Wait a second!
More handpicked essays just for you.
More handpicked essays just for you.
The mysterious stranger
The mysterious stranger
Essay on courage and resilience
Don’t take our word for it - see why 10 million students trust us with their essay needs.
Recommended: The mysterious stranger
He awoke to the sun's beam hitting his face, the yellow ray had snuck through a small hole in his drapes. He adjusted to the unconventional alarm, sliding slightly getting the ray off of him. He continued to lay in bed,staring at the ceiling a dull grey-stone color. His room remained quiet and dark, as it would always if he didn't wish it not. He let out a long sigh. 'Here comes another day.' He thought bitterly. He threw his covers off and stood, stretching and letting out a yawn. He pulled aside his drapes, dispensing the red hue that bathed his bedroom. The window faced the east and reveled a recently risen sun. He gave a quick glance around his room, a habit he developed while traveling with his brother, always check to see if you've been robbed. His bed sat underneath the window, red and white linen dressed it poorly. His oak desk stood on the opposite wall, littered with letters, receipts and his research journal. Books overspread the rest of his room, giving it a distinct and lovely scent. Having noticed nothing alarming the young man went to do his morning rituals, bathe and groom, dress, and then get his store ready. About an hour later as he finsihed getting dressed he gave himself a once over in the mirror, another habit given to him by his brother, you never should leave without seeing yourself, he didn't really care for what he saw. He wasn't handsome, but he didn't think he was repulsive. He saw pained and lonesome pair of eyes, left green and right yellow, hidden behind an chic pair of silver framed glasses(The only stylish thing on him). He wore a simple tunic with one arm having no sleeve and the other sleeve ended at his finger tips, it was a forest green and the cuffs and neck line had wool etched on and d... ... middle of paper ... ...ger could see how many were there, no could he scream. Though even if he did Kiza doubted anyone could hear it through the storm. All he could think about was how he was still counsious as the wolf let out a howl to aleart his brothern of were the food had fallen. "Back off beast!" Kiza heard as the sound of sword being drawn followed, someone was close to him a moment latter and the weight of the beast vanished off him. He felt someone lift him up and brush the snow out of his eyes, and bring a bottle to his lips. "Drink this." The voice seemed distint, far off and he couldn't tell if the source was male or female, Kiza knew this was from death beackening him. He couldn't even see, his vision black blurs. Both of us don't have to die "H-help....my..shop...some...one...needs...help...go...to hi..mm." He bearly finished the last syllable when his world turned dark.
I noticed how white and well-shaped his own hands were. They looked calm, somehow, and skilled. His eyes were melancholy, and were set back deep under his brow. His face was ruggedly formed, but it looked like ashes – like something from which all the warmth and light had dried out. Everything about this old man was in keeping with his dignified manner (24)
“It was a large, beautiful room, rich and picturesque in the soft, dim light which the maid had turned low. She went and stood at an open window and looked out upon the deep tangle of the garden below. All the mystery and witchery of the night seemed to have gathered there amid the perfumes and the dusky and tortuous outlines of flowers and foliage. She was seeking herself and finding herself in just such sweet half-darkness which met her moods. But the voices were not soothing that came to her from the darkness and the sky above and the stars. They jeered and sounded mourning notes without promise, devoid even of hope. She turned back into the room and began to walk to and fro, down its whole length, without stopping, without resting. She carried in her hands a thin handkerchief, which she tore into ribbons, rolled into a ball, and flung from her. Once she stopped, and taking off her wedding ring, flung it upon the carpet. When she saw it lying there she stamped her heel upon it, striving to crush it. But her small boot heel did not make an indenture, not a mark upon the glittering circlet.
Walk through a door, and enter a new world. For John, raised in home resplendent with comfort and fine things, Ginny’s family’s apartment above the fruit market is a radically different environment than his own. Economic differences literally smack him in the face, as he enters the door and walks into towel hung to dry. “First lesson: how the poor do laundry” (Rylant 34). In this brief, potent scene, amidst “shirts, towels, underwear, pillowcases” hanging in a room strung with clotheslines, historical fiction finds crucial expression in the uncomfortable blush of a boy ready for a first date and unprepared for the world in which he finds himself.
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...
As the lights flashed and the representatives walked down the red carpet the audience was awed by the sweet smiles and mature beauty that radiated off the couples. They respectfully encapsulated the love and Christian faith of our school as they all clapped for our homecoming king and queen. There surely was a reason they were voted representatives for they showcased sweet attitudes all night long, smiling, hugging, and enduring long periods of picture taking and never complaining. After the red carpet showing of our homecoming court everyone enjoyed delicious fruit punch and a couple slices of the cake all while talking and simply enjoying the beautiful decorations and hollywood themed atmosphere. When the mood shifted and Winter Formal began
Ralph heard the night watchman call lights out. The moon gleaming in the window was the only source of light within Ralph’s room now. Even in the dim light he could make out the sink and toilet. The room was padded, and the door had a glass window that reflected fluorescent light into the room. The combination of the artificial and natural light created a faint glimmer upon the mirror that hung above the sink.
When he arrived at the home the servant who took his hoarse and directed him to the room that Mr. Usher was in greeted him. Inside the house was also very ornate, but it to had also been left alone for to long. The entire house had a gloomy atmosphere that would put a chill down most people’s spines. When he entered the room his friend was staying in he was warmly welcomed. He could not believe the changes that his dear childhood friend had endured.
In the comparison of the college student's two expressions of his first impression of his dorm, Hall disregards the first passage as 'sloppy – slangy and fragmentary.'; He praises the second passage as suspenseful and detailed and suggests that the author has 'made great strides'; and has 'put some thought into creating a scene.'; I, however, find the second passage to be dull and watered-down, over-edited, and false sounding. Although the first passage could be improved by explaining where he was, what the disaster entailed, and who the funny-looking guy was, its honesty far outweighs the literary correctness of the second passage.
Whether Faith obeyed, he knew not. Hardly had he spoken, when he found himself amid calm night and solitude, listening to a roar of the wind, which died heavily away through the forest. He staggered against the rock, and felt it chill and damp, whil...
“We walked through a high hallway into a bright rose-colored space, fragilely bound into the house by French windows at either end. The windows were ajar and gleaming white against the fresh grass outside that seemed to grow a little way into the house” (7).
He strolled by a police patrolled park about six blocks from his apartment. The park, as it was on most nights, was completely empty. He turned down a short side street in order to loop back to his apartment when he first noticed him. At the far end of the street, on his side, was a silhouette of a man. He was a very slender man with long arms and legs. He had what looked like a very slim fitting, tailored, pinstripe suit. It was hard for him to make out the face. He didn’t think anything of it and thought it was just muddled lush.
The narrator and her physician husband, John, rented out a majestic, colonial mansion for the summer. The narrator is in love with the house and cannot wait to spend her summer here. Her husband John has high hopes that a change of scenery will help her recover from a recent phase of depression. He results in a treatment called the “Rest Cure,” a treatment discovered by S. Weir Mitchell. The narrator finds the house queer, but gives it a chance. She becomes upset with John due to his choice of a bedroom for her. Once she had a look around the house she desired the downstairs room with a window overlooking the gardens. However, John argues that the room is too small and places her in the nursery room. It is a large room with barred windows that allow plenty of sunshine through. The narrator finds the room appalling due to the chaotic, yellow wallpaper on the walls. The narrator is imprisoned, unable to have control over her own mind. "...t...
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.
As I walked down the corridor I noticed a man lying in a hospital bed with only a television, two dressers, and a single window looking out at nothing cluttering his room. Depression overwhelmed me as I stared at the man laying on his bed, wearing a hospital gown stained by failed attempts to feed himself and watching a television that was not on. The fragments of an existence of a life once active and full of conviction and youth, now laid immovable in a state of unconsciousness. He was unaffected by my presence and remained in his stupor, despondently watching the blank screen. The solitude I felt by merely observing the occupants of the home forced me to recognize the mentality of our culture, out with the old and in with the new.
11:14 p.m.-I slowly ascend from my small wooden chair, and throw another blank sheet of paper on the already covered desk as I make my way to the door. Almost instantaneously I feel wiped of all energy and for a brief second that small bed, which I often complain of, looks homey and very welcoming. I shrug off the tiredness and sluggishly drag my feet behind me those few brief steps. Eyes blurry from weariness, I focus on a now bare area of my door which had previously been covered by a picture of something that was once funny or memorable, but now I can't seem to remember what it was. Either way, it's gone now and with pathetic intentions of finishing my homework I go to close the door. I take a peek down the hall just to assure myself one final time that there is nothing I would rather be doing and when there is nothing worth investigating, aside from a few laughs a couple rooms down, I continue to shut the door.