Descriptive Essay About Jacks Monolog

There were bad days and worse days, I don’t think any could constitute as “good”, but some were definitely better than others. Some nights I was only left with a small scratch, or a drunken slew of words meant to berate me. Others, I was beaten to within the last inch of my life. I became all too used to the feeling of the ground, cold, yet so familiar. The wood tensed with every movement, as if it was flinching, mirroring my own actions. I would lay there, salty tears merging with open cuts, and I wished he would follow through on his promises to kill me. That would be the first time he followed through on anything. But, it wasn’t his actions that hurt me so much as it was his lack of remorse. There were no apologies or meaningless condolences, nothing that shouted “I have an inkling of a conscience” . He was hurting me more often than not, and I was left to pick up my own broken

I walk into my room and throw my bag carelessly on the floor. I’ll study later. I don’t go to my bed but move over to my window and stand there, not knowing exactly why. I open the windows, and even though it’s the middle of winter, the cold wind is most welcome here. I feel my hair blowing around my face and I know it’s going to get impossibly tangled but I don’t care. My lips are dry and too thin top isn’t doing much to keep me warm but I still don’t care. I’m not really sure where my thoughts are taking me but I’m already gone.

The year was 1942 right smack dab in middle of World War two. One of many spies was out in his humble 1,200 square ft house. Jack, as very few people knew him wasn’t always like this, exclusive, irritable, longing for a friend. Jack probably the best artist ever, he was always being hounded by fans and reporters, until he was painting with some very flammable paints, when a very unaware man came in and started to smoke long story short he caused the Paint to explode in Jack’s face. He was rushed to the hospital and he was fine but horribly scarred. He later that month faked his death so people would stop coming to his house. All was calm and had been for many years. Jack slowly becoming lonely but not letting himself know. He was listening

I lie in bed and stare in fixed fascination at my night light. I miss you in the most unusual and unexpected way. My fingers itch to type and hit ‘send’ sweet words and late night confessions. The need to be understood at 2 am and the longing for unreal kisses on my cheek intensifies. I want to say a lot, but I don’t know if I should. How strange it is what I am craving. The false impression of presence in the persistence of absence.

“Mom I’m home” said Jack “Jack Run…” said Mom in pain “Mom where are you?” said Jack Down came a man running to the doors that Jack came from. I was walking late at night just about to pass Jack's big house like I usually do, a man rushing out from Jack's house, as he ran past me I hear a “cling” my hand suddenly investigating where the noise came from. As I pick up the object a light shine on me, it was Jack. “You--You killed my parents?”

Waiting in the courtyard with my band one last visit before they go off to college, a representative of the Emily Program walks towards me explaining what the procedure was. Knowing the other two would pay attention I look around at the surroundings and in the corner I notice an orange tree, I wonder if that is where Skylar sits when she gets a free period. A caramel hand slips into mine and I look up to see the pianist pulling me with the representative into the building. As we walk through the maze of corridors we stop at a room, or a jail. The gray room is eerie and as we step into the room we see Skylar, her frame dwarfed by the band shirt she’s wearing. Hearing the door open she looks up her face hollow and her eyes no longer hold the same sparkle. As my eyes catch hers the wish that I was stronger for her resurfaces, as if she can sense my thoughts she quickly raises and beckons me to her. Three strides and I hug her pulling her frail form into my body. Her bony hands hold me close. I feel her thin lips near my ear and her husky voice brushes against my earlobe, “You are so strong, I’m sorry sweetie I was weak”. I feel the guilt and self-loathing that has built up finally leave my body as I clung to her frame. Knowing that she never blamed me, I was finally able to accept my actions, as those of a child, a child scared and afraid to lose the person that meant the most

As I set up in the bed, my phone decides to go off. I should turn it off, but I just look at it stunned. I can't believe it, I beat my alarm. After A few moments. I swing my legs over the side of the bed turning the alarm off as I do so, I stand up. then out of habit. I walk over to the dresser, I know it's pointless, none of my clothes are in there at the moment, I think to myself. However, my face turns into surprise when I see what's waiting for me.

You tried to go to work last week, but as soon as you leave your house you end up somewhere you should not be. On Tuesday it was the bar Rachael works at. She’s told you to stay out of that part of town. You got lost on the way home. Wednesday it was the grocery store. A woman screamed when you appeared. You left quickly. You’re not sure where you went on Friday, but it was dark and damp and smelled of rust. You curled up and cried until you found yourself back at home, crouched in the bathtub.

Every person is given a chance in this world to create a life desirable and suitable for oneself; a meaningful life with a mission and purpose. However, what happens when that purpose slowly fades away and one loses oneself in the process? What happens if one feels trapped and isolated in an oppressed society? This is the exact situation where the narrator finds himself in the Fight Club. Trapped in the society’s materialism, and unconsciously molded to fit into its norms, “Jack,” the narrator, loses touch of who he really is. Jack’s internal and social conflicts are conveyed through the concepts from the Reader’s Digest, a magazine where the organs of the human body talk about themselves in the first person. Themes of emasculation, isolation, materialism, self-expression and freedom from the society develop from “I am Jane’s Uterus” and “I am Joe’s Prostate”, and ending with “I am Joe’s Hard Drive” (Fight Club 58, 205). These statements are part of a captivating transformation within the narrator, which symbolisms become truly significant throughout the story.

"What's happening?" she asked, but this time her words were heavy, and became intense. I stood up for a moment, meeting her eyes with mine. I let out a sigh as I glided down the wall and sat down. "Nothing," I whispered. "Go back to sleep while you can." I could see her tremble as she pulled the rotten cloth over her head and turn to her side, ignoring the stench and forcing herself to fall asleep.

In order to avoid this conversation and time off from work, Jack just went to his doctor's appointment during his lunch break. His problems started after he got back to work from his lunch break. As soon as he got back to the office, he saw his supervisor was sitting on his desk. Jack and associates all seat in one room, they do not have their own rooms, but more like their own desks that are next to each other. At first, he did not understand why his superviser was sitting at his desk and why his coworkers were avoiding the eye contact with him. Did not take long until his boss started to harshly criticize him in front of his colleagues. For the first few minutes the supervisor was loudly yelling without saying was the problem. Jack was very

It’s 7am and my parents are coming at 10am. There is no better joy in knowing I get to leave. As I wait for the time to pass by, my thoughts begin to run. I wonder what my home has been like these past phew days. I wonder how angry my father is or how happy he will be when I get home. Will he rape me again or will he beat me till my skin tears open? My life could be so much worse now that I came here. I won’t be protected by these walls anymore. Time flew by and Samantha calls me over. They are here. She gives me a hug goodbye and tells me never to come back again. Laughing, I realize I didn’t say bye to Noah, but it’s too late. I am going

In chapter 12, Golding presents Jack as an ambiguous character. This is evidenced in the line “A little boy who wore the remains of an extraordinary black cap on his red hair… changed his mind and stood still”. Golding uses the word “little boy” which suggests that Jack has become vulnerable and is now a child. He has changed from being a villain and gone back to who he originally was. The use of the word “changed” suggests that Jack has realised he has made a mistake and starts to show remorse. However the word “black cap” could suggest that he hasn’t fully changed, he may be embarrassed. After the war, people realised that they have done something bad and yet even after that they still go on to commit evil things. This is Golding’s way of

Tears dripped down from my eyes to my cheeks like a waterfall. I couldn’t stop it. I had made a promise. I clung on tighter, maybe that meant she wouldn’t leave. “It was going to happen anyway Tara, don’t beat yourself up about this.” She said in a hushed voice. It didn’t matter what she told me, I had promised to make her not move, to somehow convince her family that leaving was the worst idea. I hadn’t done it. I had failed. I looked down at the floral sheets as I hugged her, I never wanted her to go. I wanted to take in everything for that moment and keep it, locked away somewhere safe. This was the last time I’d see this room, with her endless books in her bookshelves, her intricate coloring books overflowing. “We can still keep in touch”

It was past noon when my rest was interrupted by the harsh bright light from the large window across the bed. I looked over to see that it was my wife standing beside the window, holding the heavy fabric curtains to the side and allowing the intense daylight to flood into the small bedroom. She had a look of disapproval atop her face as she scoffed and walked away towards the kitchen. I got up quickly after, knowing that her attitude would only worsen the longer I stayed in bed.