Cold. Bitter cold. All I felt was the bitter cold, the gnashing painful teeth of the wind, the burning of ice flecks on my cheeks. My limbs were frozen. They couldn’t function. I was cold. Cold like the winter, cold like the ice down your back. Cold like that. Forced into a hunched position rooted deep within the snow, attempting to restore and conserve heat and energy. But it was fruitless. There was now hope for me now. It was simply too cold. This cold froze me from the inside out, it rendered me helpless. Squinting my eyes, trying to brush away some of the icicles beginning to form on my eyelashes, nearly freezing my eyes together, I saw moving shapes in the distance. Of course, I couldn’t really tell, the wind and the snow saw to that. I reached out a hand and struggled to unseal my frigid …show more content…
At once I calmed, once before being agitated by the heat that had imploded from within my inner self. I had still yet to gain an explanation for what happened to me in the previous events. All I could remember was a burning, lethal, cold, nearly freezing to death experience. Then came the incredible heat that encompassed my entire being. At first, I welcomed the warmth of the fire, as it returned my body to the normal temperature. However, after being in the flames, the conflagration within me grew ferocious, and increased in temperature. My body rejected the heat, and began to malfunction as body hastily dumped loads of heat from within me outside of me. Slowly but surely, ice formed around me, crystallizing me into a peaceful form. The cold of the ice didn’t have much of an effect on me anymore, and my soul ushered in the presence of the freezing temperature, and stilled as peace washed over me like waves of water over sand. The gentleness of the cold lulled me into oblivion, my bodily functions slowing down, as the last of the ice covered my head. Everything went
There I was, stumbling watery-eyed through Minneapolis' whipping sub-zero winds. I'd lost feeling in my lower extremities. Frosted saliva dotted my cheeks as I gasped for air.
It was a special kind of ice. . . . Sometimes it hardened and seemed to expand until I felt my guts were going to come spilling out or that I was going to choke or scream” (Baldwin 180).... ... middle of paper ... ...
warmth. “On one side the air was cool, but on the other the fire thrust out a savage arm of
Survival and Love in Charles Frazier’s "Cold Mountain" I lie In vacant or in pensive mood, They flash upon that inward eye Which is the bliss of solitude; And then my heart with pleasure fills, And dances with the daffodils.
It was similar to the suburban street I grew up on, but in lieu of cookie-cutter houses with stale Bermuda grass, there stood wood cabins with yards covered in snow. The reddish-orange light emanating from the towering street lights pierced through a white fog and gently illuminated the area. Exiting the car, I was overwhelmed with a flurry of new sensations. The gently falling snow absorbed all of the sounds I was used to hearing in a residential area.The low hum of passing cars, birds singing from the trees, and the sound of blowing wind appeared to be muffled, even silenced, by the steady falling snow. I felt enveloped in a cool, but somehow familiar blanket. The smell of burning wood was coming from every direction, as each house I looked at had a thin, grayish plume rising gently from the chimney. The plumes represented the warmth and comfort of the many people I imagined to be nestled by the fire. Looking down the street, I noticed how freshly plowed it was. A thin layer of snow and ice-- like icing on a cupcake, or the glass top on my parent’s nightstand-- covered the street. But on the side of the street sat a pile of snow that could have swallowed me alive. Feeling taunted, I stood there and weighed my options. Chest deep mounds of frozen crystals begged me to dive in and lose myself. Preparing to succumb to the temptations before me, I was momentarily hindered by the fear of my parent’s wrath. But had that ever stopped me
Love is seen as the greatest feeling of all; it brings people of all types and places together. Love is also a destructive force, wars have torn people apart all in the name of love. The book Cold Mountain by Charles Frazier is a story of two young lovers trying to get back to each other in the time of the Civil War, and the people and experiences they face. Love has an important role to play for many of these characters. It takes many forms in this story, from the love of a father to the love of a land; these types of passions define a character's life and its outcome. The love of three characters in particular is especially powerful, it is the type of love that sends someone on a journey and gives someone the resolution to wait and to hope.
The freezing wind had chilled my hand to the bone. Even as I walked into my cabin, I shivered as if there was an invisible man shaking me. My ears, fingers, toes, and noes had turned into a pale purple, only starting to change color once I had made a fire and bundled myself in blankets like ancient Egyptians would do to their deceased Pharaohs. The once powdered snow on my head had solidified into a thin layer of ice. I changed out of the soaking wet clothes I was wearing and put on new dry ones. With each layer I became more excited to go out and start snowboarding. I headed for the lift with my board and my hand. Each step was a struggle with the thick suit of snow gear I was armored in.
It was a cold, damp night; all I had done was tend to the fire. With the angels crying it was hard to tell if the demons were in the shadows. All I knew was they were watching me with their cold dead eyes, looking at me if I were an easy meal. I decided to pull my supper out and put bedside the nice fire. Until death blew his cold, sadistik air, everything was fine.
What trees did I just pass by? What trees are currently surrounding me? The cold catches up and I don't know where to go. I feel the cold prickling my skin and there is nowhere to go. My mind freezes like the nearby stream.
I fetched frantically for a plastic bag, my body sweltered with heat as I felt away for...
The short story is a concise form of narrative prose that is usually simpler and more direct compared to longer works of fiction such as novels. Therefore, because of their short length, short stories rely on many forms of literary devices to convey the idea of a uniform theme seen throughout the script. This theme is illustrated by using characteristics that are developed throughout the story such as, plot, setting and characters. The three main components are developed throughout the story in order to guide the reader to the underlying theme, which is necessary as a short story lacking a theme also lacks meaning or purpose.
captive by a sheath of frost, as were the glacial branches that scraped at my windows, begging to get in. It is indeed the coldest year I can remember, with winds like barbs that caught and pulled at my skin. People ceaselessly searched for warmth, but my family found that this year, the warmth was searching for us.
To grab a reader’s attention and to have them yearn to read a work of literature, many literary elements have to be used to make up the story. A short story is short work of literature aim to be less elaborate than more literary work. It is often judge by its ability to capture the reader’s attention in its short matter. To achieve this urgency for readers to want to be more engaged in the work, it requires elements that cause the reader to depict the story and walk away with a lesson. The story chosen, are true examples of the elements that captures the audience with its brief, focal fiction style of writing. The differences and similarities of the literary elements of theme, characterization and plot are revealed to the reader through three unique short stories that include “Everyday Use,” “Two Kinds,” and “A Worn Path”; however, “A Worn Path” encompasses all three elements on an expert level to create a much remembered story.
The traditional short story is a genre of a prose. It is a fiction work that presents a world in the moment of an unexpected change. The traditional short story obeys some rules, such as the unexpected change and major events with detail. The modern short story is a revolution which is based on the traditional short story. In other words, if the traditional short story is in the first floor, the modern short story is in the second floor. Therefore, the modern short story still obeys some rules that the traditional short story obeys, and breaks some rules that the traditional short story obeys. One rule that the modern short story still uses is the unexpected change. The rules broken by the modern short story are that the major events are not detailed, and that the border between the real world and the fiction world. This paper first talks about the unexcepted change and uses the examples of “Eveline” and “The Open Window.” Then, this paper talks about major events with detail, and uses the examples of “Lottery,” “The Open Window” and “Hills Like White Elephants.” Finally, this paper talks about the meta-literary and the border between the real world and the fiction