he hot water from the shower beat down upon my body as I sat curled up into a tight ball on the floor of the shower stall. The hissing of the water covered my heavy sobbing as the cascading water mixed with my tears to join the rest of the water being sucked down the drain. My sobbing had stopped about 30 minutes ago but I could still feel my eyes burning sharply from the four hours of non-stop crying beforehand. I tried to face the fact that at the age of 34 my world had ended. Less than six hours ago I had arrived home from work looking to spend some quality time with my husband of 16 years. I called out his name as I entered the house. He was supposed to be off of work today but I found the house mysteriously empty. As I walked through the house, I felt a knowing chill shoot along my spine and headed for the bedroom. Standing at the door, I saw that the closet doors were open and all of my …show more content…
The translucent mist stayed close to the slightly warmer ground; giving the cemetery a deeper, darker gothic look. Above the ancient place, the ring-encircled blue moon glowed brightly casting eerie shadows across the realm of the dead. Leaves tumbled wildly through the damp grass sending rustling sounds throughout the graveyard. At the entrance of the cemetery a shadowy figure slowly pushed open the rusty gate. Oddly, the metal made no sound. Silently the figure stood at the entrance for a few seconds then carefully and with great purpose made its way deeper into the cemetery. Silent granite and marble markers watched through sightless eyes as the figure walked by them seemingly unafraid of the land of the dead. The midnight wind swirled around the marble markers causing a sound that resembled a low whispering moan. As the figure reached the center of the graveyard it removed the heavy, hooded cloak to reveal a young
Reading is similar to looking into a mirror: audiences recognize themselves in the experiences and characters on the pages. They see the good, the bad, and are brought back to experiences they had overlooked to learn something more about themselves. Some characters touch readers so intimately that they inspire readers to be better than they already are. House on Mango Street, by Sandra Cisneros, follows a young girl named Esperanza and her experiences while living on Mango Street. She is introduced with her desperate wish to escape her poor mostly-Latino neighborhood and live in a house of her own. Esperanza compares herself to her family, innocently knowing what she wants from a young ages. She is observant and holds insights into the lives of others, learning lessons from each person she encounters. While
The author of The House on Mango Street and the producer of The Color Purple are able to integrate numerous important thematic ideas. Many of these ideas still apply to our current world, teaching various important lessons to many adolescents and adults. The House on Mango Street is a collection of vignettes written by Sandra Cisneros, a Mexican-American writer. The novel depicts many aspects of Sandra Cisneros’ life including racism, and sexism that she and the main character face. The novel revolves around Esperanza Cordero, a young Latina girl, who is growing up in Chicago as she faces the various struggles of living in America. The various vignettes reveal many experiences Esperanza has with reality and her navie responses to such harsh
Michelle Alexander’s book, The New Jim Crow, as well as Eugene Jarecki’s documentary, The House I Live In, both discuss the controversial issues surrounding the War on Drugs, mass incarceration, and drug laws. Ultimately, both Alexander and Jarecki concede that the court systems have systematically hindered growth and advancement in black communities by targeting young African Americans, primarily male, that have become entangled in drugs due to their socioeconomic status. There is a disturbing cycle seen in black underprivileged neighborhoods of poverty leading to drug use and distribution to make money that inevitably ends with the person in question landing in prison before likely repeating these actions upon their release. Both Jarecki and Alexander present their case, asserting that the effects of the War on Drugs acted as a catalyst for the asymmetric drug laws and
Characteristics are what define us as human beings. When comparing and contrasting one person to another, characteristics is used to do so. Characteristics such as physical appearance or emotional perceptions help define how a person is perceived, and how we do, or do not compare in such ways. Authors use descriptions of physical characteristics to help us paint a picture in our mind of characters’ appearance from their books while, characteristics of a character’s mentality help develop a personality for us to relate to. It is important for authors to develop personality so readers can relate or understand the differences from themselves and the characters of their stories. The house on mango street is a book written by Sandra Cisneros which, is about main character Esperanza coming to age. Esperanza speaks frequently about having a house she can be proud to call her own. The house in this story represents both physical and intangible wants and needs of the main character. I cannot compare myself physically due to the difference in sex but, Esperanza and I do have similarities
In a cemetery in Baltimore there is an enormous black marble figure by the grave of a deceased general. It’s a magnificent statue of a grieving woman, cloaked in darkness, a black angel…named Black Aggie. During the day the statue’s arms mourn the tombstone [slight pause] but at nightfall, the statue eerily gazes on. If anyone were to return her terrifying stare, they would be struck blind! Supposedly during a full moon the ghosts of the dead would rise from their graves and meet at Black Aggie’s feet. My friend’s father’s fraternity wanted to scare all of their new members, and during one of the initiation nights, they ordered all the fresh candidates to spe...
The deathly ringing of the clock resonated throughout the chambers and faded away like they always had. But this time, the festivities did not flare back to life, for the new figure had control over the attention of everyone. This unique figure was shrouded in a robe as black as a void that covered all of his body except for his face, which was concealed by a peculiar mask. Contrary to the darkness of the robes, the lean mask was a pure, ghostly white with two blood red, curved lines, thicker at the top of the mask and thinner towards the bottom, through the eyes which were void holes. The air around him was cold and stale, like death lingered around him, waiting for its next victim. From the outskirts of the crowd, he moved in closer to the revelers, with each step echoing unnaturally loud. People shuffled away from him, afraid some terrible fate may befall them if they get close in proximity to him, as he strolled toward some unknown destination.
“Home is where the heart is.” In The House on Mango Street, Sandra Cisneros develops this famous statement to depict what a “home” really represents. What is a home? Is it a house with four walls and a roof, the neighborhood of kids while growing up, or a unique Cleaver household where everything is perfect and no problems arise? According to Cisneros, we all have our own home with which we identify; however, we cannot always go back to the environment we once considered our dwelling place. The home, which is characterized by who we are, and determined by how we view ourselves, is what makes every individual unique. A home is a personality, a depiction of who we are inside and how we grow through our life experiences. In her personal, Cisneros depicts Esperanza Cordero’s coming-of-age through a series of vignettes about her family, neighborhood, and personalized dreams. Although the novel does not follow a traditional chronological pattern, a story emerges, nevertheless, of Esperanza’s search to discover the meaning of her life and her personal identity. The novel begins when the Cordero family moves into a new house, the first they have ever owned, on Mango Street in the Latino section of Chicago. Esperanza is disappointed by the “small and red” house “with tight steps in front and bricks crumbling in places” (5). It is not at all the dream-house her parents had always talked about, nor is it the house on a hill that Esperanza vows to one day own for herself. Despite its location in a rough neighborhood and difficult lifestyle, Mango Street is the place with which she identifies at this time in her life.
with Hepzibah Pyncheon living shut away in her house for over 30 years while her
I rushed out of the bedroom confused. I began to realize what was going on. I ran to where I last saw her and she was not there. Never before I felt my heart sank. My eyes filled with tears. I dropped to my knees and felt the cold white tile she last swept and mopped for my family. I look up and around seeing picture frames of of her kids, grandchildren, and great grandchildren smiling. I turn my head to the right and see the that little statue of the Virgin Mary, the last gift we gave her. I began to cry and walked to my mother hugging her. My father walked dreadfully inside the house. He had rushed my great grandmother to the hospital but time has not on his side. She had a bad heart and was not taking her medication. Later that morning, many people I have never seen before came by to pray. I wandered why this had to happen to her. So much grief and sadness came upon
I walked into the room on New Year’s Day and felt a sudden twinge of fear. My eyes already hurt from the tears I had shed and those tears would not stop even then the last viewing before we had to leave. She lay quietly on the bed with her face as void of emotion as a sheet of paper without the writing. Slowly, I approached the cold lifeless form that was once my mother and gave her a goodbye kiss.
Seventeen years ago, I came bounding into a world of love and laughter. I was the first child, the first grandchild, the first niece, and the primary focus of my entire extended family. Although they were not married, my parents were young and energetic and had every good intention for their new baby girl. I grew up with opportunities for intellectual and spiritual growth, secure in the knowledge that I was loved, free from fear, and confident that my world was close to perfect. And I was the center of a world that had meaning only in terms of its effect on me-- what I could see from a height of three feet and what I could comprehend with the intellect and emotions of a child. This state of innocence persisted through my early teens, but changed dramatically in the spring of my sophomore year of high school. My beloved father was dying of AIDS.
The Lunn family stood still, like statues, in the driveway, where Mrs. Lunn's brother had left them. It was as if they were paralyzed, they did not expect at all that their new home would be like that one.
company she would tell us very seriously to act nicely in front of them or
Throughout the world, farmers are turning to greenhouses to protect and improve their crops. Greenhouses are used by growers to extend the growing season and to protect plants from the elements. However, growers must closely regulate the climate of their greenhouses to support the plants that are inside. Understanding how a greenhouse functions is vital to choosing proper heat regulating techniques in a greenhouse.
Since I was little, I loved to design, imagine, and make things for decoration, but I did not know what is an interior designer. The word “design”, I used to hear from my father due to his job, designer. When I was little, sometimes I went to his company and easily got bored. There was no toy, friend, tv, nor something fun that I can do. So, I took one of his computers opening paint program to draw. Or sometimes I used to pick up one of his remaining materials to make something for decoration. I enjoyed doing those activities for fun, but I did not know nothing about design nor interior design. Later, as I grew up, designing was not just an activity that I do because I am weary of having nothing to do. Instead, it took on greater meaning to