A Summary On The Film ' The Night '

Looming over me was a man in a blue pinstripe suit holding a leather briefcase. His wrinkled forehead displayed beads of sweat and stress was painted on his face. “Rise and Shine, Anastasia.” He said with a certain accentuated low-key moroseness to his tone, placing unusual stress on syllables and stressing the wrong parts of words. “Wake up, Anastasia” He continued, “Wake up and smell the ashes of your people.” I glowing blue eyes staring at me, observing every detail of my being. I called for my Mum and Dad, but they were gone. The world looked different that day. My colourful childhood home had changed to a bleaker and less welcoming brown, there were many planes in the sky, like birds flying south and there were bones and pieces of metal all over the ground. That was when I was deported to The Society. To my new

Ready Player One hits some of the same situations as in the holocaust or for the book that we read “Night” like taking people spread out over a good area and combining them into a small dense area. They both also touch on the topic of how when someone is killed or something is blown up now one raises an eyebrow or if they do no one does anything about it.

A succession of loud and shrill screams, bursting suddenly from the throat of the chained form, seemed to thrust me violently back. For a brief moment I hesitated, I trembled. Unsheathing my rapier, I began to grope with it about the recess; but the thought of an instant reassured me. I placed my hand upon the solid fabric of the catacombs, and felt satisfied. I reapproached the wall. I replied to the yells of him who clamoured. I re-echoed — I aided — I surpassed them in volume and in strength. I did this, and the clamourer grew

The night air was heavy with silence. Clouds drifted across a calm sky, and a full moon shone in the distance. In a small hut on the outskirts of the valley, an old man lay in bed, awake in the peaceful slumber of the village. His breaths came in rattling gasps, his forehead burned, and his joints felt stiff with pain. He shifted on the blankets, his withered hands clenched in fists as he tried to suppress the wave of bitter memories coming to him. His life had been nothing more than work, loss, tragedy. He remembered all of his hope, his ambition, in his youth, and he smiled bitterly. No one would remember him as the man that he had once hoped he would become. Now, as his breathing became heavier and he felt himself fading on the brink of

The night drew closer around the individuals who, some in dreams, some in panic, seemed to react to impending danger and turned, some to nightmares, some to an eerie calm, as those on death row that accepted their demise for what it was, an abrupt shattering of their existence. Be that as it may, however, some did not wish to go so simply. While some wished for a calm ending, but embraced nevertheless a less subtle end, that of fire and mutilation, others feared it for what it was, or what it could be. Some feared being lost, trapped in a dungeon of previously sound architecture, to watch the edges of their vision turn to the blackness of

With each impingement, he angrily moaned at his assailants. And, there was even one point in the short film… one moment where you could see him clearly… for just a second or two, an image that burrowed its way into my mind. His harrowed face, the jaundice of his skin, and sunken eyes. He reminded me of my grandfather in the last few days of his life before pancreatic cancer had taken him. How he had become a shell of what he had once been, a blackening peel decomposing before our very eyes.

The subject shuffled in, with his countless wrinkles, his hair peppered white and his threadbare clothes. However, despite his telltale destitute upbringing, unlike many other citizens, his eyes were still full of hope and life. Peculiar. Nevertheless, his value to the regime had diminished, as he could no longer contribute through work thus, he was a suitable candidate. As the drug was administered, the subject began to fade out of consciousness, his bright eyes slowly fading away. Breath in. Breath out. Silence. The whirring of the machinery seemed to dominate the silence, the white and sterile walls reflecting our distorted faces. Then the subject jerked to life.

"Different emotions battled for dominance in his mind and heart. Confusion. Curiosity. Panic. Fear. But laced through it all was the dark feeling of utter hopelessness." (6)

We apprehended them due to their dishonesty. They swallowed their pride and stood with the noose around their neck. I saw their muscles tense every time the rope would tighten. For the second time, I saw the stool vanish from beneath their feet. The crowd cheered again, but there were a few people weeping beside me.

I was in a dark, moss-ridden dungeon where the air vigorously hung with the scent of death and suffering. Chains lay on the cobblestone walls, with hammered metal shackles on the cracked stone floor. My lab coat collected dust like a dead old skeleton six feet under. The gun felt gelid on my temple, my scrawny legs were shaking extremely fast, I thought they would run away but I knew I could escape.

The group of men (Slim, Carlson, and Curley) had arrived at the scene. Slim and Carlson were both awed and in a state of shock by the imagery they were discerning at the moment.The image of a deceased soul case. Lennie’s skin quickly became deathly white, pulled tight against his bones with eyes wide open in a pool of palpable blood. A scarlet liquid had drenched his white shirt and flowed across his lifeless face.The light had left his eyes as the colour from his rosy cheeks vanished as if ice had struck

Scuttling innocently through the twisting corridors I bore the same expression; head down, shoulders hunched, avoiding any eye contact - my desperate attempts to deter the despot for one day at least. Despite my efforts, there was no escape, as seemingly within the second of having that naively optimistic thought, a cruel, callous voice demanded I surrender my broach. Fear spiked, as it always did, but with it came something else, an alien emotion ... Looking back now, I see that it must have been the cumulative effect of months of torment that brought me to the realisation that at this point I had reached the nadir of my life. Deriding cackles pierced my ears and this time I recognised the emotion, fury. It burned through my veins, along with the memories of the past to form a feeling of overwhelming power. I met the daggers that would usually invoke terror, and calmly, I said “No.”

“I failed to see to the burial of my family. They rot where they fell, the rats crawling from corpse to corpse. Fearing death myself, and knowing it is coming for me, too, I ran from home to home on our street and where there were the dead I took what coins I could find and stored them in my purse. A boy about my age lay swollen on the floor of one fine house by the port—his father was a merchant, I think—and I took his coat you see here, very fine, and washed the fluid that comes with death from the fabric in the sea.

The horrifying mood of the story is created by the use of evil word choice Montresor says, “A succession of loud and shrill screams bursting suddenly from the throat of the chained form, seemed to thrust

The dirt felt uneven as the wooden wagon shook and jumped and the wheels rattled and creaked. He saw white clouds and a blue sky. The world is not dead. The stranger sat up and saw the buildings. The corpses were gone, to his delight. A tear ran down his cheek, but he rubbed it off. The driver was a man in a grey cloak and hood. My hooded saviour. ‘’Your awake,’’ he said. The stranger looked forward. We’re still not out of the town. The stranger pinched his arm. Great, I’m still alive. ‘’I am sorry. I tried to get here, but I was too late. Garland found me and tied me up, but I managed to escape,’’ the man said. The stranger preferred to be silent, but he had to ask. ‘’Why?’’ The hooded man probably tried to