Butterfly : A Short Story : Princess Eclipsa Butterfly

In the Time of the Butterflies Essay During the setting in which In the Time of the Butterflies by Julia Alvarez is written—20th century Dominican Republic—a woman’s body was seen as a disposable object to men. However, the Mirabal sisters choose to go against this gender stereotype and instead express themselves in their own way, using it as a form of expression to show their involvement with the revolution. In Butterflies, Alvarez uses the female body as a symbol to fight against societal restriction placed on females—the more significant a change in the body, the more involved the sister was in the revolution.

In Julia Alvarez’s novel, In the Time of the Butterflies, she uses hyperboles, point of view, and word choice to depict how Minerva’s original caution to help her father’s family later changes after discovering their poverty. When Minerva meets her father’s other family, she is extremely conflicted because she wants to care for her new relatives, but her support is clouded by anger towards her father’s betrayal. When her father is put in jail, she is given the job of delivering a month’s payment to her father’s other family. While delivering the money, she sees the poverty that the family lives in and it “tears [her] own heart to shreds” (Alvarez ln 5). Julia Alvarez, uses this hyperbole to depict Minerva’s change of heart. Alvarez uses the word “tears” to show

In “ In the Time of the Butterflies” written by Julia Alvarez, Minerva’s kind actions towards to Senor Mirabel mistress and her four daughter shows a better understanding of her character. Though she did not approve or agree with her father’s decision she understood it was not their fault. Even with the gender inequality in Dominican Republic Minerva also wanted to make education a possible privilege for her half sisters. Minerva actions show how she is considerate and strong sense of fairness towards to her half sisters. The first action that shows a better understanding of Minerva’s character is when she first meets her half sisters they are on the street in raggedy condition,and she asks the girls who their father is and if they have a brother?

“In the Time of the Butterflies” by Julia Alvarez fictionalizes the harrowing lives of the Mirabal sisters, who came to represent an underground resistance against the dictator of their native Dominican Republic, Trujillo. Though the Mirabal sisters were indeed real and parts of Alvarez’s novel reflect true events, this is a fictionalized account of what these sisters faced throughout their lives. Readers know from the beginning that three of the four sisters will not survive the regime, but they were shown to be noble warriors for their people throughout the novel regardless. Alvarez utilizes immersion, tension, and point of view to weave a unique story of survival and strength in the face of opposition.

In the Time of the Butterflies is the fictional story about a family but the twist is that they didn’t end up a family in the end. A family, the Mirabals lived in the Dominican Republic. Three of the sisters, out of the four died. It opens in 1994 with a woman interviewing one of the sisters Dede. Asking her questions about her martyred sisters.

I trace my friend’s steps in the lanky grass, I’m wearing wear long pants even though the Sun is buffeting me; I need the fabric to shield my legs from the arrowhead-thorns aiming towards me in the narrow, man-made path. We dodge a tree branch hanging 4 feet from the ground, and finally, we enter a place only few people know about due to it’s magnificent hiding skills. My friend goes her own way while I absorb this new scene, I look at the stream laying a foot in front of me, glistening with sunlight like a bedazzled dress of a dancer, I spin my head towards the peaceful wind, I see a strip of wood connecting

She knew Solas would disapprove once she had come back to the camp, how going off on her own just to settle her wanderlust was hazardous, considering the less than satisfactory company that roamed the woods. But until twilight- where she would undoubtedly be lectured, she was her own woman, free to dance around and embody the wantonness that called to her, centuries old spirits of her people calling to her homesick soul. Her wild motions pulled her from the main path to a clearing, trees winding in a circle around a centuries old grave marker. A giant tree that seemed to touch the very

Crisp, chilly breezes tugged at the brown and red leaves which lay on the slightly frosted ground. A forest of trees dressed with orange leaves allowed the wind to move their branches, some of those leaves detaching from their spots and gliding away with the cool draught. Grey clouds float in the sky, showing no threat to rain. This casts an eerie yet calming glow upon the forest below it. A figure, Ali Whiteman enters the silent forest, appearing to just be a young woman. Her thin, pale hands are gripping the opposite sleeves of her over-sized white sweater as she meanders around the expanse. Her black leather boots cause what little frost has formed on the ground the crunch audibly with every step.

Once I’d reached the edge of the forest, I stood in front of the tightly knit trees while staring deep in the darkness ahead as if begging permission to enter. Moreover, I respectfully stepped into the massive realm of woodland, conversely from the first footfall the whole atmosphere changed. The ground was spongy, like walking on foam. I put my full weight down, accordingly the earth seemed to hug my sneakers while gently releasing with each step. Autumn leaves from the tall trees lay scattered on the forest floor; each of them in brittle brown; there was a sound like dried cereal being crunched underfoot, pushing their papery remains deep into the soft soil. The dark shadows of the voluminous trees, also the surrounding bushes had become the backbone of the forest, standing as passive protectors in a peaceful place. The sweet surrendering scent of the morning dew filled the forest with a scent that did not belong on earth.

A loud snapping splintered the silence of the woods, ricocheting off stones and water. Unnatural and wrong, it made the trees sigh in pity, for they were the only ones who knew the end to this particular tale. A girl stood in the midst of the silence, a playful smile gracing her rosy lips as she clutched the wooden stick tighter in her grubby fingers. Beneath her feet lay a twig, snapped cleanly in half from the weight of her body. A feral growl escaped her lips as she twirled, wild honey blonde hair flying, and another loud cracking resonated through the unnatural quiet as wood hit wood. The girl circled the tree and snarled at the gnarly oak. “Surrender now, Titus and maybe I shall let you live.” There was no response to this bold claim and so the girl jumped, a fire in her eyes, slapping the stick against the bark with such a force that it split in half causing the girl to stumble back and fall onto her knees.

It is in autumn that this stasis is best seen, as the world curls up to nap beneath snowy blankets and the forest’s creatures dash about for food and shelter. In this place between places all lies silent and calm, no deer traipse through to nibble at withering clumps of grass, no chipmunks rend the air with their curses. In this place the forest opens, grey brown trunks and boughs of needled pine and cedar giving way to a stately bower of birch and alder trees, their surfaces alternating between black, roughened scars and silvery smooth bark . As summer fades these trees flower, their leaves a fire of reds and golds swirling like flames as they dance through the air. Beneath these flaming branches black mud oozes from between mist darkened rocks and crumbling branches, clinging

The school that I did my Kid-watching at is Oaks Christian School. The child that I did Kid-watching with is a female. She is in a four-year-olds class. To keep the little girl identity safe, I will call her Butterfly. Butterfly is a smart, fun loving little girl. She was an amazing student to observe.

On a very warm, muddy day in the forest of Nowhere, Rachel Springfoot bounded through the trees on her quick feet. She ran as fast as she could on top of the thick layer of moss that covered the forest floor. She sprinted past her favorite climbing tree, her many braids, large and small, streaming out behind her. She smelled the wet dirt and leaves of the forest. She stopped, out of breath, at the tallest tree of her quarter. She started to climb. Watching her climb was quite interesting because she just jumped and never stayed in one spot very long. She just bounced on different branches, often doing flips and tricks along the way. After only a minute or two she came to the top of the tree. The sun was just setting and there was a

Our story begins with a sleeping butterfly. The colours of his gorgeous wings pierced through the desolate background of the abandoned jungle like a delicate ray of sun. Usually, this butterfly was always awoken by the unusual sounds of the jungle: the screeching of monkeys, the soft hum of all the insects, the flapping of wings. This day, he was awoken by pure nothingness.

I wandered leisurely along the shadowy paths, enjoying the peaceful surroundings. With only the songs of birds for company, I felt completely isolated from the crowds and traffic as I walked over the deep carpet of leaves. It had begun to rain a litt le when I first started my journey. However, small patches of sunshine soon began to filter through the