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Literary devices and their use
Literary devices and their use
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I gazed out the window, amazed at how the sun rose from the horizon and illuminated the dimly lit car. It was the beginning of August but my teeth chattered violently as I sat against the cold seat. My grandfather was wise to insist that I change from my bathing suit before we left from our annual trip in Atlantic City, New Jersey, however, my sister and I choose to spend our last minutes merrily wadding in the ocean. A feeble yawn escaped my lips as I felt the cold penetrate through the flimsy blanket and make my clothes cling to my skin. I was going home.
I had anticipated the trip all summer long and now that it was over, I wanted one more swim, one more ride, and one more delightful taste of fluffy cotton candy. It was time to go back to the reality of an unhealthy grandma and the fear of death. My grandma was an alcoholic and I had grown used to the numerous trips to the hospital and the promises of change with the apologies of regret. Day after day, she would sit in the old flower-patterned wooden chair drinking the forty-ounce beer, which she weakly tried to obfuscate in the wrinkled brown paper bag. At the innocent age of eleven, I knew about the evil brown elixir that she tried to conceal and the smell of it made my nostrils flare and stomach churn in repulsion.
The silence in the car became deafening as the reality of what awaited me at home became translucent. The doctors would do as they always did, give her advice, the number to a rehabilitation center and she would come home with a cry of redemption. After a week of abstinence and several incidents of violence, she would sooth her emotions with a drink. In order to regain composure she needed divine intervention and the support of her family. Unlike most of the members of my family, I still believed that she was capable of recovery but I was also slowly losing faith in her. Before we left for New Jersey, she had learned that her liver was failing and she had no more chances to rectify her life. She had to stop.
Through my tired eyes, I observed a feathery white cloud float across the sky and obscure the radiant sun. We were almost home and I could not get the haunting thoughts out of my head.
Alcoholism is a severe disease that has the potential to negatively impact not only the individual combating addiction, but also the family members involved with the addict (Park & Schepp, 2014). The documentary series A&E Intervention follows the daily lives of individuals combating addictions such as alcoholism and substance abuse. Throughout Gloria’s A&E episode, before her intervention there was rarely a moment that did not consist of her having an alcoholic beverage within arm’s reach. Gloria was in denial about her alcohol abuse, and seemed to be unattached to traumatic events that occurred in her life, including the death of her father, her stillborn childbirth, and both of her daughter’s complex relationships with her. This paper seeks
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...
When the day came to leave I was woken at the crack of dawn. I was keen to get to Blackpool as swiftly as possible, not only for the football that was ahead of us but also for the famous Pleasure Beach. The coach picked us up at around 8 am and in we crammed into an already full coach. The journey down was full of laughter and friendly joking from the parents. That day, it was particularly hot and inside the coach a number of people were becoming uncomfortable. I was unaffected by the warmth inside the coach, with my earphones in I relaxed and paid more attention to the vast countryside we were passing through. The vivid scenery blew me away, with colossal hills to calm rivers that we met on the journey.
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.
I vividly recall being five years old, my mother and I going home after a wedding where she made the decision to drown her pain in alcohol. Being under the influence, mami collapsed in front of my eyes before entering our mint-blue front door. I did not know what was happening so I began to scream desperately for help. She tried to get up off the ground, but she was unable to do so. My initial thought was that she was going to die, and I did not know how to help her. She closed her eyes and for a moment, I thought she was gone. Tears were running down
A calm crisp breeze circled my body as I sat emerged in my thoughts, hopes, and memories. The rough bark on which I sat reminded me of the rough road many people have traveled, only to end with something no one in human form can contemplate.
Standing on the balcony, I gazed at the darkened and starry sky above. Silence surrounded me as I took a glimpse at the deserted park before me. Memories bombarded my mind. As a young girl, the park was my favourite place to go. One cold winter’s night just like tonight as I looked upon the dark sky, I had decided to go for a walk. Wrapped up in my elegant scarlet red winter coat with gleaming black buttons descending down the front keeping away the winter chill. Wearing thick leggings as black as coal, leather boots lined with fur which kept my feet cozy.
I moved to Fresno, California and worked as caregiver sometime in the summer 2012. I lived there for about 7 months then I moved to New York in December 2012. My friend Alvin Almonte invited me to work in New York because he said job opportunities were much better here and that New York is much more accessible. I lost my immigration status in November 2011, while I was in Arizona. In my contract, I was assured that after three years (supposedly 2009-2012), the employer would apply for my Green Card. This was clearly not the case. I was working as a temporary hotel worker with an uncertain status. I started to work as buzzer in a restaurant in New York. Currently, I am working as caregiver for the elderly.
The fleeting changes that often accompany seasonal transition are especially exasperated in a child’s mind, most notably when the cool crisp winds of fall signal the summer’s end approaching. The lazy routine I had adopted over several months spent frolicking in the cool blue chlorine soaked waters of my family’s bungalow colony pool gave way to changes far beyond the weather and textbooks. As the surrounding foliage changed in anticipation of colder months, so did my family. My mother’s stomach grew larger as she approached the final days of her pregnancy and in the closing hours of my eight’ summer my mother gently awoke me from the uncomfortable sleep of a long car ride to inform of a wonderful surprise. No longer would we be returning to the four-story walk up I inhabited for the majority of my young life. Instead of the pavement surrounding my former building, the final turn of our seemingly endless journey revealed the sprawling grass expanse of a baseball field directly across from an unfamiliar driveway sloping in front of the red brick walls that eventually came to be know as home.
Thumbs Out A girlfriend of mine once defended me to her father by saying, calmly, “Not everyone who wanders is lost.” The dad kicked me out of the house anyway. But the damage had been done. Not everyone who wanders is lost.
I awoke to the sun piercing through the screen of my tent while stretching my arms out wide to nudge my friend Alicia to wake up. “Finally!” I said to Alicia, the countdown is over. As I unzip the screen door and we climb out of our tent, I’m embraced with the aroma of campfire burritos that Alicia’s mom Nancy was preparing for us on her humungous skillet. While we wait for our breakfast to be finished, me and Alicia, as we do every morning, head to the front convenient store for our morning french vanilla cappuccino. On our walk back to the campsite we always take a short stroll along the lake shore to admire the incandescent sun as it shines over the gleaming dark blue water. This has become a tradition that we do every
I brush my eyes awake, feeling the cold seeping in from my window. It’s 9 AM and it’s winter in Minnesota. Feeling sleepy, I stand up and go outside. I love the winter air. It always refreshes my mind and there’s just a cold bite to it that I enjoy. Coming back inside, I boot up my computer, hoping to enjoy it a little before heading out. The winter days swim together, phasing throughout my mind, and I fall asleep again, or I have woken up.
... a smile came across his face, a smile that for three weeks, I thought I was never going to see again. Unfortunately, his struggle with alcohol was just beginning. To this day he attends AA meetings and is doing great. The days of speed boating have continued, but there is no more beer drinking. For his grandkids, not much has really changed, except Grandpa’s health has improved. He has more energy and a better outlook on life. I think the experience helped him realize that his motto “Quality over Quantity” is not concrete and that there needs to be a balance between the two. We cannot get by on just the pleasures in life because it isn’t fair to our loved ones we have to compromise and make sacrifices in order to keep our health.
In the haze of the morning I remember reflecting on the adventure-filled summer I had experienced: I traveled to the Upper Peninsula to hike Pictured Rocks, tubed down the Rifle River, spent weekends in Caseville at my grandparents, and hunted boar in Tennessee. There was so much more I had done so it was challenging to remember, plus every weekend I found myself going out to embark on new adventures. Being sober for three years, every year kept on getting better and every year seemed to fill up with more positive activities. I was already planning to attend my first Red Wings game with my brother; we decided to see the opening game against the Sharks. The next thing I prepared to cross off of my bucket list was snowboarding as it had been my dream since I was a kid. My mind trotted further into the past when I used drugs and I missed those times because I did not have a care in the world. The thoughts of all of the responsibilities I held upon my shoulders lead me to be tempted to go back to how my life used to be years ago. I shook my head and reminded myself that my past life was more depressing than it had been fun and this was the time to continue to tackle my
“She is just out of batteries” I told myself. In this moment I didn’t understand the enormity of the situation, I just simply thought she needed to recharge. I didn’t comprehend the masses of sobbing family and friends around me. I assumed this problem had a simple solution. My grandmother’s absence made sense to me in that moment. The fantasies my grandmother made for me provided me with a sort of shelter from the problems of the real world. My grandmother knew I would never understand her terminal illness or why she wasn’t around anymore. Our tales and adventures gave me understanding. She saved me grief and heartbreak by simply playing into my imagination. She redefined the real world into terms that a young child could understand. Although my grandmother’s strength faded over time her imagination always stayed strong. Her imagination will always be a memory I carry with me and a characteristic I will try and always possess