Diary Entry: The Premature Burial

As I ran, I felt my foot come down on top of a moss filled rock, and I knew I was in trouble. The slick moss ripped away from the slab of granite and it sent me flying. I knew the fall would be inevitable, and took the it as best I could and prayed for some luck. Branches ripped apart my face, snapping from the contact. Blood flicked up into my eyes. My shoulder made contact with the trunk of a tree as the rest of my body dug into the mud. My legs flipped up over me, crashing into piece of granite bulging out of the ground, pain traveled its way up my leg.

Burial Rites by Hannah Kent is a story of a woman, Agnes Magnusdottir, fighting against society’s opinion of her as she struggles to redeem herself. Agnes is portrayed as a woman who is struggling against the patriarchal system that seems to imprison her. The audience is positioned to feel sympathy for Agnes throughout the novel as she explains her harsh childhood through her conversations with Toti. We are also positioned to feel sympathy for her as Kent describes the way that she is treated by the men in her life, particularly Blondal and Natan. By the end of the novel the audience is positioned to feel angered by how Agnes is forced to struggle through to her final breaths with very little sympathy shown to her by the dominant characters

The text Burial Rites written by Hannah Kent focuses on the true story of the last woman to be executed in Iceland, her punishment for playing part in the murder of two men. She is sent to wait out her days on the farm of a district officer, Jón Jónsson with his two daughters and wife. Naturally, the family are horrified to have a convicted murderer in their midst. Borne from this, the family refuse to talk to her. A young man, Toti is appointed as her spiritual guardian in the last days of her life, throughout the text, he attempts to redeem her soul by asking her to recount her life.

Edna St. Vincent Millay’s “Thou famished grave” and “Mindful of you” both include the themes of death, however, “Thou famished grave” uses the personification of a grave as a starving beast, diction to add imagery of starvation, and an image of a strong will to live to show the resentfulness and bitterness that the speaker has towards death, while, “Mindful of you” uses the imagery and personification of the four seasons to remember someone close who has died, to express that although death may take people physically, but they live and are remembered through memories.

I have always wondered what happens when people die, does their soul leave their body instantly or stay to see what happens. I guess mine sticked around because I feel I sudden jolt in my chest and my lungs greedily suck in oxygen. My eyes open to see my mom and someone unknown by her side. The sudden scent of bleach reaches my nose as I realize that I am in the hospital. I don 't know how much time passed since I was conscious. I try to talk but only a croak comes out of my dry lips. My mom gives me some the water on the bedside table and starts to explain what happened. From what I can decipher from the words in between her sobs is that the ground collapsed beneath me, and I fell into a sinkhole.

‘Regardless of their social position, the characters in Burial Rites feel powerless.’ Do you agree?

The issue concerning the long battle between Native Americans and scientists seems to go back as long as scientists have begun studying the evolution of the human race. Generally the bones being study come from thousands of years ago and the Native Americans believe strongly that these remains belong to their ancestors. They do not agree at all with the scientists studying their remains and believe that their remains should be given a proper and final burial. In many Native American cultures, this final burial is the way to allow their ancestors to leave this world and to travel into the afterlife. It is a way of putting their soul to rest and allowing them to gracefully depart from this world. But if their remains are being studied and picked apart; the Native Americans believe that this will disturb the path of crossing into the afterlife and could potentially have a bad effect, as well as being very

Death, the momentary nature of life, the reminder that life can be taken from us at any given time. Anyone who is at the face of death wants to grasp onto any sort of hope, particularly being at war where there is a certainty of death. These are all ideas and themes explored in Kenneth Slessor’s sonnet, Beach Burial. The poem is not your typical glorified heroic notion of soldiers losing lives type of war poem, instead encompassing the uselessness of war and its dehumanisation of people. Slessor’s poem is a touching tribute to the soldiers who fought for Australia in World War II. The soldiers risking their lives fighting for their country were at the face of death, it was inevitable they were going to die serving their country. Beach Burial is an ideal inclusion in the Red Cross Anthology as the reader senses both hope and despair through a series of clear and observable literary techniques of theme, emotive language, poetic devices as well as imagery and symbolism. These techniques are used to convey his message, which can be analysed with a view to better accessing and therefore understanding the notions of hope and despair.

A morbid melancholy stole over me. Anxiety gnawed at my heart. I was a living corpse. There was a feeling of chill in the air every day as I felt. I faked illness so as not to go to school. Despair hangs heavy in the stifling air. It was a dreary day for me , cold and without sunshine. I dread people and always avoid people. The door was locked from the inside. A cold grey light crept under the curtains. The windows were secured with locks and bars. The room felt cold and sterile.The flowers faded for want of water. A single lamp was suspended from the ceiling. The clock ticked louder and louder in a quiet room. I regarded the room as a refuge from the outside

Medieval China, as seen in the Stories from a Ming Collection, was characterized by distinct separations between men and women’s abilities, typical old fashioned family structure, and a desire to advance their social status. Throughout all the stories in this book, it dives deep into different aspects of how men and women are treated, how families were structured and how that affects their lives, as well as the values these people held. A very common trend in the stories was how different men and women were treated and the limitations they may or may not had.

I woke up, like a corpse rises from the grave, my bloodshot eyes flooded with tears. The cool air lulled my throat, dissipating the faint memory of a raging fire and loathsome vultures

I slipped beneath the surface of the pool of grain, my hands sticking straight up over my head as I held my breath, preparing for death. I was preparing for the world to go silent. This was the exact situation my father had warned me about, and I had fallen victim to it despite that. Fourteen years old as of two months ago, and death had already come for me. Or so I thought. I felt firm, callused hands grasp my own, plucking me from my grave. The relief was wonderful. I drank the air in, filling my burning lungs with as much as possible. I almost laughed out of sheer happiness – until my eyes met my father’s.

Confused, shocked and fear filled my mind as I lye on my side, gasping for air, trying desperately to stagger onto my knees. A sharp pain suddenly ran up my spine into my forehead and quickly I collapsed back onto the cold damp floor inside this mangled metal coffin in which I was trapped in. Bit by bit I moved my hand closer to my forehead, trying to impede this massive throbbing that was affecting my head. I skimmed my forehead and paused my hand on a huge gash. The pain shot into my head again, but I was able to clutch on to the seat and hold my balance. There was blood pouring down the side

It started with a chill, each vertebrae vibrating one by one up my spine. Then the heat, my face flush and palms clammy. I could never keep up with my breathing, for it seemed as though each time I breathed out, I needed more air almost immediately. Soon, my mind was flooded with unsettling images, a new one appearing nearly every second, each worse than the last. Everything that I found comfort in was now an enemy. When will this end? My body could not keep up with the trembles and I could not resist the urge to scream. Was this room always so small? My eyes grew indecisive, darting across the room, until the capillaries within them bulged so greatly that I clenched my eyelids shut. Then, a long, deep breath.

I stared in horror – that wall was stained with gruesome blood stains. What the smell was became all too obvious and I felt the need to vomit… that motion put away and forgotten in an instant when the shuffling of feet rustled behind me. Panic. I turned around in a blur, my eyes huge and watering. My stomach stirred in the slightest. A lamp? Indeed, a tall standing lamp radiated a warm light only a few metres in front of me. Was it real or a figment of my abused mind? Curiosity would get the best of me, lending me a tiny spurt of energy to boost me on my feet. Teetering footsteps led me forward cautiously, random tremors reminding me of my weakness. The lamp was close enough to touch, its friendly warmth the only hope in the world to me. Basking in it for some slow seconds, I wondered, maybe there were more things in the room that hadn’t been revealed to the naked eye? Turning sharp on my heel, I let out a blood curdling screech as I came face to face with the most horrific thing I had ever seen. Huge fly-like eyes took in my paling complexion, and a lopsided smile of stinking razor sharp teeth mocked me. Rancid skin that looked like the algae layer that sat upon a swamp bubbled and oozed, trickling down a sharply shaped ‘face’. Flight or fight reaction chose the obvious option and I turned back again to run. Where, I did not