The hot, sticky May air wrapped its grimy hands around my neck and choked me as I ran towards the nurse’s house. My bare feet were sanded down with every slap against the pavement. The neighborhood I’ve lived in for years was suddenly a Kafkaesque maze: every house stretched in and out of proportion, the driveways led to no homes, the welcome mats portrayed a foreboding message- and yet I kept running under the direction of some unseen marionettist who pulled my strings at his whim. He yanked, and my arm jerked up to rap on the door. “My dad- he’s unconscious, he’s in the backyard! He isn’t responding, the ambulance is on its way. Help us! Please!” I looked in the direction of my house with an anxious expression. Her face twitched, and suddenly …show more content…
“I don’t think so, uh maybe, pretty sure not-” “What medication does he take?” I droned them off as if I’d been practicing for the moment. “Zoloft, Thyroxine, Metformin, Vitamin D, and ibuprofen for pain.” I watched them scoop him up and I saw my mother hop in the ambulance. One of the paramedics, a young Black woman with a bun tied tightly at the nape of her neck, stayed behind and was trying to talk to my brother outside. I walked into the house which was lit up like a Christmas tree, every light in every room ablaze. There had to be ten, maybe fifteen neighbors all crammed into the living room. Everything was sweaty, panicked and awful, and everyone looked pitiful and I was pathetic. The usual interrogation began. “How is this making you feel?” the girl with long hair …show more content…
“I’m sure this is very hard for you,” the pothead braided a section of his overgrown hair and fiddled with the laces on his Vans. I paid attention to nothing they asked, and concealed my face in a pillow. I got up and paced, clicked Morse code with my fingers, washed my face several times over, and did just about every combination of my anxious habits that mathematical probability would allow. My toes squeezed the carpet, which clung to the blood clot like a sticky cotton ball. My aunt eventually came, and all the anxious and sad energies turned into hate. I hated her. She knocked on the door, and I fake-fumbled with the keys for five minutes to avoid greeting her with tears running down my face. I knew she would have no sympathy about anything- that she would perhaps ask if I planned on going to school the next day, talk about her business, or a dress she bought for my baby cousin, or whatever vacation she took last. I would just nod along in a dazed version of disgust, too fatigued to give a
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...
He just turned and left without a word. I touched Lennie’s grave. The rough touch of the wood deflecting to my fingers. I walked back to the ranch. Everyone was asleep. I wanted to run away tomorrow but I couldn’t let this chance pass up. It also prevented any chance of Candy following me. I tiptoed out of the room and went straight to the woods. I made sure to mix myself in with the shadows of the trees. I saw the river and It felt like I did it...until I felt something grab me by my neck. I quickly got flipped over and pushed to the ground.
Everyday there are hundreds of ambulances, fire engines and police cars being called to the scene of emergencies. I’m sure you hear the roar of their sirens, but you don’t think twice about them and are able to tune them out. The only time most people even think about the sirens is if they are forced to wait at a light or move over to the right shoulder and let them pass. When you look back and think about those sirens, where do you suppose they are going? Most people probably think that they are going to a car accident with entrapment, or a person with crushing chest pain to try and intervene and get them to the hospital.
I wanted to go to him and ask him what was wrong, but I didn’t dare…But then I couldn’t stand it anymore and I got up and ran down the hall to the kitchen. There, in the middle of the room, wearing his Goodyear jacket and work clothes was my father. He was on his hands and knees, his head hanging as though it were too heavy to support, and he was rocking back and forth and babbling in a rhythmical stutter. It’s funny, but the first thing I thought when I saw him like that was the way he used to let me ride on his back, when I was little, bucking and neighing like a horse. And as soon as I thought it, I felt my heart lurch in my chest.
I looked around at everyone in the room and saw the sorrow in their eyes. My eyes first fell on my grandmother, usually the beacon of strength in our family. My grandmother looked as if she had been crying for a very long period of time. Her face looked more wrinkled than before underneath the wild, white hair atop her head. The face of this once youthful person now looked like a grape that had been dried in the sun to become a raisin. Her hair looked like it had not been brushed since the previous day as if created from high wispy clouds on a bright sunny day.
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.
Under the orders of her husband, the narrator is moved to a house far from society in the country, where she is locked into an upstairs room. This environment serves not as an inspiration for mental health, but as an element of repression. The locked door and barred windows serve to physically restrain her: “the windows are barred for little children, and there are rings and things in the walls.” The narrator is affected not only by the physical restraints but also by being exposed to the room’s yellow wallpaper which is dreadful and fosters only negative creativity. “It is dull enough to confuse the eye in following, pronounced enough to constantly irritate and provoke study, and when you follow the lame uncertain curves for a little distance they suddenly commit suicide – plunge off at outrageous angles, destroy themselves in unheard of contradictions.”
Paramedics In an emergency, when someone needs medical help, paramedics are the first response team that will provide them with assistance until they can make it to a hospital. Paramedics are a person’s first point of contact before they can see a doctor. Emergency Medical Technicians (EMTs) and Paramedics are the first responders who attend to victims of accidents, disasters, or any other type of emergency. Job Description
The street lights outside flickered with age, popping and gently fizzing with every stream of electricity that ran through the bulb. Sat inside of the laundromat and watching the flickering lights, I was awaiting the wash cycle’s end. Clothes that were dirtied from last night were being rehabilitated by vicious lashes of water and soap. It was the holy cleansing we all deserved. The shirts, pants and socks all pushed up against the restricting glass of the washing machine’s door, fighting for freedom while I just sat there, aware of the cruelty and the drowning but yawning my cares away. The inside of the laundromat was cast in a harsh cyan light that pained the eyes at such late times as these. It was around 9 p.m., and the only people present included myself and a
Considering she didn’t have any homework, Alex went to the asylum and brought an Ouija board. A small voice in the back of Alex’s head cooed how there might be a possibility that the strange occurrence from last night might have something to do with this strange asylum. Taking one step onto the dead, brown grass, Alex’s bones started to shiver, hair roze, skin tingling. A few more steps she thought, then I will be able to see what this place is hiding. As Alex approached the large entrance, she noticed a small plaque on the ground surrounded by overgrown weeds.
The reason we didn’t get along very well was because I was always jealous of her. She was pretty, smart and had a loving family of her own. It seemed like she had everything, and I hated her for that. Soon that jealousy turned into rage and I knew I had to get rid of her. She stepped into my house with this bright cheerful smile on her face.
“I’m sorry mother” he says, in a high pitched squeal, as snot bubbles burst at his nose. Shuffling towards his computer, he opens up the saved word document marked “The End”(47). He walks pigeon toed through his small,dark, and drab house. A large support beam cuts through second story of the room like the arm of a gallows. While a radiator hisses at him from the corner. Grabbing a bag labeled Happpy Hardware Store, John makes his way towards the garage.
We all remember these grey gloomy days filled with a feeling of despair that saddens the heart from top to bottom. Even though, there may be joy in one’s heart, the atmosphere turns the soul cold and inert. Autumn is the nest of this particular type of days despite its hidden beauty. The sun seems foreign, and the nights are darker than usual enveloped by a thrill that generates chills to travel through the spine leaving you with a feeling of insecurity. Nevertheless, the thinnest of light will always shine through the deepest darkness; in fact, darkness amplifies the beauty and intensity of a sparkle. There I found myself trapped within the four walls of my house, all alone, surrounded by the viscosity of this type of day. I could hear some horrifying voices going through my mind led by unappealing suicidal thought. Boredom had me encaged, completely at its mercy. I needed to go far away, and escape from this morbid house which was wearing me down to the grave. Hope was purely what I was seeking in the middle of the city. Outside, the air was heavy. No beautifully rounded clouds, nor sunrays where available to be admired through the thick grey coat formed by the mist embedded in the streets. Though, I felt quite relieved to notice that I was not alone to feel that emptiness inside myself as I was trying to engage merchant who shown similar “symptoms” of my condition. The atmosphere definitely had a contagious effect spreading through the hearts of every pedestrian that day. Very quickly, what seemed to be comforting me at first, turned out to be deepening me in solitude. In the city park, walking ahead of me, I saw a little boy who had long hair attached with a black bandana.
My childhood was a playground for imagination. Joyous nights were spent surrounded by family at my home in Brooklyn, NY. The constantly shaded red bricks of my family’s unattached town house located on West Street in Gravesend, a mere hop away from the beach and a short walk to the commotion of Brooklyn’s various commercial areas. In the winter, all the houses looked alike, rigid and militant, like red-faced old generals with icicles hanging from their moustaches. One townhouse after the other lined the streets in strict parallel formation, block after block, interrupted only by my home, whose fortunate zoning provided for a uniquely situa...
Walking, there is no end in sight: stranded on a narrow country road for all eternity. It is almost dark now. The clouds having moved in secretively. When did that happen? I am so far away from all that is familiar. The trees are groaning against the wind’s fury: when did the wind start blowing? Have I been walking for so long that time hysterically slipped away! The leaves are rustling about swirling through the air like discarded post-it notes smashing, slapping against the trees and blacktop, “splat-snap”. Where did the sun go? It gave the impression only an instant ago, or had it been longer; that it was going to be a still and peaceful sunny day; has panic from hunger and walking so long finally crept in? Waking up this morning, had I been warned of the impending day, the highs and lows that I would soon face, and the unexpected twist of fate that awaited me, I would have stayed in bed.