A Banshee’s Curse banshee banˈʃiː,ˈbanʃiː/ noun (in Irish legend) a female spirit whose wailing warns of a death in a house. It was late. Or would it be early? It was late for the woman, she had stayed up all night. Stuck in the exact same position, her stare unwavering as she looked down at the freshly dug grave. The banshees long red hair whipped around her with the morning breeze, signifying the arrival of the sun. She would have to leave soon. No one was allowed see her. And yet, the man who looked almost twice as old as the girl came towards her as soon as he could make out her silhouette from the early morning mist. He would always be able to find her, and her him, after all, their bloodlines had been interwoven for centuries. “I thought you would be here.” he called out to …show more content…
The idea that she wasn’t enough. She wasn’t enough to help the one who had recently died. “Caitlinn, you-” the man was cut off before he could say anything more. “I know I’m the reason for her death. Those hunters were after me, not her. It’s this goddamn curse. If I hadn’t known, if I hadn’t screamed and realised. I- I wouldn’t have rushed all the way to that house to make sure she was okay. They tracked me. She had nothing to do with it. If I wasn’t there she still would be. And now I can’t even make sure that she’s alright. Because the bloody divine forces won’t let me. Why?” It took the man bumping into a gravestone or memorial, they weren’t paying attention, to break Caitlinn out of her trance. As she realised that they had moved a couple of metres away from the other grave she quickly turned and moved back, muttering to herself and cursing the man. She looked out towards the sky, weak rays of sunlight were breaking through the horizon. She knew people were beginning to stir. She also knew that she would have to leave soon. She just wished she didn’t have
Jeannette gets too scared so she runs outside to her father for comfort, then tells him what happened. He says, “ It’s that old ornery demon’’ (p;36). He was her source of comfort and she felt it by how empathetic he was with her whenever she was distressed.
In this article “ The Old Man isn’t There Anymore” Kellie Schmitt writes about the people she lives with crying in the hallway and when she asks what happened she is told that the old man is gone. This starts the big ordeal of a Chinese funeral that Schmitt learns she knows nothing about. Schmitt confuses the reader in the beginning of the story, as well as pulling in the reader's emotions, and finishes with a twist.
Mrs. Adkins: Graces mother had been depressed for a long time. Sometimes people feel as if they just don't belong. Grace really doesn't have any friends and I'm worried about her.
...her to feel despair. Her misery resulted in her doing unthinkable things such us the unexplainable bond with the woman in the wallpaper.
everything and everyone who could have hurt her. One aspect of life and time in
silently, stealthily robbed her of joy, of sleep, of the ability to feel close to her husband, of the ability simply to relax and open herself to life.
...ight, and when it became daylight the next day, her imagination played games with her. She imagined the walls laughing at her now. It’s almost like they were laughing that she attempted and even thought that it was possible to escape.
warmth of the sunset through the blossomed trees. If she were a boy, she could achieve her parent’s approval; s...
The gnawing voice in the back of her head wouldn’t stop reminding her of the hell his arrival would bring. As the day grew close, the voice became louder, urging her to do something. But there was only so much she could do locked away in a concrete box.
She was beginning to recognize this thing that was approaching to possess her, and she was striving to beat it back with her will--as powerless as her two white slender hands would have been. When she abandoned herself a little whispered word escaped her slightly parted lips. She said it over...
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.)
She knew that she would weep again when she saw the kind, tender hands folded in death; the face that had never looked safe with love upon her, fixed and gray and dead.
pressed down by a physical exhaustion that haunted her body and seemed to reach into
“I woke up from the nightmares with a cold fear,” she said. “I came to a point where I didn’t want to die, but just wanted to be dead.”
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.