Free Narrative Essays: The Torture Of The Ransom

There were some bathroom as well as men and women’s teacher lounges. As we were walking through the hall we saw the bathrooms first, the doors were closed and that's what interested us. We wanted to see what was on the other side. There was a small rope attached to the door handle so you didn't have to touch the handle to open it. When we opened the door it was just one bathroom stall and one sink. But it was clear that someone had been sleeping in this old smelly bathroom sometime recently. There was a small mattress on the floor, and there were five or six water bottles laying next to it. What freaked us out though, was that the bottles looked new, one or two of them were empty but the others looked new and full. So we left because we felt like there was someone in there with

The next morning I walk downstairs and find that the kitchen is decorated as if it were a beach or Hawaii. I am very confused as to why the house is decorated so strangely . I am very confused because I do not live with anyone. While walking through the kitchen I seem to notice a piece of glass on the floor,as I pick up the glass I see that the window was broken.

The moral of The Prisoner is a person must realize that God is the only one who can free them from the sorrow and feeling of imprisonment which will cause them to, “become completely powerless.” (The Norton Anthology World Literature, pg. 120, 23-24) A person can only serve one Master; God or the world. In order to become free, all practices that enslave a person whether, “…past deeds and present actions,” (The Norton Anthology World Literature, pg. 119, 9-10) must be turned over to God which will allow Him to remove these burdens from one’s life and replace the burdens with His love, strength, and forgiveness.

Though taken prisoner, the captured have mixed emotions towards their masters. The captives become more comfortable in their environment, they begin eating their food and enjoying their culture. The captives forget their situations when their captors show even a little compassion, they begin to praise them when in reality the captors have only given them skewed freedoms. Yet, the captives begin to want to be a part of their community and begin to hate themselves for those thoughts. The narrator of Captivity strikes the earth uselessly in her dream where she yearns to be a part of a Native American ritual, because she knows she never can truly take part. Though the captee’s vision can be blurred by their closeness to the situation, the readers can see that the captors treat the captured with no human understanding by taking away their families. Ultimately, captors are portrayed negatively, even if their captives begin to want to be like them by eating their foods and yearning to be a part of their traditions.

It all began when i was only 10, i was playing outside on a hot day while my parents were at work.It was like a million degrees outside and i didn't know what i was going to do . Then an hour of being outside in the scorching heat a man and women stopped in front of my house. They told me to come close so i walked up to the car curious about what they had to say. The man and the women asked me if i wanted some candy and a nice ride , i said sure and the man got out of the car and snatched me out of my shoes. I put up a fight , i didn't really know were i was going at the moment. Then the man through me in the car after he managed to calm me down . After a few minutes of struggling i finally gave in.The man drove

Geoffrey Chaucer probably wrote The Canterbury Tales in the later part of the fourteenth century. Influenced by Boccaccio’s Decameron, a collection of tales told by Italian nobility, Chaucer introduces thirty unique characters in the book, writing himself as one of the thirty and the ultimate narrator. These thirty men and women from middle-class families convene in Southwark before embarking on a journey to Canterbury, where they will pay respect to St. Thomas Beckett. Traveling on a pilgrimage in the fourteenth century England parallels a retirement cruise in the twenty-first century United States; half of the amusing drunkenness occurs before the colorful travelers arrive at their destination. The Canterbury Tales remains popular because

We ran like the wind through the heavily crowded streets in search the familiar blue polo all orchestra members were assigned . After a while, we found another member who was able to point us in the direction of a bathroom. We raced off in the direction we were told to so that we may find much the needed toilets. Up a hill we found the magnificent yet disgusting bathroom that ,sadly, had only two room/stalls. Louise and Phil went into each leaving me to wait outside in the boiling sun. I waited outside forever until Louise finally got out of there. I rushed in the room right after her not reading the warning sign that was in English saying to wait one minute before entering the stall. I was too busy to worry about signs since my bladder was about to explode. SLAM! The large, metal door closed loudly behind me making my jump. CLICK! A pipe on the floor turned on and began spraying cold water. I decided that now was the perfect time to leave and turned to the door attempting to opening it but after many tries at turning the handle, realizes that it was locked. I turned around once more to find that three more pipes had begun spraying water. The room became dark as the lights shut off leaving me to my own thoughts and allowing fear to consume

Other things of note were a padlocked metal cabinet, a desk with an old white rotary phone. Three white plastic moulded trays. As well as sacks of white rice and jars of what looked like pickled eggs. I felt like leaving and glanced at the door just to see if it was still stuck open. It was but I could now clearly see on the inside that it was riddled with indents and gouge marks that had clawed at the paint. My mind could put none of the pieces together in any healthy way. My guts squeezed on me and told me to leave this place. This was not a good place, nothing good could possibly occur

The white walls cluttered with pictures of loved ones, the leaky sink that never properly shut off, and the scuffed wood floor from years of arranging and rearranging. It all meant nothing anymore. Isolation and the weight of sadness leaned on me while the flood of memories drifted through my mind. Oh well.

“No, not again!” I protested. I refused to be undignified in that way. I strongly believed that no six year old should have to suffer through the horrendous inconvenience of… dare I even speak its evil name? You must already know what I was being subjected to. There was no way around it. My mother came down the stairs in a rush and stood right in front of me. I knew, deep down, that she loved me, but I admit I feared that woman on what I liked to call “The Annual Day of Torture”. She took me out to the porch and began taking “First Day of School Pictures”.

“How much is it to stay here for a few nights?” Asked the young boy.

Spider threads caught at my face, a sign that no-one had been there yet. I paced along the old wooden floorboards, each step causing a creaking echo, that ricocheted off the concealed walls of the lonesome attic. Anticipation arose from within me as I glimpsed at what appeared secluded door behind cardboard boxes; stacked ceiling high whose surfaces were of dust. Long strides were taken to advance across the room. Time was running up. I knew he was bound to have arrived already. A ray of light projected across the room onto the rusty doorknob. My grimy hands tightly clutched onto the cold knob, and hesitated. Anticipation was my favorite sensation when arousing in adventure; I wanted to make the moment last a lifetime. In apprehension, I stepped

Awakening with a headache, I groggily sit up. Looking to my left, there's a shower curtain. Everything's white; white clock, white bed, white curtain, white floor... It's a hospital room. I then stand up and almost fall over, my knees buckling.

Have you ever wondered what it would be enslaved by a demon? well let me tell you, its not easy. I guess, I should start at the beginning when it all happened. I had just gotten home from a another rigorous day at school, I had just barely enough time to sit down and finish my monster, when I heard a knocking at my door. My dog "ory"  had started barking, I secretly hoped it was the Ups man with my package that I had waited so long for. Little did I know what, had awaited me I might have reconsidered opening the door. When I opened the door there stood a man in a black tee-shirt and jeans, along with horns protruding from his head. At the time I didn't think much of it, I just thought he was a cosplayer and his car broke down or something.

When I was still alive, I lived a mediocre life. I tried to a lot of good and tried to do nothing wrong. But that could not save me from my fate, on that lonesome night. Before that night, I had a young man stay with me at my house. I brought him in to help me around the house and take care of it after I die. He was like a son I never had, until something snapped on the inside.