It was almost one in the morning when I stopped to get gas in my car at the decrepit station in the closest town. It was just about pitch black in the middle of nowhere and the only source of light came from the occasional car that passed. The gas station was one where it looked like it was closed, even though I knew it wasn’t. There were lights inside the tiny convenience store and a single car parked in the lot. I pulled up to the pump and got out to pay, a little apprehensive at the lack of life. Next to the door was a man sitting on the ground, clearly displaced. His clothes were tattered and dirty and he had a hat on his head. I made eye contact, mistakenly, and hurried inside as he winked at me in a creepy way. “What can I do today …show more content…
I noticed the man wasn’t outside the door anymore and I disregarded him as a poor hobo probably looking for a more populous gas station to get money out of people. I filled up the tank instantaneously, got in my car, and sped away without going back for my change. There was no way I was going to spend another minute in that eerie gas station. The highway was a much calmer sight, despite the emptiness. Of course it would have been much better if I was home, but I still have another hour on this highway of desolation. As I am starting to drift off in concentration, I start to slow down. Suddenly, I hear a car beep behind me. A second later, they are passing me on the other side of the road, but not before I can look in the mirror. At first I barely notice it, but as I look again it is clear as day. Now I’m paralyzed with fear, even in my car. In the mirror it revealed the gas station man hiding on the floor under the backseat. He’s only a foot away from me, not that far. He can murder me in less than ten seconds if he wanted to and I don’t know if that’s what he wants or not. I’m shaking and I don’t know what to do because as soon as I try to do something, he can murder me so I don’t have a chance. I can’t go home because then he will know where I live. I can’t stop because he’s in my car. He’s in control. I can’t panic either because then he’ll know that I know he’s there. I am struggling
As I walked toward a bus full of strangers, using my sunglasses to shield the tears forming in my eyes, I couldn’t help but to be apprehensive of what was to become of the next twenty-three days of my life. As I trudged up the stairs of the bus leaving behind all that was known, I couldn’t help but wonder; What have I gotten myself into?
Imagine a world where everything is black and covered in layers of ash, where dead bodies are scattered throughout the streets and food is scarce. When earth, once green and alive, turns dark and deadly. A story about a man, his son and their will to survive. Within the novel Cormac McCarthy shows how people turn to animalistic and hasty characteristics during a post-apocalyptic time. Their need to survive tops all other circumstances, no matter the consequences. The hardships they face will forever be imprinted in their mind. In the novel, The Road, author Cormac McCarthy utilizes morbid diction and visual imagery to portray a desperate tone when discussing the loss of humanity, proving that desperate times can lead a person to act in careless ways.
Bogard starts his article off by recounting a personal story – a summer spent on a Minnesota lake where there was “woods so dark that [his] hands disappeared before [his] eyes.” In telling this brief anecdote, Bogard challenges the audience to remember a time where they could fully amass themselves in natural darkness void of artificial light. By drawing in his readers with a personal encounter about night darkness, the author means to establish the potential
look back and see the man who was following you pull out a large knife.
Auto Wreck is an ominous, grim, and disturbing poem written by Karl Shapiro about death, fate, coincidence and the envisioning of reality. In this harsh poem Shapiro describes an awful car accident where many people ends up dead. He flawlessly employes a unique imagery and language that gives the reader a clear and true sensation of the terrible mishap. The author makes us feel as if we had seen and even experienced the car collision ourselves. Although it may see that the main focus in this poem is death, which is one of the most important, the poet also throws in the way he and everyone else saw everything after the accident, how their emotions changed, and how they envisioned reality afterward. Shapiro not only acknowledges and makes vivid the deaths that just occurred and how different people reacted to it, but he also discusses how much of an accident it really was, how someone had to be guilty and if anyone was really innocent at all.
The car stalled, snapping me forwards, but I barely noticed it through the raging torrent of emotions and memories coursing through me. The lake. Her face. The taste of her lips. The feel of the grass against my back.
So as I drive up on an early morning there's a lot of hustle and bustle for such a small town corner gas station. A sandy shade of tan with red trim. With the main part of the building mostly made of cinder blocks. A drab basic building nothing flashy it's been here for years. Yet it seems busy all the time. I've known this place for years it's always been a center of the small community. Probably about 20 or 30 vehicles in the parking lot (which seems like a lot for this small community). On one side of the station two double-sided gas pumps that service only four vehicles at a time. All with cars waiting to fuel up.
The ruckus from the bottom of the truck is unbearable, because of the noise and excessive shaking. As we slowly climbed the mountain road to reach our lovely cabin, it seemed almost impossible to reach the top, but every time we reached it safely. The rocks and deep potholes shook the truck and the people in it, like a paint mixer. Every window in the truck was rolled down so we could have some leverage to hold on and not loose our grip we needed so greatly. The fresh clean mountain air entered the truck; it smelt as if we were lost: nowhere close to home. It was a feeling of relief to get away from all the problems at home. The road was deeply covered with huge pines and baby aspen trees. Closely examining the surrounding, it looks as if it did the last time we were up here.
I slowly pressed my foot down on the accelerator as I approached the passing lane. I was tired of following the old man in his beat up, gold station wagon at 50 miles per hour. I needed to get to school! I was right behind him when I topped the hill and entered the passing zone. That's when I saw it...
The car was hot and stuffy when I slipped back into the driver's seat. I found the most depressing music I owned and drove out of Glenwood as the sun started to set. Two more hours until I was home, two more hours of thinking what a terrible day I had gone through, and two more hours of cussing myself for being so naïve. The drive was a long one.
I walk up the stairs to go take a shower. Thoughts are literally pounding in my head every step I take. How am I going to unmask the killer when I am not even a detective? What am I going to do? Who is the killer? The thoughts just keep running through my mind on an everlasting loop.
In the stretch of a year, a morning on the Winter Solstice is nothing other than a blink. A destructive blizzard left dawn with the scars of the night before, no mercy suppressed. Within the reach of the horizon, the morning hum of an awakening city reverberated through the air. The gloom in the sky overshadowed everything that the light strived to touch. From the towering skeletal trees to the lifeless brooks that were asphyxiated by the polar temperatures driven by the departure of Autumn. An eerie, nearly pitch-perfect silence echoed throughout the barren forest.
After a quick breakfast, I pulled some of my gear together and headed out. The car ride of two hours seemed only a few moments as I struggled to reinstate order in my chaotic consciousness and focus my mind on the day before me. My thoughts drifted to the indistinct shadows of my memory.
got out of a Toyota Supra. But he seemed to be a six foot tall man,
Finally it passed through the other side followed by an eerie screeching sound. The dreadful sound was emanating from the dry rotted tires that were rubbing against the rails. After the car emerged from the exit of the car wash, it was then wiped dry by the co-workers of the car wash. Watching the employee’s wipe the car I could hear the boy my age say, “I feel bad for who ever owns that car”. The car was fully washed and ready to go as one of the staff members approached the benched and asked which one of us the owner of the vehicle. Again the muttered another comment, “sure isn’t mine”. The comment from the boy made me hesitant, but for a moment I realized the only person I was fooling was myself. So I picked myself up and as I was about to leave, the man in his mid forties stated to me “it could have been worse, my first car barely ran”. With that comment I was a little more encouraged to get into the car and leave with some dignity.