manager” the slip read. He turned away and walked into the mist. All was then silent. As midnight drew, darkness swept over the farm, concealing the movement of the night. Everything vanished into a black …show more content…
The fields grew tall golden grass that waved in the wind, and the weather wasn’t too hot or cold. Flowers bloomed in a brilliant array of colors, while small animals wondered about. A peaceful atmosphere filled the air, calming everything. No-one lived in this farm, though it was in perfect condition. No stain or blemish could be seen. It was accompanied with a small, cozy house, off in the meadows, a mile from the plot. The land was rich, and had a charismatic look about it. Why this farm had been abandoned was a mystery in itself. The farm was a sight that placed peace into the hearts of every
cold, harsh, wintry days, when my brothers and sister and I trudged home from school burdened down by the silence and frigidity of our long trek from the main road, down the hill to our shabby-looking house. More rundown than any of our classmates’ houses. In winter my mother’s riotous flowers would be absent, and the shack stood revealed for what it was. A gray, decaying...
The setting of the town is described by the author as that of any normal rural
His opposer stands triumphantly as he thought to have succeeded in his mission. “How ill mannered is he?” the sniper murmured to himself with a devious smile. Standing tall in all black; blazer, bow tie, socks, Balmoral shoes, with the button up also to be corresponding. He appears seemingly endless like a black shadowed character made up to startle young children. The opposing sniper moves as if he is the actual Slender Man. As he stands as a vacuous man, I conjure my scheme to vanish him.
Rays of golden sunlight were piercing the blue sky. Today was a hot day. There had been no rain in the last month. A young child was playing in the field while his father was harvesting the crops. The boy was playing among the newly harvested golden vegetables. There were a lot more vegetables than he remembered from years past. The boy knew they were going to sell most of this harvest. Where are the other plants that he remembered? Why was corn the only thing growing? Why is it in straight lines instead of winding around the property like it normally did? He pondered these questions on the way to school. Today, unlike normal, his teacher let him out of school early. Though he thought nothing of it at the time the sky was turning dark. It was almost like a monster ate the sun. Not only was it getting dark the wind started to blow. The wind sound like a wolf howling at a full moon. When he reached his house, his father rushed him inside. The first of many dust storms hit and the period known as the Dust Bowl began.
The arrival of winter was well on its way. Colorful leaves had turned to brown and fallen from the branches of the trees. The sky opened to a new brightness with the disappearance of the leaves. As John drove down the country road he was much more aware of all his surroundings. He grew up in this small town and knew he would live there forever. He knew every landmark in this area. This place is where he grew up and experienced many adventures. The new journey of his life was exciting, but then he also had a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach of something not right.
Although there were many other things to worry about as I transported my flock, my mind still drifted to the merchant's daughter. The dark night sky gave my memory time to fade into familiar sounds and colors that made my recollection of that day clear and vivid.
With only the moon and stars to guide her, she picked her way down to the trucks, where a few embers of the fire remained. She could hear something that sounded like wind On the ground were unidentifiable lumps that seemed to be moving in the nonexistent breeze. On the front of one of the looming vehicles was a blood stain. Emmaline crept toward it. On her way there she accidentally stepped on one of the lumps and heard a man-like squawk. She looked down and saw two eyes glistening in the moonlight and an open mouth still. She slowly turned around in a circle. The lumps that Emmaline had assumed to be tree stumps earlier were now rising from the ground and shouting. Fear was welling up inside Emmaline but she told herself to stay brave for Edgar’s sake and she let out a deafening battle cry and charged at the nearest man. He ran towards the blood-stained truck and jumped up into the cab, Emmaline close behind. The soldier shut the door in Emmaline’s face and she turned around. The other men were all packing up as fast as they could. Emmaline stayed until every truck had left, watching silently with an evil glare. Then she raced back up the hill to join her Father and
She could see in the open square before her house the tops of trees that were all aquiver with the new spring life. The delicious breath of rain was in the air. In the street below a peddler was crying his wares. The notes of a distant song which some one was singing reached her faintly, and countless sparrows were twittering in the eaves. ( This description of the scenery is very happy, usually not how one sees the world after hearing devastating news of her husbands death.)
A thick plume of black smoke and ash hung in the air in a heavy haze, almost completely obscuring the lurid red glow of the waning sun. Below, a cloud of grey plaster dust twisted and writhed amid the sea of debris as intermittent eddies of wind gusted by.
Two days later, early in the morning we say goodbye to Gilbert's grandmother and in the company of the grandfather, a woodcutter and his wife settled us in the wagon pulled by the two horses from the farm, and grandfather, explained to us that we were a family in his way to a nearby village to a family funeral. The trip made on routes passing between farms in the region until we come to a village which we pass through and arrived at a farm where two young women, were waiting for us. There we say goodbye to Gilbert‘s Grandpa to the woodcutter and his wife, and they told us that these two young women wouldbe responsible of us and, would lead us to the following stage The Girls gave us to eat and they hid us in the high spot of the stable one
The autumn sun beat down still and hot as Trey peered over the whitewashed fence. Widow Harris' garden was just on the other side. It was a very sad looking garden. There were weeds everywhere. He scanned past the zucchini squash, the only thing doing well in the whole garden, and over the cantaloupe vine.
The visual surrounding the lake was perceived before the mountains was beautiful and serene. The lavender flowers near the water mirroring the colossal mountains smelled of spring. The sunset illuminated the sky making it purple and orange. The huge rocks were faultless and could be used for sitting and thinking. The warm breeze reassured that springtime was near. The lake was ideal for swimming, it was so clear. The cabins around the lake were perfect for summertime with family and friends. The clouds looked impeccable as they were angled over the mountains, their rectangular shapes resembled fluffy pillows. The snow had almost completely melted off the mountain in the distance. The environment was well needed for break within a busy life.
The ranch was noiseless and still with the morning, the countryside was so closely grassed over, it seems to be painted green and flicked with dew. The morning breeze tickled the trees and made them dance until there was another warm, humming quietness. Hidden within the grass crickets sang in harmony as the grass swayed in the breeze. All the trees were spread out reaching toward the blazing sun trying to grasp all the warmth.
He was alone, with miles of wilderness stretching on every side. He turned and looked back at the log house. It was a fair house, he thought; his mother would have no cause to be “ashamed of it. He had helped to build every inch of it.
The sunset was not spectacular that day. The vivid ruby and tangerine streaks that so often caressed the blue brow of the sky were sleeping, hidden behind the heavy mists. There are some days when the sunlight seems to dance, to weave and frolic with tongues of fire between the blades of grass. Not on that day. That evening, the yellow light was sickly. It diffused softly through the gray curtains with a shrouded light that just failed to illuminate. High up in the treetops, the leaves swayed, but on the ground, the grass was silent, limp and unmoving. The sun set and the earth waited.