Essay About One-Night

I woke up on the very edge of my bed my blankets tossed on the floor and my head buried into a pillow. I groaned as I pushed myself off the bed picking up the blankets and laying them on the mattress. I stretched my arms and yawned as I walked over to my bathroom and twisting the knobs trying to find a perfect temperature.

I don’t reply and I don’t do what he wants. There’s no way on earth, I’m listening to him. His arm constricts around my neck and I gasp for air, dizziness flowing through me. I wonder how long I can hold out, but I don’t take that chance. “Alright,” I gasp, angrily.

Night is an autobiographical novella written by Elie Wiesel a young jewish boy who tells of his experiences during the Holocaust. Elie is from the small town of Sighet, Transylvania. This book begins in late 1941 and chronicles Elie's life through the end of the war in 1945.He had two older sisters, Hilda and Beatrice Wiesel and a younger sister, Tzipora Wiesel. Elie spoke many languages including Hungarian, Romanian, German and he grew up

Before I can begin to plead again, a big, course, calloused hand covers my mouth, a muscled arm bands around my middle, and then I’m lifted off the ground, and hauled away. My screams stifled, my struggles futile.

He catches my fist, his big hand overwhelming mine and twisting it back. A whimper barely escapes my lips, as he knocks my hand down and his fist collides with my upper stomach. I double over, gasping for air, unable to breath. Breath, my brain yells at me in a panic. And in that panic, I reach for his knife on his belt. He sees me coming from a mile away.

We went outside of the building to hail a cab to take us to the show. Fortunately, a cab arrived fairly quickly. After we entered the cab I looked outside my window for a while, I couldn't get myself to turn and look at him. My legs were twitching with nervousness. I felt him slowly move closer. He gave me this sort of bizarre yet lovely stare, than put his hand on my chin and pulled me towards him. I quickly gave his hand a light slap and pulled my head back, hitting the back of the seat.

I woke up in an unfamiliar place. I felt warm and safe, but I wasn’t sure why. Then it came to me. I was home. Not just one of the foster homes I had been in before, but a real home. A forever home. A place where I had a mother and a father, and plenty of food and clothes for me. I looked over to where my sister was sleeping peacefully on the bed next to me, and joy made my whole body feel warm.

The sun was filtering through the curtains when I woke up. It didn’t even feel like I’d been asleep. I stretched and fell back on the bed.

the bed that held me, and the window-shade at my head was flapping softly in a warm

Robert Frost’s “Acquainted with the Night” reveals that when in a state of isolation, there is a lot of personal identification as well as personal issues leading to be presented. The poem is in stanzaic form, meaning that it is a series of stanzas, which are repeated units having the same number of lines and a similar rhyme scheme. There are five stanzas, with three lines each except for the last stanza, which contains two lines. The rhyming pattern of the poem is an aba bcb cdc dad aa. This rhyming scheme is identified as a “terza rima.”

When I first read Night first thing that came to mind was the story seem more of a tragedy. However, I wanted to challenge myself and find humor in what I was reading, a genre that I am not familiar with in regards to writing. I looked at the words and read them differently, with a sense of humor, to me the author seem like was mocking her father, (Pokrass, n.d.).

I walked over to one of the me on the floor, he appeared to be middle aged, raven black hair and pasty white skin. I held my hand under his nose, no breath. I tried slapping him. No reaction.

He stood there, not quite sure what to do with himself. I can see the minuscule twitches in his muscles as he is trying to decide where to move. Eventually he saunters over to where I am, and stands above me. Again, I can see he was just about to sit down, when he decided he wants to feel dominant in this situation. I can read him like a book, every single movement he makes. Am I going to be able to have this beautiful understanding of anyone else?

The hand on my shoulder slipped off slowly and gently but that action only ripped away all the bliss and comfort from it, bringing back the cold to my body.

It was three o’clock in the morning. Outside the window, the sky was still dark. There were barely any stars in the sky, and no cloud cluttered. The sky was painfully dark and motionless. Except for the faint light from the moon, everything seems lifeless. In a dark room, there was a girl sitting up on the bed, leaning on the wall beside her. She was looking out the window. Through the window, the girl can see the sky and the top of some buildings, however, nothing special or attractive. But, the girl has been staring at it for almost an hour now, silently and peacefully.