Blood and Sand The winds howled through the canyon interior, creating odd shrieks and whines. The tall light-brown earthy walls rose high, far higher than any man could see, like giants staring down at feeble mankind. The night sky, far above the canyon walls was illuminated by stars and the luminous full moon. It was unbearably cold, with a sharp breeze that seemed to go right through any number of layers of thick clothing. The only true escape from the chill was in the caravan, a large, bulbous vehicle, wheels outfitted for the rough, rocky path it was taking. Some sat in the caravan, mostly women and children, amongst the numerous crates and bags of supplies, the less fortunate of the refugees walked alongside, rifles in hand. The men’s thick, heavy jackets were torn in places and filthy, covered in dirt and the general grime of overuse, some had stains of red, a reminder of the dangerous lives they lived. All of the …show more content…
men wore grim faces. They glared defiantly at the canyon walls, the rocks up ahead, scanning endlessly for some invisible enemy. Each one of them had lost a friend, a brother, a wife, to the vicious long trail that they walked, it had made them cautious…and angry, a dangerous combination for any perceived enemy. Small stones reshuffled as the marauders silently took their positions amongst the boulders littering the sides of the canyon. The caravan was still a few minutes away, or so their scout had estimated. They got low, their sandy brown cloaks blending into the rock that surrounded them, placing their firearms carefully by their sides. Their cloaks covered much of their faces and a pair of goggles adorned each of them to protect their eyes during firefights from the occasionally harsh winds of the canyon, which blew up pieces of sand, dirt, and small stones. The caravan came painstakingly closer and closer, and the killers were practically buzzing with anticipation. The vehicle moved into position, the armed men outside were in range, one of the raiders, taller and older than the others raised a closed fist, and the ravine was filled with gunfire. The rocks around the caravan were illuminated, this time not by the stars but by dozens of flashing muzzles.
The men scrambled to seek cover, attempting to return fire. Jeremy, who was closest to the caravan, sprinted over and banged on the sides of the vehicle, yelling “Get down!” prompting the women and children to duck behind barrels and crates, some lying on their stomachs. For his courage he was shot down while attempting to dash behind a withered joshua tree, a stray bullet catching him in the neck. The caravan lurched forward as the driver slammed down onto the gas pedal, trying to clear the ravine before it was too late. A number of assailants turned and painted the sides of it with holes. The refugee fighters tried desperately to follow, moving from rock to rock, tree to tree, avoiding a hail of bullets coming from either side. Some had already fallen in the resulting battle, and many more were wounded, a few slung over one of his fellow fighters’ shoulders, half delirious from the pain, new red stains forming on their battered
clothes. When the caravan cleared the ravine the attackers had little means to follow on foot, incapable of keeping up with its speed. Yet still the refugees drove through the night, stopping only the next morning in the shade of a stony peak when certain that they weren’t being followed any longer. The men had had to trudge through the night, covered in wounds, carrying wounded and dead. They stopped and nearly collapsed from exhaustion. The next few hours were spent tending to the wounded, and burying the dead. Children and mothers alike cried great tears upon not seeing their fathers and husbands amongst those who remained. Battered, broken, and disillusioned the refugees looked out upon the desert that they had yet to cross, for though they were grieving their lives did not allow for complacency, or regret, they could only look forward, beyond the desert, and the mountains and valleys to the place where at last they could start anew. Perhaps then they could mourn their dead.
Young men in old, ill-fitted uniforms lay twisted on dried, grassy wheat as we can see them reaching for a weapon that once laid above them or clutching their fists to take the pain away as dawn arises and dense fog hovers the horizon and tiny peaks of mountain peer out above a ruthless and needlessly waste. Tiny horse like figures blend into the background, posing like trees as riders dislodge, seeming to search and strip the bodies of shoes, weapons, anything that can help the next soldier survive.
Everyone knew by then, if not before, that any chance of a reprieve was impossible. The young men would die, and the village would be saved. Only the sound of the loud, heavy truck starting its engine gave thought that perhaps this would not be the last carnage, the last sacrifice to this village, or the neighboring villages. Perhaps the big, lumbering truck would forever hold the watchful eyes of those evil enough to order the massacre of innocence.
Didion paints uneasy and somber images when describing the Santa Ana winds. “There is something uneasy in the Los Angeles air… some unnatural stillness, some tension,” starts the essay off with the image of Los Angeles people in a sense of stillness or tense. She further adds, “Blowing up sandstorms out along Route 66… we will see smoke back in the canyons, and hear sirens in the night,” propagating the uneasy and stark image of Los Angeles. “The baby frets. The maid sulks,” she adds, giving a depressing view into the effects of the Santa Ana winds on people. Didion, in an attempt to show the craziness associated with the Santa Ana winds, points out the Indians who throw themselves into the sea when bad winds came. At any rate, Didion attempts to show the negative effects of the Santa Ana winds through images of stillness, uneasiness, and sobriety.
In The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho an Andalusian boy named Santiago leaves Spain to travel to Egypt in order to achieve his Personal Legend. During his journey he meets four people, a Gypsy, a King named Melchizedek, an Englishman and an Alchemist, all of whom help Santiago along his journey towards his Personal Legend. However, only the King and the Alchemist teach Santiago lessons that he can learn from and use along his journey. The King teaches Santiago two lessons, to follow omens and that it is not always about the destination but that it is also about the journey. The Alchemist teaches Santiago to listen to his heart for guidance, what the Language of the World is and what the Soul of the World is. He eventually arrives in Egypt after
Written by author Tim O’Brien after his own experience in Vietnam, “The Things They Carried” is a short story that introduces the reader to the experiences of soldiers away at war. O’Brien uses potent metaphors with a third person narrator to shape each character. In doing so, the reader is able to sympathize with the internal and external struggles the men endure. These symbolic comparisons often give even the smallest details great literary weight, due to their dual meanings. The symbolism in “The Things They Carried” guides the reader through the complex development of characters by establishing their humanity during the inhumane circumstance of war, articulating what the men need for emotional and spiritual survival, and by revealing the character’s psychological burdens.
Jean Hatzfeld not only did excellent job constructing this book but he gives the survivors a voice. Hatzfeld’s put together the survivor’s narrative with his own description of the setting around him. Even though I felt his intervening observation of the scene was sort of long and distracting from the survivor’s tale. However, it was nice to picture the villages where the survivors reside and what they do to make a living. This creative style captures the everyday life of the survivors, which makes the reader connects more with them. Each chapter starts off with the current life of the survivors and how they live everyday with what they experienced. Than it proceeds to the next chapter of the survivors experiences. Jean also added beautiful photos of the survivors in black and white, which gave a special touch to the book. With these images it gave me a vivid picture of the survivors telling the story, as if I was there during the
One of the worst things about war is the severity of carnage that it bestows upon mankind. Men are killed by the millions in the worst ways imaginable. Bodies are blown apart, limbs are cracked and torn and flesh is melted away from the bone. Dying eyes watch as internal organs are spilled of empty cavities, naked torso are hung in trees and men are forced to run on stumps when their feet are blown off. Along with the horrific deaths that accompany war, the injuries often outnumber dead men. As Paul Baumer witnessed in the hospital, the injuries were terrifying and often led to death. His turmoil is expressed in the lines, “Day after day goes by with pain and fear, groans and death gurgles. Even the death room I no use anymore; it is too small.” The men who make it through the war take with them mental and physical scarification from their experiences.
People often do not realize their differences, but the differences in people are what set them apart from all others. In Paul Coelho’s “The Alchemist” two characters do such actions. The main character, Santiago, and the arguably secondary character, the Englishman, do such aforementioned actions. The two characters meet in a caravan that is traveling across the Saharan Desert. Although they do have some pretty interesting similarities, their differences are what intrigue the reader more.
The Pilgrims found themselves in a harsh new environment. In the middle of winter, they slowly built a settlement at the site of an abandoned Pawtuxet Indian village. Not used to hunting or fishing, they struggled to find food. Many were starving. The future looked bleak.
These hardships included: the harsh weather, watching friends die, killing mass amounts of the enemy, and many more things that can slowly break down even the toughest soldier from the inside out. For example, the author describes a vivid scene after a group of soldiers and refugees had been under attack on Christmas and were now looking for supplies. A man named the Baron Charles de Radzitsky d’Ostrowick had gone into a house in search of water. Toland describes what the Baron sees; “The Baron sickened as he stepped over the debris to the door. Here thirty bodies-American and German-were stacked as if for future reference. He picked his way through the human refuse to the courtyard. Outside, bodies were so thick he climbed onto a wall.” (275)
She said, “I will save you!” and she hurled the water at the Witch. Dorothy then trips on a silver nail, on the wooden floor. She falls faintly and passes out. Dorothy has a concussion and her soul detaches. The flying water lands on the Witch and her soul ends up with Dorothy’s soul in limbo.
She describes the situation in Nadia’s families’ village and shares their hopes for more opportunities in the United States, where they could make a better life for themselves. When the opportunity presents itself, her family is hesitant, but decides it is best for everyone. Before leaving, Nadia’s mom tells her she must cut her hair and become a boy saying that “[she] needs to know that [she’ll] be safe” (68). Accompanied by many family members, they pull all their money together and made way for a drainpipe that would take them into the new world. The idea of this new world is glorified by all the people, however they do not know just how treacherous the journey really is. Experiencing advances towards her cousin Anita and the painful injuries acquired from the journey on foot, Nadia and her family continue on with “feet [burning] with agony” and being allowed minimal food and water (96). Food shortages plagued the walkers and they are forced to ration the remaining food into miniscule portions. The author uses the families’ struggles to show the plights of those crossing the border. In many instances, people are unable to eat for several days at a time in order to save the food. As her family makes their way into the drainpipe, they are once again forced into less than sanitary conditions; “There was a distant sound of trickling water and something occasionally scampered past my bare feet” (164). As they approach the end of the drainpipe, they feel hopeful when they see light, but quickly realize it is nighttime and their fate of returning to Mexico was unavoidable. Boehlke once again does not voice her direct opinion, however she portrays the awful conditions people go through that no one should have to experience. Topics such as poverty and hunger engulf the lives of hardworking people in search of a better
"That's the principle that governs all things. In alchemy, it's called the Soul of the World. When you want something with all your heart, that's when you are closest to the Soul of the World. It's always a positive force" (80). Anything I've ever wanted to happen bad enough, there has always been a way for me to achieve that goal. Or an alternative that could be more beneficial appears. Except, I wouldn't quite call it the Soul of the World. I'd call it the will of God. Both Santiago in "The Alchemist" and the priest's son in "The Water's of Babylon" worked with the Soul of the World or the will of God. Whatever one calls it, the Soul of the World or the will of God, it is an unstoppable force. If there is a will there is a way.
As the skeletons fell onto the soil that which they fought on, all of their bones that were cursed by Dr. Dee went everywhere on the ground, although when everything calmed down you could still tell which bones go to which body. As the team of four cheering on “ We did it, we beat the army of skeletons.” “ We can’t be celebrating right now” Nicholas exclaimed in a urgent voice, “ Dee is liable to get up and send the army on us again, so let's get out of here!” Doing as Nicholas said, the squad went back to Scatty’s mother, “My mother can do anything with mirrors, she has a teleporting mirror that can put us anywhere we that we want” Scatty telling the group as they sprint to the old rickety house, “so I was thinking about going to Paris, because” just before she got interrupted by Nicholas “It was where I grow up, although it has been four hundred years since I’ve been there.” Scatty didn’t
“Another Avalanche!” Carter yelled to his sister. Having practised avalanche evacuation drills hundreds of times they knew to go to the small village’s safe hall. The village that Carter and Sadie lived in was in the middle of snowy Alaska next to mount kompus. Running over the crunchy white snow to the hall, Thoughts where racing like nascars at full pace through my head. Will our village survive, I need to protect my younger sister, will mum and dad survive this harsh weather? Sadie and I sprinted to the hall and sat down quietly. The towns leader marked the roll, since there were only 64 people in the small village we would automatically know if someone was missing.