Exploring Essay : It's A Screaming Inside My World

In the story a young boy decides to go hunting in the night and goes through a revelation as he witnesses an everyday act of the battle between light and darkness as the sun rises. Although set in a different place and time, both authors express a common universal theme: life is a constant battle between light and darkness in our everyday lives. This theme can be seen through a compare and contrast of powerful symbols, transforming settings and misguided characters.

In Holly Wren Spaulding’s essay, “In Defense of Darkness,” her main claim is that we have fallen away from darkness and immersed ourselves in a society of lightness. Furthermore, she claims this has lead humans to lose touch with basic human emotion as well as the sensual and spiritual experience true darkness has to offer. Spaulding makes this claim evident through exceptional use of personal testimony and copious appeals to value.

The experience of darkness is both individual and universal. Within Emily Dickinson’s “We grow accustomed to the Dark” and Robert Frost’s “Acquainted with the Night,” the speakers engage in an understanding of darkness and night as much greater than themselves. Every individual has an experience of the isolation of the night, as chronicled in Frost’s poem, yet it is a global experience that everyone must face, on which Dickinson’s poem elaborates. Through the use of rhythm, point of view, imagery, and mood, each poet makes clear the fact that there is no single darkness that is too difficult to overcome.

Today has been a long day, but I felt the need to come back and write something down in this journal before retiring for the night. I thought this place was creepy during the daytime, but that is worth little when compared to how eerie the nights are. Everything outside is pitch black, with no moon to break through the dark void.

Darkness surrounds the evening sky. The stars were peeking out from their dark home. It looked as if God took a straight pin, poked a sheet of paper with tiny holes. Crickets softly played their symphony as the world slept. James laid in his bunk, staring off into the darkness. He wondered what the day had in store for him. The night watchman quietly walked his route, like a thief in the night.

Darkness can be a comfortable place for anyone. Without having to look at yourself or have people see you, one may not feel as judged or insecure. Light is revealing. In a bright room, you can’t hide tears, blemishes, or emotions. Blanche, from A Streetcar Named Desire, knows the pain of light all to well. Blanche flees a failed company and a failed marriage in attempt to find refuge in her sister’s home. Through her whirlwind of emotions, the reader can see Blanche desires youth and beauty above all else, or so the readers think. In reality, she uses darkness to hide the true story of her past. In A Streetcar Named Desire by Tennessee Williams, Williams uses the motif of light to reveal Blanche’s habit of living in a fantasy world until the

I barely notice the cool hardwood floor on my back as I bask in the early dawn light seeping through the gap in my curtains. As I stare silently at a darker version of my yellow ceiling for what feels like the hundredth time, I strain my ears to hear the voice again. I miss it like a friend; my only friend in this hollow abyss where I’m imprisoned between the tips of my husband’s claws.

The author talks about light physically and emotionally. “But it was getting dark inside too” according to the narrator.

The sun shines through the small basement window of the house. It’s early morning beams piercing across the face of a young girl as she sleeps. It takes awhile for the brightness to penetrate her green eyes but when it does she stretches lazily under the covers closing those eyes for yet one more moment of dreams. She suddenly bolts upright as she remembers what today is.

That night, Brodie didn’t fuss or complain when he had to go to bed. He wasn’t afraid of the dark anymore. And, if he ever started to feel afraid, all he had to do was look up at the night sky and find his twinkling star that his Mama gave him to be reminded that everything was all right.

He had been walking somewhere on a road, in between buildings, he doesn’t know how long it’s been how long he has been walking. Night hauntingly shrouds his surroundings with darkness; the artificial lights seem so damn weak. They seem to only produce enough light to brighten a large moving box. The darkness stares him down, the cold presses against the bare skin of his arms. A hand squeezes his right shoulder he can feel the warmth through his shirt.

With “Night,” the eighth poem and first of the second section, darkness descends, bringing with it a series of scenes horrifying and pathetic.

At night, beyond the public eye, the rooftop comforts me, provides me a my safe haven. I hear the wind whispering my name to escape: but I do not listen. Being in my own world ushers a feeling of fright, yet also comes as a relief. With no one there to judge me; I sit alone, with the company of my inner demons.. I close my eyes, my demons have assailed me all day, midnight is their time. The void of judgment has remained. It’s dark, but at the end you see a flash of light. So, I walk in the obesity of my mind where the darkness has taken over. The sense of being paralyzed comes to my mind, my fears are woken up and the sense of neglect is off. I smell fear all around. I do not smell the smoke from the burning wood I left. The smell of fear and sweat are much more dominant,I feel my hands are getting sweaty, my body frozen, paralyzed. My heart beats faster than ever before. My Demons have become vigorous. An explosion of fear, rage, sadness and anxiety overwhelms me, but I cannot wake up. Powerless, my demons pull me into the darkest depths of my mind where I try to hold on for dear mercy.

The sunset was not spectacular that day. The vivid ruby and tangerine streaks that so often caressed the blue brow of the sky were sleeping, hidden behind the heavy mists. There are some days when the sunlight seems to dance, to weave and frolic with tongues of fire between the blades of grass. Not on that day. That evening, the yellow light was sickly. It diffused softly through the gray curtains with a shrouded light that just failed to illuminate. High up in the treetops, the leaves swayed, but on the ground, the grass was silent, limp and unmoving. The sun set and the earth waited.

Touched by fading moonlight, the girl looked pale as a ghost, distressed and sorrowful. Great drops fell from her eyes; the heavy rain clouds in her mind let loose their turbulent nature. She felt the muscle of her chin trembled like a small child, again, she looked toward the window as if the darkness outside could soothe her. However, she tried to keep her sobbing down by biting her lips, afraid the woman would “visit” again. Meanwhile, in the hallway, there was only deadly silence, creating an overwhelming sense of emptiness.