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The theme of death used in literature
Death in literature
Autobiographical narrative about death
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I had hurled up all my coffee from the morning about an hour later. I had seen what I had done. She had gashes all over her torso and she had a slow heart rate. I just killed my friend, my closest friend. She was my sister to me. She had suffered with me when I lost my family. Without her i’m completely lost. I began sobbing, Ayumi not knowing what was wrong. “Hey, hey, it’s fine Rin. Don’t you worry.” Ayumi patted my back and gave me some tissues. “I just killed my friend! Call her dead already. I don’t want her suffering.” I sobbed. And reached out to Alex’s cold hand. I felt her softly grip my fingertips. I tried not to hurt her anymore. “I wish to not be a Ghoul anymore, I’m sorry I hurt you Alex. You didn’t deserve this, not one bit.”
In The Murder of Helen Jewett, Patricia Cohen uses one of the most trivial murders during the 1800’s to illustrate the sexiest society accommodations to the privileged, hypocritical tunneled views toward sexual behavior, and the exploitation of legal codes, use of tabloid journalism, and politics. Taking the fact that woman was made from taking a rib from man was more than biblical knowledge, but incorporated into the male belief that a woman’s place is determined by the man. Helen had the proper rearing a maid servant, but how did she fall so far from grace. Judge Weston properly takes credit for rearing her with the proper strictness and education. Was Helen seduced at an early age and introduced to sexual perversions that were more persuasive that the bible belt life that the Weston’s tried to live? Was Helen simply a woman who knew how to use what she had to get what she wanted? Through personal correspondence, legal documentation, census reports, paintings, and newspapers we are able to make our own determinations. Cohen provides more than enough background and history to allow any one to make their own opinion how the murder of a woman could be turned into a side show at a circus.
Let’s examine the short story of “Killings” by Andre Dubus. The story begins on a warm August day with the burial of Matt and Ruth Fowler’s youngest son Frank. Frank was only twenty-one: “twenty-one years, eight months, and four days” (Dubus, “Killings” 107). Attending the funeral were Matt, his wife Ruth, their eldest son Steve, his wife, their middle daughter Cathleen and her husband. Frank was buried in a cemetery on a hill in Massachusetts overlooking the Merrimack. Across from the cemetery is an “apple orchard with symmetrically planted trees going up a hill” (107), a symbol of how nice and serene the cemetery actually is and the peace Frank now has. Matt’s family is extremely distraught over the murder of their youngest son/brother, so much to make comments of wanting to kill the killer themselves, “I should kill him” (107), stated the oldest son Steve, while walking from the grave site along side his father Matt. This comment is considered a fore-shadow to what is to come in the thought process of the family members.
This examination will look at the short story “Killings” by Andre Dubus and the main characters in the story. The story begins on a warm August day with the burial of Matt and Ruth Fowler’s youngest son Frank. Frank’s age: “twenty-one years, eight months, and four days” (Dubus 107). Attending the funeral were Matt, his wife Ruth, their adult children and spouses. Matt’s family is extremely distraught over the murder of their youngest son/brother, in their own way. There are implications of wanting to kill Richard Strout, the guy accused of being the murderer: “I should kill him” (107), as stated after the service. This comment is considered a fore-shadowing of what is to come in the thought progression of Matt and Ruth.
She was different; she liked you. You could have been together; you could have been happy for once in your miserable life. It was a shame she had to snoop around and get involved in a case she knew nothing about. Maybe you didn’t have to kill her. Maybe, just maybe, you could’ve just confessed. But now it’s too late, she’s dead; you killed her. You got her blood on your hands. The only person that ever loved you is dead. You stare at her. She is still beautiful, you think. Then you realise that you loved her and still do. You ask yourself what drove you to do this and you respond, “She was trying to get away… I did it on impulse… an accident…” You kneel down in front of her, and lift her limp body off the ground. The mush doesn’t bother you. Then, without thinking, you pull her close and cradle her in your arms.
Since I was little my favorite thing to watch on TV would be murder shows that where based on true stories. I would stay up all night watching these shows. Most of my friends found it weird but I felt like this is something that keeps me from being naïve to this world we live in. I was thirteen around the time. So by now I had watch almost a thousand murder shows and I thought I had heard it all. Well I was wrong. This is a story I would never forget. I remember it because it was hard for me to believe that something so horrendous could not only be committed by someone young but to innocent people.
I could die. I mean I really could, and who would find our bodies? And if they did find my dead rotting carcass I wonder what the autopsy would say? Mauled by an overly aggressive bear? Attacked by a massive furry canadian moose? Ok, maybe I was being a bit forward but after hearing news about another boy scout who had died at Philmont Scout Ranch due to a flash flood. These ideas and many more (even more gruesome) populated my subconscious and conscious state of mind.
“I woke up from the nightmares with a cold fear,” she said. “I came to a point where I didn’t want to die, but just wanted to be dead.”
“I know I’m the reason for her death. Those hunters were after me, not her. It’s this goddamn curse. If I hadn’t known, if I hadn’t screamed and realised. I- I wouldn’t have rushed all the way to that house to make sure she was okay. They tracked me. She had nothing to do with it. If I wasn’t there she still would be. And now I can’t even make sure that she’s alright. Because the bloody divine forces won’t let me. Why?”
During my ride on a crowded subway headed toward downtown, I met two deceitfully ordinary people named Nate and Claire. Claire, the first to spark conversation, introduced herself as a columnist for an impressive, well-known newspaper. With not a hair out of place or as much as a wrinkle on her blouse, she was nothing short of a perfectionist. She was young, almost too young to look so stressed. Nate, who appeared just as young, looked like he was fresh off of Wall Street. Everything about him exuberated wealth from the clothes he wore to the deepness of his voice. But it was easy to see he wasn’t happy with his life. Just one look into his sallow eyes, and you could see guilt the size of his fortune.
It’s 10:30am and Janice, Alex’s mother, receives a phone call. “Hi Janice, this is Mrs. Smith calling with regards to Alex. Yes, he isn’t having a good day. He has been very disruptive this morning. We tried calling down Alex’s older sister to calm him down, and to talk to him, but he wouldn’t calm down. Would you please come and get him?”
It was time to put his little volunteer watch duty on hold for the moment. Kakashi raised his left hand with his eye rising into a crescent, signaling that he was smiling beneath his mask. With that, he close his book, placing it into his pocket. She was on the ground, and he couldn't just keep her waiting there. Kakashi propelled himself into the air, landing on a smaller building in comparison to the one he was just sitting on. At that point, he jumped from building to building, gradually until he made his way to ground level. There was a ton of people, so he remained cautious of his surroundings, so that he didn't accidentally land on someone's head.
It is really upsetting and scary to know there are people like him, killing people with no remorse. He was unapologetic, expressionless, and cold. I saw the short video first. In it he talked about his crimes like we would talk about the weather. After seeing it I thought to myself, "He is a MONSTER!" (Even though I don't believe in the death penalty) "Yes he should get the death penalty." I was really upset, I cried. The second longer video seemed to make him out as more human, haunted by his victims. The environment he grew up in was toxic and unhealthy. I was adopted from Ethiopia when I was 13. I lived with my father who hated me and was abusive. I understand his anger and the unfairness of being treated like that from a parent, who are
Bruce took the Lamborghini so that he could get to her faster, if only she had just come with him in the first place, it would have meant telling Ali about his secret. He worried a lot about it he knew that it couldn’t be put off much longer. Bruce finally arrives at Ali’s hotel he parks in front of the door and walks inside seeing a pizza delivery boy arguing with the front desk manager.
Being abducted is one heck of a rollercoaster when you’re as skeptical as I am. Late last night was when the “incident” happened; at about 3 o’clock in the morning, or what I like to call it, fantasy hour.
I was walking out of the store one day and a masked man ran up yo me and tried to steal my purse. He ran off but I chase him I grabbed back my purse and he fell backwards. Then he stood up and tried to run off again but I caught him then punched him in his face then i told him “i'm calling the police¨