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Literary analysis everyday use
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Recommended: Literary analysis everyday use
Arissa, a British poet, had gotten into deep trouble; one wrong turn down the road and she would have to accept the fact that death was approaching her, very soon! This is her story.
As Arissa and Nicholas, Arrissa’s younger brother, a mechanic, were headed on their way home after a late night party, they were about to encounter a real thrill, their last one! While they drove, Arissa had a sense that something dreadful was going to happen.
As they went down the empty- deserted highway it started to rain quite heavily. Arissa could hear the spattering of the raindrops crashing onto the window. Slowly she started to shut her eyes, due to exhaustion.
Suddenly, because of the abundant rain and wind, Nicholas lost control of the car. Twisting and turning, unable to gear it, they landed in a place neither of them knew.
“OH MY GOD! Sweet baby Jesus! Wh-where on Earth are w-we?” Arissa asked cautiously. “I… have...no idea!” replied Nicholas in terror.
Puzzled and frightened, Arissa pressured her brother to make a right turn. With all the screaming and heavy breathing from Arissa, it caused Nicholas to follow her instructions, which he rarely did. But, it wasn’t the right turn, it was a wrong turn, a wrong turn down Slang Hollows Lane!
As the car slowly made its way through the dark-creepy lane, which was surrounded by a swamp and dead trees, supernatural events started to happen!
When the car started to make unusual noises, Arissa knew that couldn’t be good. As the noises increased the car slowed down. Several seconds later it finally came to an abrupt stop right in front of a sign. This brought shivers down Arissa’s spine; it read: “You have successfully reached half way through Slang Hollows Lane.” It was then Arissa knew tha...
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...d a devious serpent smile on his face, that made Arissa feel as if her spine was replaced with ice. It was no mistake on Arissa’s part. That ghostly figure was holding a solid-pointy axe in his hand. IT WAS DEFINITELY AXE MAN!
As Axe man slowly approached Arissa she knew that there was a possibility of her surviving if she made a run for it. So, Arissa turned back, preparing to run as fast as she could when, suddenly, Slang Worchay came right in front of her. He became infuriated. He yelled in his deep-shuddery voice, which gradually increased in volume. “You dare to ESCAPE ME?!”.”No…b…u…,”stammered Arissa, unable to defend herself. SLASH!
The last thing Arissa saw was a little shine of the reflection from his axe! Once again, Slang Worchay demonstrated his uncontrollable temper and unforgiving nature I grew up with everyday.
Alan Shapiro was born in Boston, Massachusetts, on February 18th, 1952. He is the son of Harold and Marilyn Shapiro. Growing up Shapiro was a part of a Jewish household. Shapiro received his education at Brandies University. While attending Brandies University he discovered that his one and only passion was for the astounding art of poetry and he found an escape from all the devastating disasters he encountered in his youth (Garbett). Shapiro is also now an educator at Stanford University and he has also worked at Northwestern University and the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. As Shapiro conveys in many of his works after researching Shapiro’s life it is known Shapiro’s brother and sister both died of cancer while Shapiro was very young, and these events highly contribute to Shapiro’s work as a poet. The memoir that Shapiro wrote which was entitled Vigil is about the tragic death of his sister due to the unfortunate events of being diagnosed with breast cancer. As it is well known Shapiro’s poems are very tragic and sorrowfully oriented it is no fault to say that different people happen to react and cope with death in different ways and Shapiro expresses his sadnes...
The author then looks back upon the time in his life when her mother decided to drive Hunter Jordan’s old car. However, she didn’t know how to drive, and was generally afraid to get behind the wheel. On that day, she drove crazily on the road, and declared to never drive again. James McBride also reflected on his life up to a teenager, who knew that bad things would occur in the not too distant future if he didn’t change his ways and behavior.
...ed the narrator have they seen Al because his bike was on the ground. The narrator was speechless and is thinking to himself “I wanted to get out of the car and retch, I wanted to go home to my parents’ house and crawl into bed” (par. 33). Also when the lady asked them if they wanted to take some drugs and party, the narrator just looked at her and said “I thought I was going to cry” (par. 35). Before these events, the narrator would have partied with the girls but now after going through these experiences, he realized he isn’t bad as he thought himself to be.
During the nineteenth century there was a vast amount of blood and trade between southerners and the Yir Yoront. At the heart of all the blood and trade rose the steel axe. This single piece of equipment played a vital role in the society of the Yir Yoront. This item became more and more used by the Yir Yoront for wide array of reasons.
“Lysander!” the voice boomed, waking the lad from his peaceful trance, and sending him tumbling off his hammock. “A chariot comes near! Get goin’, ya rascal!” Lysander was dragged up off the ground by his ear. He looked up to see another scraggly boy, with flaming red hair. Lysander hurried to follow the red-haired boy, keeping sight of his freckle splattered back as he rushed to lead the way through the brush. They ran for the main road that passed through their forest.
Road I descended a hill and came upon a narrow bridge. The car went off
• AW has had some problems of her own; she was very depressed after an abortion in senior year at college. She slept with a razor under her pillow for three nights as she wanted to commit suicide. Instead she turned to writing and in a week she wrote the story “To Hell with Dying”. She only stopped writing to eat and sleep.
“August 2000, our family of six was on the way to a wedding. It was a rainy day, and Gregg was not familiar with the area. The car hit standing water in the high-way, and started hydro-planing. Greg lost control of the car. Then, the car went backwards down into a ditch and started sliding on its wheels sideways. After sliding for 100 feet or so, the car flipped, at least once. After flipping, the car came to rest on its wheels, and the passenger window broke out.
Now I had the old car racing down the road and off the ridge at something close to 80 mph simply because that was all the speed I could wring out of it. I'd made one turn, but there was one more ahead before we entered the valley and the town that lay astraddle a creek. The next turn was a sharp, banking left-hander, edged by a dozen or so white posts laced together by steel cables, and oncoming traffic was obscured by a little hill.
At 80 miles per hour, the 1968 candy apple red Corvette streaked effortlessly through the gentle curves near the edge of Texas hill country. It wasn’t a loud sound. Not loud enough to frighten him, but it was loud enough for him to take notice and fill him with anxiety. He immediately clenched the steering wheel a little harder as a wave of near panic shot up his spine. Then, just as quickly as it surfaced, it subsided. A slight, but unusual vibration began to emanate from somewhere within the heart of the car, or so it seemed. He glanced in the rear view mirror, saw there were no vehicles for as far as he could see, and decided that he would pull the car over to the shoulder. At that precise moment, the concrete ribbon twisted sharply to the right in a nasty hairpin curve. It snaked around in a desperate curl that’s caught him by complete surprise, and he stupidly mashed the brake pedal much too hard. The tires screamed noisily as they painted heavy streaks of hot black rubber on the narrow concrete roadway. The tail end of the car began to swing around, and instinctively he twisted the wheel to the left to steer into the skid. This action was now bringing him too close to the left-hand shoulder where large, protruding boulders threatened destruction to his car. Just a few feet beyond the rocks, the road dropped off into a deep; seemingly bottomless chasm. He cursed aloud for allowing the turn to surprise him. Then just before the unavoidable crash into the rocky shoulder, he took his foot off the brake, turned hard to the right and with earnest passion, stomped hard on the gas pedal.
Auto Wreck is an ominous, grim, and disturbing poem written by Karl Shapiro about death, fate, coincidence and the envisioning of reality. In this harsh poem Shapiro describes an awful car accident where many people ends up dead. He flawlessly employes a unique imagery and language that gives the reader a clear and true sensation of the terrible mishap. The author makes us feel as if we had seen and even experienced the car collision ourselves. Although it may see that the main focus in this poem is death, which is one of the most important, the poet also throws in the way he and everyone else saw everything after the accident, how their emotions changed, and how they envisioned reality afterward. Shapiro not only acknowledges and makes vivid the deaths that just occurred and how different people reacted to it, but he also discusses how much of an accident it really was, how someone had to be guilty and if anyone was really innocent at all.
"While the priest was blessing the house as the family move in, a strange masculine voice clearly said to him "Get out!" As he drove back to the rectory, the hood of the priest’s car flew open, smashing against his windshield. One of the welded hinges tore loose. The right door flew open. The car stalled. The priest summoned a friend for help and later the friend called the priest and said, "Do you know what happened to me after I dropped you off? The windshield wipers, they began to fly back and forth like crazy! I couldn’t stop! I never turn them on! What the hell is going on?"
Disappointment, disbelief and fear filled my mind as I lye on my side, sandwiched between the cold, soft dirt and the hot, slick metal of the car. The weight of the car pressed down on the lower half of my body with monster force. It did not hurt, my body was numb. All I could feel was the car hood's mass stamping my body father and farther into the ground. My lungs felt pinched shut and air would neither enter nor escape them. My mind was buzzing. What had just happened? In the distance, on that cursed road, I saw cars driving by completely unaware of what happened, how I felt. I tried to yell but my voice was unheard. All I could do was wait. Wait for someone to help me or wait to die.
I had driven home this way a thousand times before, but today would be different. The misty rain made the road slick as I steered the car through the slow, wide curve. It may have been the setting sun in my eyes, but it was probably a combination of the loud song on the radio and the slight yawn that escaped from my mouth. Regardless, a momentary distraction was all it took as the tires hit the damp gravel. The wet rubber and slick stones triggered the car to slide off the road to the right. In a panic, I jerked the wheel to the left, over-correcting the slide. Swerving across oncoming traffic, my car jumped over the drainage ditch and smashed down into a neighbor’s front yard. Continuing its dangerous journey, the car destroyed a lamp
Suddenly, I snapped awake. It really was the day of my party, and it really was pouring down rain outside. I trudged out of my room and had breakfast, all the while staring gloomily at the storm raging outside.