Ixchel's Eschatological Preferences

“This one was hardly bigger than a garage. The table was cluttered with limp- looking magazines and at one end of it there was a big green glass ashtray full of cigarette butts and cotton wads with little blood spots on them. If she had had anything to do with the running of the place, that would have been emptied every so often. There were no chairs against the wall at the head of the room. It had a rectangular-shaped panel in it that permitted a view of the office where the nurse came and went and the secretary listened to the radio. A plastic fern, in a gold pot sat in the opening and trailed its fronds down almost to the floor. The radio was softly playing gospel music” (O’Connor 3). As the Turpins waited Mrs. Turpin began to describe the other waiting room occupants to pass the time. Mrs. Turpin can be seen as a larger woman who is proud of her means and then there is her husband Claud who can be described as a “florid, bald, sturdy and shorter than Mrs. Turpin (O’Connor 1). Next was an unnamed blonde child whose attire consisted of a dirty blue romper, the boy’s mother was seen “wearing on a yellow sweatshirt and wine- colored slacks, both gritty-looking, and the rims of her lips were stained with snuff. Her dirty yellow hair was tied behind with a little piece of red paper ribbon” (O’Connor 5). The next woman is called the “stylish woman” by

"Will that be all, Mother?", asked her daughter, hauling the last of the ground roots and herbs inside the dungeon rooms and setting hem on the floor near her mother's feet, Abigail smiled, nodding a little at the girl. "What's all this for anyway? You turned into a witch?",, Abigail laughed. "You wish, my darling. But no, it's for something rather special, I have to call upon something, and I've been told this-", she gestured to the candles, chalk and herbs in Mason jars around her, 'was the only way to do it.". Her daughter, smirked, looking around the room, "I would stay, but- witchcraft isn't really my thing.". Abigail shrugged, "Understood.". She one she shouldn't have bragged to Maxim earlier about her wonderful daughter, but how

Today I went into town in order to see what all this witchcraft commotion was all about. According to Reverend Parris his daughter, Betty, has been bewitched. All this sounds a bit crazy to me because the details do not add up. I see Abigail and hope not to make conversation with her, but eventually I am alone with her and she explains everything to me. She begins by declaring her love for me and how much she misses me and does not go a day without thinking about me. She then tells me that all the witchcraft talk is nonsense and that Betty is just faking it. Abigail tells me that she and a group of friends went into the woods and danced around the fire. I was so shocked because dancing is a bad thing, I believe they

Next, a yellow cocktail music bursts as the cheers of people raised up into the air again. The crowd moved more swiftly around the garden, flowing, dissolving, and merging back into the same form again. The sky slowly turned orange –the sun was heavily sinking into the horizon – and Tom’s boutonniere enhanced its bloodiness and Daisy’s white dress dyed in an elegant yellow. As Tom looked over the crowd, all the immaculate white dresses that were dancing on the grass like fairies were soaked in the sunlight, each one in vivid, but lusterless colours. However, there was a ray of light that caught Tom’s eyes as he overlooked on the people. It was one of the house maids, sweeping the fallen leaves as her pale ring-finger gleamed a dull reflection of the sunshine. She was a woman with a roundish figure, probably in her early thirties. There were no traces of beauty in her appearances like Mary Pickford or a fashionable stylishness like Pola Nergi, but there was an immediate vitality that could be percept straightaway, just like Myrtle. No, exactly like Myrtle, Tom thought. There were no specific similarities between them, but Tom felt like a child who found a puzzle piece that he’s been looking for ages, or perhaps a fragment of a story from his favorite child

Go back in time think of what it would be like to live in the 70’s, where everything was disco, and women were looked at from a whole new perspective. Within the town of woodsberry there was a little girl named Emily who was 9 years old, but she always felt like she was all grown up. She was a proper girl who always liked to dress-up and wear her mother’s shoes, although there weren’t many shoes, she made do with what she was given. Her mother, Eleina was a 32 year old housewife and her father, Jonah was a 36 year old factory manager. They lived in a 2 bedroom apartment right by main street; one of the busiest streets in the city.

Ms. Annette made a soothing noise. NO Kendall hadn’t known a world where she would have lied or ignored the whispers, like the ones that named her home the witch’s house. Kendal had only known the world where other children’s mother would whisk them if Kendall tried to play at the park or where bakers and butchers would refuse service to ‘abomination according to the Bible.’ But Kendall Obsurne face her trouble. Kendall thought of herself a brave. Her Grammy had often called her stubborn.

I will now analyse the four scenes in which the witches can be seen to

When I got home that afternoon, a dented clunker was parked in the drive. I recognized the green station wagon right away. It belonged to Miss Asher, my best friend Mason’s mom. She used to be a real beauty before Mason’s absentee dad, Owen, got a hold of her. At least, that’s what people said—auburn hair, pink cheeks, a tilt to her chin, tall and angular with a sway that made men stand a little taller.

I will then lightly color in the edges of these buboes using a small amount of black crème. To further the idea of an infected witch, I will use the character shadow to help achieve the look of sunken in cheeks. In order to address the withered aspect of the witches using the character shadow, I will add wrinkles to part of my forehead, my smile-lines, as well as adding age spots to my left cheek and forehead. The First Witch is also childish, vengeful and is not to be crossed, as exhibited by the fact that when a sailor’s wife failed to give her some chestnuts, she curses her (Act 1 Scene 3). To achieve the idea of this vengefulness, I will raise my right eyebrow, to show the audience that the witches are more than they seem. To achieve the idea of childishness, I will add a bit of character shadow below my lower lip to create a poutier

Sitting in the sun of her new home's courtyard, Talia, the young hedge witch, carved another block of hazel wood. Awkward in her hands, Talia's struggle with its fashioning had put her in a foul mood. Her frustration with the task clearly showing on her pinched face, and by her nicked fingers. Every now and again she'd curse the wood, though she knew it was inexperience slowing her hand.

Starlyn inspected the maroon dress her maids had chosen for her. This didn’t seem real, one moment she was at school, the next she was brought to a whole different realm.

Sometime after midnight, Ava’s father stood up reeling from the vodka. He clutched the farmer's dining table in the middle of the house, lit by candlelight and steadied himself. But, the hand-made trestle table and its colorful Balkan tulip motif began to spin. All at once, the wooden table and benches blended with everything else in the adobe cottage. The lights seemed to sway and the world became as gray as a ghost. And then, he keeled over and collapsed on the

Making her way to the nearest shelf, she browsed through the selection of books, until a voice chirped up. Turning around, she saw a petite brunette around her age and she looked oddly familiar. And to Fleur’s dissatisfaction the letterman jacket she had been hoping to pawn belonged to the brunette. Still, Fleurette had a mask to put on, so she smiled as she opened her mouth to speak.

I hear a deafening scream from what sounds of across the lane. It was from the fair lady next door. Oh, how despondent I felt for her, an adolescent that was a work of art now gone. The child’s blonde hair always bounced when she skipped

The floorboard in the hallway creaked again. Emma flew off the bed and dashed for cover behind the silk dressing screen. Her heart pounded. Sweat trickled down the side of her face. Trembling, she peeked around the edge of the screen and watched as a tall figure entered the room. When he stepped into the light of the fireplace, her hand flew to her mouth to silence the gasp. It could not be him. He would never poison her mother. Would