The train clattered along the track, its shrill bursts of steam and grinding gears matching the snaps and misfires of her internal wiring. Though they’d done their best to assess and repair the damage, the asylum simply wasn’t equipped to deal with the intricate mechanisms of an e unit. Especially one with battlefield experience. Anne fussed with the leather clasps on her handbag, grateful for its weight on her lap as it fixed her in place. In this world, because she was nearly lost in memory. If she’d been capable of speech when she’d arrived at the asylum’s imposing double doors, she would have saved them the trouble. A bit of time and her programming would mend what human hands could not. Once her restoration program was complete, she’d …show more content…
be all that she was, and then some. Instead of a rush of relief, the thought brought on a dizzying stab of fear. Anne placed a hand over her heart and stared out at the dust and decay slipping by the passenger car windows. The view brought on a pang of grief. So much had been lost. How did the pure humans do it? Go on everyday at the mercy of their emotions? She’d forgotten their raw strength. Little wonder e units came with a detachment option. How else could a cyborg-human hybrid complete its duties and stay sane? It appeared she would be the one to find out.
Either she’d find a way to manage her newfound state, or she’d go mad and compromise her efforts to seek refuge in the neutral zone. “You mustn’t tell anyone what you are, not a single soul,” the asylum matron had warned. “But what am I?” she’d asked, memories a whirling fog of anguish, bloodshed, and the shrill cries of the dying. “A weapon. A secret.” The matron’s gaze softened. “And a spirited young thing who deserves a second chance.” She spun Anne to face the long mirror embedded in the wardrobe door. “This red hair of yours will draw enough unwanted attention, best to keep it restrained.” Parting Anne’s thick locks down the middle, her fingers set to work creating two simple plaits. When she finished, the matron eyed Anne’s reflection. “You’ll pass for twelve. Eleven if you’re lucky. Never set that hair free, my dear, or the jig’s up.” She loosened the braids at the nape of Anne’s neck. “Be sure to always hide the mark.” Anne gently traced the brand at the base of her hairline. A lowercase, italic e made of an intricate crosshatching of black lines - her model and serial number. The pattern unique to Anne, each e unit could be tracked and located with a single scan by one of the Magistrate’s …show more content…
enforcers. Once safely in Avonlea, an insignificant farming town deep in Providence’s neutral zone, Anne just might be able to build a new life. One without blood on her hands. “Providence has its share of extremists too, mark my words.” The matron snapped, bringing reality back with the subtlety of a parasol spike to the temple. “The island may not be a target. Not yet, but how do you think it’s gone unscathed this long? Those potato fields have many eyes, child. Best remember that as well. If even one of those hoe wielding farmers discovers the truth, they’ll turn on you like feral dogs.” Thus far, Anne had been able to keep up the pretense. Even earning the protection of the Providence Island Line train’s elderly porter, a stooped man with a curling grey mustache and sorrow buried in the frown lines that etched his features. “I see you’ve spotted them,” he said now, leaning over the back of her seat to peer out the window. Lost in her thoughts, Anne had indeed been observing the approaching riders, but only now realized the threat they posed. Six men on horseback, racing alongside the locomotive with faces hidden under faded bandanas. Highwaymen. Outlaws. Rebels against the Magistrate and all he stood for. They funded their cause by holding up trains, neutral zone, or not. Statistics and probability outcomes flooded her network as suppressed military protocols surged and failed. Sharp stabs of fire lit through Anne’s mind. She gave a moan of distress and clamped a hand over her mouth, holding back a wave of nausea. “Not to worry,” the porter said, misinterpreting her actions, likely guessing she was simply afraid. And she was. But not of the would-be robbers. If her programming triggered, this journey would be well and truly over - for everyone on board. “Once we hit the double tracks, the conductor will initiate an Express order.” The porter withdrew a small gold watch from his waistcoat pocket. “Any second now…” The thunder of hooves audible over the pulsing hiss of the train’s steam engine attracted the attention of the travelers on Anne’s side of the train. Faces pressed against glass. “They’ll steal my new bear,” a child’s voice from a few rows ahead. “Nonsense, son,” his father said. “They’re after the mail car, or the treasury. Teddy’s just fine.” The highwaymen’s shouted instructions and a few warning shots fired into the air had gasps of alarm ringing out through the passenger car. As if in response a rumbling built underfoot. “Hold on,” the porter called out and Anne clutched her handbag tight to her chest. The entire car jolted and surged forward as the train launched into Express. Passengers who’d been foolish enough to stand and gape at the highwaymen were blasted back into their seats. In seconds the riders were nothing more than black specks in the distance. A rhythmic shimmy settled over the locomotive and the sudden force eased. “Three cheers for the conductor!” A man bellowed and relieved laughter, along with a few appreciative rounds of applause rang out from the passengers. The porter gave Anne one last smile, then continued along the aisle to check on the wellbeing of the other travellers. It took much concentration to relax her grip on the handbag. Her knuckles had locked onto the fabric as if clenched around a weapon. If it ever became fully functional, her programming would dictate she return to the frontlines. Precisely the reason Mrs. Spencer, the head of the asylum, had hacked her system and deleted specific protocols. The attempt alone should have resulted in a full shut down, but thanks to the bullet still lodged in the human portion of her brain – effectively scrambling key coding – the hack had been successful. But at what cost? Now that she could feel again, was bombarded with emotions at every turn, she wanted no more blood on her flesh-covered mechanical hands. Never again would she fight battles so long ago waged that no one remembered what they were fighting for. She was the first e to have free will with impunity. Well, the first to her knowledge. Such infractions would hardly make front page news. Not that the papers reported anything other than what the Magistrate wanted survivors to know. “Avonlea station. Avonlea.” The porter called. The train chugged and huffed to a stop. Passengers chatted amiably as they gathered their personal belongings and exited from the train car. Making her way to the door, excitement churned in her stomach even as dread clawed up Anne’s spine. All she had to do was step down onto the platform and into a new life. “Can I help you with that, miss?” A smiling gentleman in Providence uniform asked, holding out his hand for her carpetbag.
“No thank you, sir,” Anne said, twisting out of his reach and hopping from the train. “There’s knack to holding it, if you don’t mind.” She glanced over the near empty platform. “It appears I’m to wait for my ride.” The thought wasn’t oppressive. Avonlea was a variable paradise. Gone were the wastelands of the outer provinces, replaced by lush grasses, strong and tall green trees, and a bright blue sky as far as the eye could see. Bees hummed and birds chirped amongst the treetops. Instead of recycled oxygen, here the air smelled of sunshine and warm apple pie. “Train’s early,” the stationmaster said. “Do you wish to go inside to the lady’s waiting room?” Hope lodged firmly in Anne’s heart. “I do believe I’ll wait outside. Right there on that bench.” She grinned. “So much more scope for the imagination, don’t you agree?” “I suppose…” the man muttered, but his doubt was lost on Anne, who’d already plunked down on the bench and was staring up into the heavens with unrestrained joy. She had done it. She’d left pain and terror behind and stepped into the light. Nothing would take this new world from her. No thing. And no one. A tremulous smile pulled at the corners of her mouth. Avonlea had a new protector. Lord save them
all.
“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.
The speaker in “Five A.M.” looks to nature as a source of beauty during his early morning walk, and after clearing his mind and processing his thoughts along the journey, he begins his return home feeling as though he is ready to begin the “uphill curve” (ln. 14) in order to process his daily struggles. However, while the speaker in “Five Flights Up,” shares the same struggles as her fellow speaker, she does little to involve herself in nature other than to observe it from the safety of her place of residence. Although suffering as a result of her struggles, the speaker does little to want to help herself out of her situation, instead choosing to believe that she cannot hardly bare recovery or to lift the shroud of night that has fallen over her. Both speakers face a journey ahead of them whether it be “the uphill curve where a thicket spills with birds every spring” (ln. 14-15) or the five flights of stares ahead of them, yet it is in their attitude where these two individuals differ. Through the appreciation of his early morning surroundings, the speaker in “Five A.M.” finds solitude and self-fulfillment, whereas the speaker in “Five Flights Up” has still failed to realize her own role in that of her recovery from this dark time in her life and how nature can serve a beneficial role in relieving her of her
...ke a person experience a 180 change. It seems as if Mary Anne Bell’s a person who’s lost her cute personality after she was just too involved with the war that was going on. It has been said that a war can truly change a person so much that they can lose all their old characteristics or better yet their appearance. This quote was used to show how Mary Anne was starting to act grim and unusual. Also, this quote showed how different she speaks to her boyfriend and the ways she even finds her joy everything was and is different. This was unusal as Mary Anne because she obviously she loves her boyfriend a lot, but the unusual things is that not only is it that her personality changes but her appearances started to change also. Mary Anne’s appearance was just different and weird because it seemed as if she was just able to adjust her living styles to a common soldiers. “
Anne’s escaped the Nazis and anti-Semitism and went into hiding in the Annex. During her time in the Annex Anne grew in maturity. Very suddenly she was forced to undergo the change from a fairly free
The story opens by embracing the reader with a relaxed setting, giving the anticipation for an optimistic story. “…with the fresh warmth of a full summer day; the flowers were blossoming profusely and the grass was richly green (p.445).”
...away with the negatives. Anne said, “We’re not the only people that’ve had to suffer. There’ve always been people that’ve have to…sometimes one race…sometimes another…and yet…” (Goodrich and Hackett 117). The reader is amused with the way that Anne keeps her composure and a positive outlook throughout one of the most horrendous times in this world’s history. Anne contained the endurance and willpower to kept striving to freedom. Anne Frank withheld a special characteristic that no one could take away from her, and that is why Anne Frank is who she is now. Anne set a standard to young women to show that they can be courageous and strong like her, and to have a bright spirit even when you are at your lowest. Anne set the example to show that whether you are a girl or boy, old or young, you can be brave, and you can push through tough times with a little help of hope.
She could see in the open square before her house the tops of trees that were all aquiver with the new spring life. The delicious breath of rain was in the air. In the street below a peddler was crying his wares. The notes of a distant song which some one was singing reached her faintly, and countless sparrows were twittering in the eaves. ( This description of the scenery is very happy, usually not how one sees the world after hearing devastating news of her husbands death.)
In Margaret Atwood’s poem, A Bus Along ST.Clair: December, written in Susanna Moodie’s perspective, presents an idea of nature against civilization; in addition, Susanna Moodie’s pioneering settlement. The title suggests that aboard a bus, a transportation for modern society which carries nemorous people to a new destination, along ST. Clair. In addition, bus on the ST.Clair street runs from east to west which associates with Susanna Moodie’s immigrant experience that she move to Canada from Scotland through a ship. Now, she is carried by bus on ST. Clair street from east to west. This poem is the last poem in The Journal of Susanna Moodie written by Margaret Atwood; it serves a backward looking on her past and interpretation to civilization of city. ATwood utilizes some common motifs which also appeared in other poems in this journal to show Susanna Moodie’s different feeling and changing of the inside of her mind. Furthermore, this poem uses figurative language such as imagery and simile to paint the picture of character’s mind to reader.
In The Author to her Book, the author’s tone changes multiple times throughout the story making it quite clear where she stands and how she wants the reader to feel about each sentence she writes. By analyzing the words and images Anne Bradstreet uses and depicts, it clear she is frustrated and annoyed about what is happening based on what the speaker says in the poem.
Signs of the depth of the narrator's mental illness are presented early in the story. The woman starts innocently enough with studying the patterns of the paper but soon starts to see grotesque images in it, "There is a recurrent spot where the pattern lolls like a...
On Anne’s 13th birthday she got a few presents along with a diary that she got to pick out in the local bookstore. She wrote every day to her imaginary girlfriend that she named “Kitty,” about her experiences she had gone through. Anne wrote,
Anne was not a very good student. She did not like school at all. She could not focus on her studies and her disobedience towards her teachers made them talk to her parents to seek for a counselor. But, her parents did not take the teacher’s advice. Anne’s parents sent her to a boarding school called Rogers Hall in Lowell, Massachusetts. At that time, she started writing poetry and acting. Her beauty charmed many men towards her. At the age o...
After reading this book, we were forced to look at life in a different way. The luxuries that are provided for us that we take for granted, like money, cars, a house, food, and even rights, were all put into perspective. ?We couldn?t use street cars, go to the theater, couldn?t be out past 8 PM, couldn?t even sit in our own gardens. We had to turn in our bicycles; no swimming pools, beaches, or libraries- we couldn?t even walk on the sunny side of the street.? This is a quote from Anne?s diary. This just touches upon some of the many simple luxuries that were robbed from her and her family. Today, most of us would blow a casket if we were so ?inconvenienced? as to not be able to drive a car, stay out past midnight even, or not to be able to enjoy sunlight. At one time or another, especially during the summer, each and every one of us makes a...
She helped the woman regain her footing and heard herself automatically uttering words of encouragement. The passengers in the carriage – mutual strangers, ordinary people going home after a day’s work – now chattered away as if they had known each other for years, as if they believed they could work out this problem together, face a common danger which they could only vaguely apprehend. . . . they huddled close and pressed against each other,. . . Koula wondered at this strange crowd in which she now found herself so intimately absorbed. It was as if she saw her own image multiplied a thousandfold – an image of humanity enlisting all its resources in an effort to bear up and behave rationally. Tears streamed down her cheeks.
... feel of walking through the park on a crisp winter day—by exaggerating them and bringing them to the forefront. They had gotten lost in the routine of everyday life. Joyce’s novel is meant to do the same thing; it brings beauty and the reaction to it to the forefront through Stephen, giving the reader a frame through which he or she can recognize the forgotten beauty of his or her own surrounding world.