I stepped out into the bright, frigid landscape. The blinding light was infernal. It was ridiculous going to a place that cast me out so easily for something couldn't change. I refuse to change it. Those antisemitic swine could go jump in a hole. I don't need them. I glanced behind for a moment. The warm, inviting billet I had called home for the past month had been my safe haven. It was owned by a man who had betrothed himself to a woman. She enjoyed housing the soldiers no matter what their faith. The husband shared the same philosophy. I marched off from the house. I focused on walking, just walking. I strolled down the dirt road, encumbered by the many books in the sack slung over my shoulder. I was an avid reader before the war. I spent my summers in the shade of trees with books in my hand. I indulged myself in each novel, poem, or newspaper. I longed for those days. …show more content…
She was skipping cheerfully through the thin layer of snow. Her head and all her hair was buried under a large wool hat and her body was cloaked by an even larger jacket. In fact, everything looked large on her pale, scrawny frame. “What is it, child?” I replied with no emotion. “Are you a soldier?” I nodded. “Is it because of the decree? That's why my daddy is a soldier!” The child seemed proud of her father. She never knew that her father was another waif. I didn't have the heart to tell her. “That's great, kiddo.” I forced a smile. She smiled back. “Have you seen him?” “Afraid I haven't.” I tried to continue my walk into the town. “Wait mister!” The girl tugged my
I also don't own the idea, it was requested to me by the wonderful Amanda. Thank you so much! I hope I did this idea justice.
At the same time: Snap-Whoosh-Growl-Snap-Whoosh-Growl! Return with a fierceness, causing the rest of the men to separate into two groups with some moving to the left in search of the origin of the beastly sounds and the others moving to the right, combining their numbers with those searching for their missing brethren, while Gottlieb stays behind.
Celie believes she has no power or say against her father and the choices he makes for her. Alfonso begins to talk about choosing a husband for Celie because he has grown tired of her and is ready to get rid of her. Alfonso also gets bored with his wife, and starts to gravitate toward his younger daughter Nettie again. Celie offers herself to Alfonso in an attempt to save her sister. Alfonso accepts her offers and has sex with her instead of Nettie, while his new wife is sick. Alfonso uses Celie for sex tries and in an attempt to turn the other girls against her he badmouths her and says that she’s a bad influence. He says Celie "ain 't fresh" (isn 't a virgin) and that she is “spoiled” Alfonso sees women as objects and once they have been
Richard Wright, in his essay “Discovering Books,” explains how reading books changed his outlook on life and eventually his life itself. The first book that widened his horizons was an overtly controversial book by H. L. Mencken. I have a story not so dissimilar from his.
When I Glanced inside the torn cardboard box that had “Family room” I discovered one of my mom’s old book named Petals on the Wind written by V. C. Andrews. While she was putting her already read books on the empty oak bookshelf, I asked her “would I be able to have this book?” Despite that it was a book above my reading level, she generally smiled and agreed. Over the years while we sat there watching television, my eyes would wonder like an antiquarian over to the old and new novels. Having my imagination running wild and wondering what type of adventures or mysteries lay inside. My family was firmly about education, with a father that was completing up his Masters and a mother who was continually reading, they both pushed us in the same direction.
My earliest memories can be found at the hands of paperback novels. Books were my escape from the world around me. The thrill of being able to leave behind the world and it’s baggage and enter another that books provided captivated me, and left an impact on me. The emotion I experienced solely from taking a small step into another person’s story was unlike any I had felt before. I desperately wanted others to feel what I had felt, and love whatever I had become entranced by with the same passion as I did.
I packed my things into a small U-Haul. We were leaving the town I had always known, Houston, to go someplace I barely knew, a small town named Navasota. We moved when I was four because my parents wanted us to experience a small town like they had grown up in. Would I find new friends? Would the people there like me?
Prologue 2015 – Villa Forenza Senior Apartments Las Vegas, Nevada You would think that a woman surrounded by so much drama in life, wouldn’t go nuts over people knowing she was found catatonic—but you'd be wrong. When ‘Crazy Ava’ learned that the biddies of Villa Forenza had stared right inside of her door as paramedics treated her, she was livid. “You were directly inside the open door, lying on the couch,” Blanche Davis told her. Blanche was a woman who had been in style a century ago.
As a child growing up in a rural county, I didn’t have soccer practice or dance recitals; no play dates or playgrounds. I had trees to climb, woods to explore, bikes to ride and adventures to be had. I had bare feet in the grass, wincing on the gravel driveway, rocks digging into my soles. I had walnuts to crush, plums to eat, flowers to pick, bugs to catch. I had my little brothers to bug me, my mom to take care of me, my dad to laugh with me and my grandparents to hold me. I had books to read, worlds of words to get lost in. I had Saturday morning cartoons, Sunday morning church, and fireflies to catch every night.
I remember vividly, scrolling through the isles and shelves of books looking for my next adventure. I had already read Swiss Family Robinson, and Robinson Crusoe, so I regarded myself as an accelerated reader compared to my classmates, but the task I was about to undertake would prove far more daunting than anything I had attempted thus far. As I walk throughout the isles I see the books getting thicker and thicker. I thought to myself that maybe
It’s unlikely i’ll outrun them for long so the only chance I got is to ditch them and hide.
I remember opening the worn library copy of the book, eager to start. The spine cracked and bent, the smell of aged paper filled my nose, just as any other old book before. Little did I know that this 180-page novel was about to change my life forever. I was completely
His father brought home books by the pound at The Dutch's pawn shop, Goodwill, Salvation Army, and the Value Village. With extra money he bought new novels at supermarkets, convenience stores, and Hospital gift shops. Their house was filled with books in the bedroom, bathrooms, and living rooms. His father loves books, so he decided to love books as well. He picks up his father’s book before he could read. The words were a struggle for
Jessica My father is a football coach for a private secondary school in London. I'm his only daughter, Jessica. I'm forever with him during practice, games, whatever it may be. Only I never do anything, he has an assistant that assists in training the boys.
When discussing the poetic form of dramatic monologue it is rare that it is not associated with and its usage attributed to the poet Robert Browning. Robert Browning has been considered the master of the dramatic monologue. Although some critics are skeptical of his invention of the form, for dramatic monologue is evidenced in poetry preceding Browning, it is believed that his extensive and varied use of the dramatic monologue has significantly contributed to the form and has had an enormous impact on modern poetry. "The dramatic monologues of Robert Browning represent the most significant use of the form in postromantic poetry" (Preminger and Brogan 799). The dramatic monologue as we understand it today "is a lyric poem in which the speaker addresses a silent listener, revealing himself in the context of a dramatic situation" (Murfin 97). "The character is speaking to an identifiable but silent listener at a dramatic moment in the speaker's life. The circumstances surrounding the conversation, one side which we "hear" as the dramatic monologue, are made by clear implication, and an insight into the character of the speaker may result" (Holman and Harmon 152).