Descriptive Essay - Hatched Roof The Height Of The House Of Cats

Sweat dripped down my face as I tried as hard as I could not to move a muscle. I heard the latch on the wooden door open. “What’s in here?” demanded the slave catcher, questioningly. “Oh nothing, just a - a few pots and pans,” she stammered. The slave catcher slightly opened the door.

Giving me only a fleeting look at the woman whom had transformed into a beautiful enchantress under an aura of shimmering sparks. The soothing image melted away almost immediately as the excruciating pain seeped through my veins. leaving me writhing in pain. Elongating every muscle, adrenaline pulsates through my veins with loud booms which seemed to magnify with each beat, but it didn’t stop. “I do not see kindness in your heart, you will soon learn how it feels like to be judged by your appearance” the enchantress hissed. Thick hairs began to sprout expeditiously over the surface of my entire body. Possessing razor-sharp claws and fangs, I gasp and stagger to catch breaths that were out of reach. All of a sudden an intense piercing pain shot up my neck making its way into my eyes, distending them, clouding them, then colouring them a sinful shade. “Please, I’m sorry, make it stop!” I begged but I saw no mercy in those cold black eyes. As I stumble backwards I could almost sense the twisted pleasure radiating off her skin with not a flinch of guilt. It felt like needles and burning irons were scalding my body. Then a rush of crimson tincture flooded through me, slowly, drowning my nerves leaving no trace of human trait, Until finally, I was called a

"This isn't some joke, or some play, where she's going to get up the second we leave, or the curtains drawn and bow to the audience. The woman is dead Olivia, slaughtered like a calf. I don't think you realise that." His eyes found hers, and the anger dissipated, his tone becoming one more of disappointment, then excuses. "Now, let's get on our way. I don't know what came over me, I must have imbibed too much last night, but this stench isn't helping me. Having recovered some of his composure, and ensuring his back remained to the mess on the doorstep, the man managed to force a smile, "A hair of the dog will be just the trick, and I know just the place." If the East End was good for anything, it was for the ability to indulge your vices, at any hour of the day, and the equality it offered. God Forbid, some of the drinking establishments even allowed

When I open my eyes, I see him sitting up in bed, cross-legged, staring at me. His head is cocked to the side, a strange expression on his face, like he’s never seen me before. His orange eyes examine me in a way I’ve not seen since I first met him.

Throughout my critique for Cat on a Hot Tin Roof I will mention the many different elements that make up the play. Williams’ message about deceitfulness and family issues are portrayed through the characters, themes, and setting. Those are all factors in getting Tennessee Williams’ message across to the audience.

He had dark hair, which was slicked back, exposing his forehead. He rolled a piece of paper in his fingers – about the size of a chewing gum wrapper. He wore eyeliner; just a little, drawing you to look into his eyes. Oh, his eyes. They were darker than his hair, but not quite black. I stared at them a little while longer. It was something about them which made them look as if he was looking at me. He wouldn’t look at me though. I’m plain Jane, or I might as well be, with my hair the colour you are never sure is blonde or brown, and my eyes, a blue grey. I blinked. He was stood in front of me, his hand hesitantly rubbing my forearm.

My wild eyes lock onto his, he sees through me, held in the hostage of a trance. Hot tears trickle down at the new pain.

He licks his lip, and my eye’s falls right on his lips. Lord, those lips can get it man. I take in his appearance as he continues to watch me lustfully. He had on a dark navy shirt that clung to his muscle, making his muscle pop out more. The silver chain was big enough for me to see as I now look down to see he had enormous silver and black watch on his wrist. His black pants made his ass look good and firm as he walks over to the couch, I was shock his pants weren’t sagging like other niggas do.

So I took in his features. I let his beauty take over my thoughts as I memorized every detail I could see. Plump, cartoonish pink lips that draw back as he bites down on his calloused fingertip. Wavy dark brown hair that is pushed back from his face, creating a perfectly careless style that sits on top of his head. Vibrant, forest green eyes that I only see when his vision flicks to the top of his book's page. A crease between his brows that shows up when he pushes them to meet, a deep crease that shows years of focus and confusion, telling me that he's an intelligent thinker.

I dropped my corset on the floor and said “Good," I smiled with a devilish look, feeling the confidence of his stares. I went and sat on the edge of Bjarne’s bed and opened the herb mixture I had made. It was nearly noon and it was hot and humid in the Meadery. With my back to Bjarne and little of the mixture in my hand, I smoothed it over my thighs down my calves and back up my hips. My hips caught the eyes of men and Bjarne was no exception. He couldn't even look away. "Bjarne" I said over my shoulder while I fluffed my hair behind me. "Can you put some skin cream on my back?" I laid down face first on his bed before he could respond. He came and stood over my exposed body and picked up the bottle, I could feel his excitement even though I couldn’t see him. "Are you

The thought now, of his face. Seems indifferent now, as if wasn’t more than a humble dream.

His jawline is as sharp as a glass shard against the tanned skin of his slender neck. His thin lips are tainted periwinkle pink and form a thin line. The hair sticks to his damp forehead forms a fringe from his left ear to his right ear. The fringe creates a semi-circle above his arched eyebrows just as it was styled for him earlier. Each strand is placed along the half circle and is teased as if to create an effortless look. His light brown eyebrows also form semi-ovals above his eyes. His eyebrows are shaped and plucked to detail and leave no hair under the eyebrow nor above. His aquamarine eyes look down at the insides of his arms as a tear rolls down his cheek. As more tears threaten to flow over the threshold of his eyelids, he slides the sharp razor over the tender skin of his left

Warmly I embrace thee with such an immensely lustful tenderness that I have at last realised that it is uncomplicated for you to overlook the torment I voraciously endure. The blank obscurity in my gaze is overlooked and neglected, all at the fault of the gleeful adumbration I have rashly stationed upon my own shoulders. It is of my own culpability, though I am nonetheless perplexed at your sanctioned naïvety. What right have you that permits this? You do not even attempt to comprehend the matter anymore. Is this but a malevolent deception that everyone I’ve met is associated with? I wail thunderously in agony, yet you only seem to detect the tranquilest of murmurs. Leisurely you seize my sanity on innumerable occasions, provoking my

Memories of his hand pressed against my cheek last night, move through my mind, making my cheeks warm. I’m about to look away, but his eyes catch mine and it’s too late.

He has even called me the fairest in his eyes. Such a compliment is quite honestly a waste upon me. But he declares it is not, that I am a waste upon the complement. I do it too much justice. I stare at his hair, not wanting to meet his gaze. His gaze is just so intense I cannot even begin to imagine the effect it will have on me, other than causing me to have