I am helpless and powerless. I have failed in my duties of caring for my Queen. I have allowed her to slowly suffer in her tormented mind; I have allowed her spirit to crumble and her soul to be lost forever. I am simply a servant of my Queen; I have tended and comforted her since she married into the Macbeth house. Where as many young girls are worried about their pre-arranged marriage; so too was my lady until she saw Macbeth and swore that she had fallen in love. I have been there by her side for many years; I have seen her fall in love; I have seen her lose her loved ones. I was there the very day we drove away from her family, I sat with her the whole journey sitting quietly as I watched gentle tears fall down her face. It was that
The air was crisp and clean, as it was a mild autumn day. Throughout the forest, the sounds of nature could be heard. Birds chirping, leaves falling off trees in the midday breeze. The calm sounds of the woods gave way to a new sound: the gentle humming of a young female wanderer, on a quest to visit her grandmother. She quite enjoyed the sounds and view of the forest, as it was her favorite thing to surround herself with as she was growing up in the village not far from the forest edge. As she strolled through the winding paths of the forest road, she thought of the wonderful experiences of the day ahead with her grandmother.
In Adrienne Rich’s “Storm Warnings,” the progressive structure details the storm’s advancement, the imagery illustrates the surrounding environment, and the calm diction presents the speaker’s state of mind, depicting an actual storm as it nears and the metaphorical turmoil the speaker is experiencing. People hear storm warnings, however, as the storm unfolds, one can merely brace themselves since the storm is inevitable and light hope within them.
The sound of trickling rain, and the absence of conversation, permeated the air around us, as both Margaret and I remained stagnant in our positions of choice. My eyes took for Margaret before redirecting themselves along the line of sight that was occupied by hers; and it appeared as though the storm we were enduring was progressing north, and stemmed from the direction that lied behind the outskirts of our village. Rotating my body in surveillance of the sky’s coloration behind me, I took note of the impending clarity that would soon take place, as the colors that signified the sunset were meagerly seeping through the clouds. However, on the other hand, as I swiveled back to my original placement and scanned the skies to the north that rested
It was at the peak of the night’s darkness, fog covered the kingdom. The town was fast asleep, the King and his thanes were also out cold. There was an eerie sense in the air. It had almost been too long without any commotion. The kingdom, at the top of the Food chain, hadn’t been attacked for nearly two years now.
As the sun set into the waiting night, Birmingham, known for its steel and history decades past, fell into its usual routine. The city faded into dark, much like when a song reaches its end, and became lifeless except for the few couples and families huddling together along the sidewalk. The only light shining came from the stores and restaurants still open at the time, casting ominous shadows onto the street seeming ready to grab anyone passing by. The chill in the air was much like every year in November, raising the hair on the back of the neck and making the tip of a nose ruddy. The chill was accompanied by a breeze that whistled between alleyways and disturbed the few trees present within the city itself. Despite the near-winter weather,
A whirring sound came from overhead, encompassing the city, shrouding it in fear and apprehension. Grunts and groans, slurred and incomprehensible, emanated from piles of rubbish that littered the roads like mountains of devastation. Buildings, grey, dull and lifeless, lay still. A subtle wind caressed their faces, the breeze’s chorus a tune of sadness, whistling through the empty roads and alleyways. A faint rustle was lost in the dismal song, heartbroken and forlorn. Hidden in a dark, overshadowed alleyway, the wistful mountains shifted, groggily waking. Wrappers and squashed cans made way for a bright little face, silent and afraid in the heap.
“She wasn’t always the dark witch,” Gwen pointed out. She held a bundle in her arms. Beside her Lancelot admired the scene. “This is quite the gathering.”
The tiny town had become dark and the streets filled with confused neighbors. Around them, children were crying, people were screaming, lives were running. You could hear the clicking and dialing of the old
It was a stark night with an unpleasant breeze. The full moon was covered with gloomy clouds and there was nothing on the sky that could brighten the quiet and peaceful town. Owls hooted faintly and foggy weather made the mood more miserable.
Everyone feels alive at one point of their life. Douglas felt alive when he went fruit picking with his brother, Tom and his father. Throughout his summer, Douglas was filled with happiness and sadness. His best friend, John moved away and many people died like Colonel Freeleigh and Helen
“What is there for me to do? Fools will be fools, and there is nothing in my power to stop that, even I was some sort of sorcerer.” Ma argued, and they continued on. I tuned them out, and thought of the situation myself. Anyone who knew Ma would know that she didn’t even believe such things of enchantment, and I couldn’t think of anyone who would peg her for a witch.
It was late in the afternoon, and the light was waning. There was a difference in the look of the tree shadows out in the yard. Somewhere in the distance cows were lowing and a little bell was tinkling; now and then a farm-wagon tilted by, and the dust flew;
A Journey by Bus I Have Made Or, A Journey by Bus Occasion and planning: I was waiting for an occasion to go on a journey by bus. It at last came in the month of last October. A friend of mine lives in Khulna. He invited me to his sister’s
When flowers blossom from winter’s frost, the palm tree bride marries the whispering forest. Over Mamatuck village, mountains soared, their peaks frosted like the tips of meringue frosting. The moon, faded an opaque milky white, hung plump and low on the horizon. Behind the jagged mountain cliffs, the sun began to stretch its weary rays, blessing the earth with warmth and light. One by one, the stars twinkled out of the lavender sky and up into the cosmos, where they will wait until the moon rises again. Clouds began to swirl in the early morning heat like downy goose feathers escaping from an expensive pillow. Great waves of fog twisted down the steep mountain paths and into the village, where Lily awaited their