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Descriptive story about a storm
A story describing a storm
Write a narrative or descriptive essay after the storm
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London sky was covered in pitch black, the myriad of stars hiding behind the veils of cloud cover. The encompassing darkness had blotted out all but the faintest light, leaving the dim London lampposts to guide the pedestrians. The sky rumbles, thunder echos from the Heavens as if warning him to go back and not to intervene with their plans set in stone. Mother's tighten their grips on their children, the elderly quicken their steps, people brushing their shoulders amongst another; trying to reach their destinations and take shelter before the the sky tears open. He pulls the black hoodie tighter around his face, ducking past strangers and hastily walking down the street before somebody notices. His breath quickens, brushing aside the thoughts that flicker inside his head. He mumbles apologies, as he bumps an elderly couple, keeping his head low and taking quicker strides before someone stops him and tries to tell him there is no coming back from this. He has no choice. he has accepted his fate. A hollow chuckle escapes from his lips-this is what his life had become. The warning was a nice little touch-wether it was winter taking it's course or something that was actually looking after him, he told himself it was the latter. He warred with himself internally. Eventually, one side won. His hands are shaking as he clenches and unclenches his fists tightly inside his deep hoodie pockets, desperately trying to hold on. He steps into a murky puddle, making a left into the alley. He tentatively walks forward, shards of glass crunching loudly under his heavy boots. His heart clenches, the hair on the back of his neck standing as the unwelcoming wind whips through his body bringing along the tangy, copper smell. The smell is so putr... ... middle of paper ... ... his eyes as Zayn starts banging on the door. "Fuck, please! Harry!" "Harry! C'mon!" He croaks, slamming his palm against the wood furiously. His hands were stinging with pain, each pounding on the door tightening the grip on his heart. Minutes after furiously pounding, he stops . Silence fell, he's not there. The demon didn't keep her end of the deal. Harry was gone for good and he would remain soulless- just a shell of himself. Zayn would remain in a broken band, slowly watching the other boys wilt away, unable to do anything cos that constant feeling of hopelessness and betrayal will remain with him till his last days. He stood there for minutes, trying to gather all his thoughts. "No..."He staggers back. This wasn't how it was suppose to end. He was in such a frayed, chaotic state of mind that he didn't notice the door yank open. "Zayn?" came a raspy voice.
Consequently, Andy’s soul withered further into hopelessness as each and every person who came to his rescue, turned their backs on him. Through a final desperate ambition, Andy broke free of the bonds that were pinning him down: “If it had not been for the jacket, he wouldn’t have been stabbed. The knife had not been plunged in hatred of Andy. The knife only hated the purple jacket. The jacket was a stupid, meaningless thing that was robbing him of his life. He lay struggling with the shiny wet jacket. Pain ripped fire across his body whenever he moved. But he squirmed and fought and twisted until one arm was free and the other. He rolled away from the jacket and layed quite still, breathing heavily, listening to the sound of his breathing and the sounds of rain and thinking: Rain is sweet, I’m Andy”. In these moments, Andy finally overcame his situation, only in a way not expected by most. Such depicted scenes are prime examples of human nature at it’s worst, as well as the horrors that lay within us. However, these events, although previously incomprehensible by his limited subconscious, led to a gradual enlightenment of the mind and heart. Furthermore, the experiences taught him
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...
The play begins with a grand celebration, in which the characters toast to the New Year. Agnes admits that she feels relatively safe living at Berlin at this time, and the group decides to make up a story together. They story is of a cold night and a watchman who tries to beat nature by fighting back and arming himself with a warm coat and scarf. At first he succeeds, but later finds that even his coat and scarf are
...ome the dream of attainment slowly became a nightmare. His house has been abandoned, it is empty and dark, the entryway or doors are locked. The sign of age, rust comes off in his hands. His body is cold, and he has deteriorated physically & emotionally. He is weathered just like his house and life. He is damaged poor, homeless, and the abandoned one.
Winter tries to do whatever she can to take care of her sister, help her mother, get her father free and everything back to the way that it use to be. Everything seems to go wrong after that happens and Winter is only worried about herself from then on. The characters in this novel all represent individuals in every urban slum in America from the lords to the workers, from the young children growing up fast in the culture of violence and moral decay
An example of the cycle followed by her father, his father, and his father before him is told when Blunt recalls a major blizzard in December 1964 that trapped the family and some neighbors in their small homestead. She unemotionally describes how her father simply proceeded to go through the motions of keeping the pipes from freezing, calmly accepting the fact that he could do nothing as the storm progressed and he could not prevent loss of a of their livestock. Or how when he first ventured out to check on the animals in their nearby barn and nearly lost his way back in whiteout conditions. Later, when the storm passed, she told of playing amongst the frozen corpses of the cattle, jumping from ribcage to ribcage, daring her older brother and sister to cut off pieces of the animals, all with the calm acceptance that this was so normal, nothing strange about it.
The great and disastrous impact of nature against man proves to play a central role as an external conflict in London's short story. The extreme cold and immense amount of snow has a powerful and dangerous hold against the man. The numbing cold proved so chilling that the man could not even spit without the spit freezing. “He knew that at fifty below spittle crackled on the snow, but this spittle had crackled in the air."(604). That deadly force of nature goes on to further challenge the man, preventing him from continuing his goal. "At a place where there were no signs, where the soft unbroken snow seemed to advertise solidity beneath, the man broke through."(608). At this point in the story, nature overtakes the man, a conflict that directly stops him from achieving his goal, establishing nature as an external conflict providing the man with a struggle.
“Just stop, we both know that they need your strength, and more importantly your heart. I’m done for I was hit,” Nerrek lifted up his coat, blood was trickling out, “It’s deep, we don’t have time to patch it up”
“Its deserted streets are a potent symbol of man and nature 's indifference to the individual. The insistence of the narrator on his own self-identity is in part an act of defiance against a constructed, industrial world that has no place for him in its order” (Bolton). As the poem continues on, the narrator becomes aware of his own consciousness as he comes faces nature and society during his walk. He embraces nature with the rain, dark and moon but he also reinforces his alienation from society as he ignores the watchman and receives no hope of cries for him. The societal ignorance enforces our belief that he is lonely on this gloomy night. “When he passes a night watchman, another walker in the city with whom the speaker might presumably have some bond, he confesses, ‘I… dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain.’ Likewise, when he hears a voice in the distance, he stops in his tracks--only to realize that the voice is not meant "to call me back or say goodbye" (Bolton). The two times he had a chance to interact with the community, either he showed no interest in speaking or the cry wasn’t meant for him. These two interactions emphasize his loneliness with the
Dave started walking home. The winter was the worst time of the year for him. He had tons of paper work, and not enough light to work with. The generator he was able to afford could only power a small wattage of lights and it simply was not enough to work with. My eyes are already bad enough, he thought as he pulled off his glasses to clean the snow from the lenses. Dave readjusted his hat to better cover his face and slid the bifocals back on his nose. Snow crunched under his feet as he trudged home. It was a particularly dead night and not even the moon dared to show his face. He had no car's headlights to light his path. All he had was the occasional street lamp, ...
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.
“The offing was barred by a black bank of clouds, and the tranquil waterway leading to the uttermost ends of the earth flowed somber under an overcast sky – seemed to lead into the heart of an immense darkness.” (96)
She slammed the door behind her. Her face was hot as she grabbed her new perfume and flung it forcefully against the wall. That was the perfume that he had bought for her. She didn't want it anymore. His voice coaxed from the other side of the door. She shouted at him to get away. Throwing herself on the bed and covering her face with one of his shirts, she cried. His voice coaxed constantly, saying Carol, let me in. Let me explain.' She shouted out no!' Then cried some more. Time passed with each sob she made. When she caught herself, there was no sound on the other side of the door. A long silence stood between her and the door. Maybe she had been too hard on him, she thought. Maybe he really had a good explanation. She hesitated before she walked toward the door and twisted the handle. Her heart was crying out to her at this moment. He wasn't there. She called out his name. "Thomas!" Her cries were interrupted by the revving of an engine in the garage. She made it to the window in time to see his Volvo back out the yard. "Thomas! Thomas....wait!" Her cries vanished into thin air as the Volvo disappeared around the bend. Carol grew really angry all of a sudden. How could he leave? He'll sleep on the couch when he gets back. Those were her thoughts.
As I walked I let my eyes close and my feet feel the groove in the gravel. My mind, still asleep, dreamt of breathing. The lining of my father's old coat escaped inside the pockets and caught my fingers, which were numb from the cold. I would have worn gloves but the sun would be unbearable later in the day. The clouds would rise over the mountains and disappear and the birds would slowly become silent as the heat settled in. But for now it was just cold. I tried to warm my neck by breathing down the collar. It smelled like diesel and sweat.
During this specific night, an army of mysterious, murky clouds seized control of divine sky, devouring the sun. Favored by the troops, the moon, displaying its glorious luminescence upon a shadowy city, wins a triumphant victory over the sun. A ferocious leader of the army activates the withdrawal then leads dedicated soldiers to west as if they are tracking down a wild dog. On the other hand, the city transmits its vivid and righteous illuminations back to the sky to let people in the “second floor” know that “era of tranquility” began. Imagine the astonishing night, rigid and bright buildings lie elegantly on the moonlight sky, bring lights gaze from the thousands of bulbs. It is beautiful, yet no one knows what beauty is upon them.