A Story Of Death : A Short Story

The most important aspect of the Latin American culture has everything to do with honor. Women have the biggest responsibility when it comes to honor. Losing your honor might undoubtedly portray as the worst deed in this culture. In a Chronicle of a Death Foretold the author Gabriel Marquez demonstrates the horrifying actions taken when losing one’s honor. The purpose of this paper is to analyze the events that occurred in the novel and compare them to the same the culture and also the outcomes of going against your religion in different cultures.

Religion defines death by portraying ideas of legitimacy to life and, therefore, providing shelter and meaning to death. This essay will explore death through socio-historical lenses by identifying key death concepts in both Christianity and The people’s temple religions.

Traditionally, women have been known as the less dominant sex. They have been stereotyped as being only housewives and bearers of the children. Many interesting characters in literature are conceived from the tension women have faced with men. This tension is derived from men; society, in general; and within a woman herself. Kate Chopin‘s short story, “The Story of an Hour”, focus on a woman’s dilemma near the turn of the 19th century. Contradicting the “normal” or sad assumption of death, “The Story of an Hour” illustrates the significance of death representing freedom. The Story narrates about an hour of Louise Mallard’s life, as she tries to understand, and deal with her feelings of her husbands death.

Why was I the one to get pulled? There were so many people at the party and I was the one to get interrogated? My luck. The officer sat me down at a table in a bland room with non-transparent glass. He sat down across from me and looked at me with a death stare. After about a minute or so, he said “ Hello Mr. Khalifa, I’m officer Marcus Hopson”. I sat apprehensively thinking about what to say. “Okay well you already know what you’re in here for, so start talking” Hopson said. All I could do was look down. Once I decided to talk, I said “What are you wanting to hear from me?”. Hopson laughed and turned around to look at me in the reflective glass. Looking at me more intensely in the glass, he said “Don’t play stupid. We know you were at that

That morning, (midday really, but shush) Dan Howell woke up in the arms of Phil Lester, who was none other than the love of his life.The other man had his arms wrapped tightly around him, and was breathing softly into the nape of his neck. Smiling, sleepily content, Dan snuggled down, falling back to sleep in their little bubble where everything is soft and warm and good.

Dying was never a good thing, especially when they were someone that you had kwon for such a large percentage of your life. Killed in cold blood was an expression that I knew rather well, it was an expression that I had caused, the amount of people I had shot, stabbed, struggled or whatever else was a huge amount. It was something I wasn’t proud these days, but I use to be so glad when I saw a face of someone I didn’t like lying at the bottom of my feet. The expressions frozen on their face forever. I remember when my dad died, I was eighteen I never got to say goodbye, and the body was lost. Loosing someone wasn’t as bad as seeing everyone else who was still here expression.

There I was, moments ago, on my deathbed at twenty years old moments ago and now here . Too soon to go some would say and it looks as though some greater deity agrees, because here I am waking up in the bed I slept in when I was five, i looked around for any hints to what was happening and saw a scroll with my name written in calligraphy.'Ruby,' it said, 'as you may see you are not in Heaven or Hell. We feel as though you had gotten on the wrong path by one minor mistake. You were supposed to sit with your neighbor, Leon, your first day on the bus, but your bus driver changed the seating arrangements too late for us to notice. That was a mistake on our part, you see when humans are born they get assigned a group of our people to help guide

When I was in third grade I got suspended. It was my fault, I got suspended for two things. First reason was I hit my teacher with a flying pencil top eraser. The second reason was because me and my friend was not the most appropriate people in our school. We were always doing something bad.

The holograms should’ve warned us to take a deep breath. Close our eyes. Then again, the holograms should’ve done a lot of things. Like told the truth.

People often use concepts like religion, honor, and reputation to mask their true intentions and berate others under the façade of a social contract. In both ACOADF and TVOMWEW the townspeople are morally vacuous so they subsequently use religion, honor, and reputation as guises to exploit and torture outsiders. Chronicle of a Death Foretold The tenants of both of the towns in Chronicle of a Death Foretold and TVOMWEW use the cover of religion to act with no morals. Religion in both stories is not regarded as sacred, but instead a tool to further one person or disadvantage another.

It was a fresh, cold evening on a wednesday afternoon during the legendary Cinco de Mayo celebration at Mexico. My family and I were in the living room finishing up a minor snack while Cory, my sister, was upstairs reading a book for her 11th grade of high school. The house was a real beauty, decorated with state of the art furniture, appliances and perfect symmetry. I had just finished washing my dish when Cory hollered,”Gonz come here,” she had called me to help her hold her small paper project she was doing. As I walked into her room, I could see her perfect curly hair going down her back, with her big round, sugary eyes impatiently waiting for me to get there. She would always spend time with me in my good and even bad days.

"Come on Phil," I heard a familiar voice and stopped dead in my tracks. It could be, could it? No way. NO WAY! I reached over to Carissa who's attention was averted else where and whispered " Dan and Phil just walked in be cool and act like you don't know them," she looked up from the shirt she was folding and a slight squeal erupted from her mouth as she saw the two tall, pale, Brittish boys, who had just entered the store. We where the only ones there at the time except for our boss who was probably sleeping in his office so Carissa and I were alone in a store with Dan and Phil. "Breath," I had to remind myself, "they're just people, go talk to them!"

We all have a secret we would never tell anyone. Not our closest friends, not our parents, and certainly not even our spouse. Most of us have several secrets we would never reveal. But when we come face to face with our inevitable end of life, the urge to reveal those secrets to the one closest to us is overpowering.

Chronicle of a Death Foretold by Gabriel Marquez tells the story of the murder of a young man called Santiago Nasar. The novel is narrated by a man who returns to his hometown twenty seven years after the murder and attempts to reconstruct the events of the crime through the memories of other townspeople. Contrary to its title, Chronicle of a Death Foretold is technically not a chronicle. Instead, it is an amalgamation of the information the narrator compiles from the townspeople he interviews. Upon reading the text, the reader will find that the narrator is largely unreliable due to his personal relationships and biases which prevent him from relating the story with complete impartiality.

The thing about Love is that it’s a poison. It kills you slowly and beautifully, tricking you into thinking that you aren’t dying but finally living. Love is just the mask that Death wears to hide it’s painful truth for just a single moment of your life. A beautiful lie that lasts for a blinding, lighting moment before the world decides to come crashing down around you, destroying everything that you know.