I Have Lost What Was Mine

The ringing in my ears stops, birds chirp and leaves rustle. I look into the uneasy darkness and shadows move in the distance and hiss like snakes. Birds scatter as a deep blast of sound slithers its way through the trees. Footsteps and high pitched voices appear to move towards the noise. One foot after the other I get myself off the ground and attempt to find where the deep sound

Where am I?" I was so lost, and confused. The voice tried to calm me down, and despite my confusion, it was comforting. It felt good to finally talk to someone, someone that seemed to care, and wanted to comfort me. The voice explained that I was safe now, and I could not hurt anymore. It had been such a long time since I had carried on a real conversation like this, it was such a pure feeling. A feeling of raw happiness, that I hadn't felt in a long time. Yet this whole time, I still had no idea where I was. The voice became even softer. "Can you hear the rumble that's calling?" I didn't know what this meant, but I knew one thing. There was something peculiar about the way this voice spoke. It spoke in a way that no human being would ever really speak in, almost like he was speaking in poetry. However, when he spoke these words, I was confused. I tried to understand, almost as if he was calling out to me. He wanted me to join him. He said I would be free forever, and be ridded of all of my worries, my sadness. "I can feel the thunder that's breaking in your heart," he spoke softly. I began to understand now, he was telling me he felt my pain, that he understood. Finally, I had found someone, someone that understood my pain, my suffering. I would pray at night just to be freed from this pain. "You're a candle casting a faint glow, but you and I see eye to eye," he claimed as he began to speak a bit louder. The way in which he spoke was difficult for me to understand,

I am no longer one of the people in the darkness. I have escaped the delusion. Through the pain in my

The darkness is slowly scaring me making me feel overwhelmed. I can’t see anything. I feel suffocated and musty with all these boxes stocked next to me and on top of me. I’ve been here for so long and I feel so hopeless and useless. Then suddenly a bright light shines on me and I finally feel free from this very comfortless home. I wish someone would open this lid on top of me so I can breath in fresh air. But here I am staying strong and just patiently waiting. Then suddenly, I am lifted, opened, and place on top of a flat surface. I feel so nervous. I am hearing human voices. My wish is granted. It is my time, and I am free!

"It is a putrid fever merely, and if he parents follow my instructions, he will live."

“Come here, my love. The man was nothing, you’re just troubled by what happened to mommy. He’s gone now, he really is. Let us make a hot bath for you and wash your mouth.”

Even though it was an internal feeling the way Baldwin expresses the thought of the ice trickling through his veins shows his way of suffering. The big block of ice which he says just expand until he feels like he is going to scream is where the suffering tries to overpower him, but it never leaves his body. On throughout the story the narrator’s daughter dies and he finally decides to write his brother, Sonny. In jail, Sonny now suffers in many ways. “You don't know how much I needed to hear from you. I wanted to write you many a time but I dug how much I must have hurt you and so I didn't write. But now I feel like a man who's been trying to climb out of some deep, real deep and funky hole and just saw the sun up there, outside. I

“Never mind what it is. Just know your sister will be cured before the sun rises in the morn.”

“Hello” I shout. “Anybody there” I yell into the darkness. My voice echoes far into the darkness of the world beyond. I don’t know where I am, and I don’t know who I am. Each day I sit here calling out into the dark hoping to see the light. I am trapped. I travel each and every hour searching for light or a means to escape this perilous abyss. I wait for the light to reappear each day, small slivers of light at first. But, eventually the bright gleaming rays of light pierce the abyss.

The body had been so well preserved because of the depth that the Iceman was actually lying in the ground, which was near the watershed (watershed meaning a line of high land where

“Thank you for coming on such short notice, Father.” a weary voice said as the door opened. He had thinning grey hair, a scruffy beard, and looked downright distraught.

The body had been so well preserved because of the depth that the Iceman was actually lying in the ground, which was near the watershed (watershed meaning a line of high land where streams

For some reason, the sounds become more frequent and loud when you're alone; especially at night. Right now, you're certain you hear footsteps in the hall outside your room, but you live alone. They're searching for you. And even though they never make it to your room, you feel afraid. More than just footsteps, you hear their voices. Some voices are familiar to you. They're the voices of people you once loved; people who you thought loved you. They've only been out to get you this whole time. You know this now, because they've started sending messages to your mind. How else could you hear their voices when they're not around? They say such cruel things. “You're worthless.”, “You're pathetic.”, “You never should have been born.”, “You should just die.”, “Everyone would be happier if you were dead.”, and that's not even the worst of it. As the night goes on, they just get more and more vulgar. Each insult cuts you deep. It hurts. You've thought many times of giving them what they want. The thought of dying actually seems peaceful compared to your new, terrifying reality. You could silence the voices forever. As you think this, the voices start edging you on, “Do it. Do us all a favor, and just die.” You cover your ears with your hands, but the voices still come through, seemingly even louder, “If you don't just kill yourself now, we'll come and kill you ourselves!” You start thinking that maybe you should. But there is one thing stopping you

“I’m really sorry to hear your husband’s sick. I’ve had a remarkable amount of sickness in my family and maybe I could assist you. Can I take a look at him?”

It was a cold day, so cold that your arms start to sting as if a needle is impaling the surface of your skin. The wind applies a force which feels as if your face is oozing with thick crimson red blood. The gray puffy clouds covered the sky and dropped small snowflakes onto the road’s surface. A man stood there, freezing, clearing the coat of thick white snow from the concrete road. His nose runs with a river of snot that floods out when the cold wind strikes. His sense of smell is heavily clogged by the slimy snot, but he can still smell the scent of the steamy hot chocolate which sits on the top of his snow covered car. His feet start to numb because of the cold flood which soaks through his boots to his white, silky socks. His feet feel as if he stepped into the freezing cold ocean. As if he fell through ice and he was stuck standing there. The vast pile of the ice white snow feels almost like a quicksand around his black rubber boot. Foggy figures of people shovel the big piles of snow off the sidewalks. They scrape and pick at the glossy white ice which sticks to the sidewalk like a little boy clinging to his mother's side. His feet still sting as if he was stepping on pins and needles. His hands are damp with sweat from grasping the curved metal shaft attached to a socket which holds the blade. The blade cuts holes into the thick powdered snow which is removed from the endless pile. The jet black shovel is filled with slushy snow and crystal shards of ice. The end of