Lassie: A Narrative Fiction

The lake darkens as the ominous clouds race across the sky, as black as the devil’s soul, and swallows the bliss-blue complexion of the sky faster than you can blink. The world has abruptly become cellar-dark and the heavens above look to collapse down upon me. A deafening wind runs over the landscape like a thousand horses, the noise of the raindrops their clattering hoofs. The threatening force of the gales knocks and blows the trees in precarious ways, almost as though, if it had wanted to, the wind could blow them away as if they were but feathers, not heavy pines. Lighting lights up the sky like liquid, golden ore streaks being forged into forks up above. Wriggling and writhing with the pain of their own existence. Flashing once, twice, three times, polished and glossy like the cold prongs of the apocalypse. Shaking myself from my weather-caused trance, I hurry for shelter under a nearby fern tree. Staring deep into the blackness of the storm I wonder whether I will ever see that bliss-blue appearance

The poem begins with a compelling description of nature’s wrath, Phillis personifies the storm as Aeolus, the Greek king of winds. The speaker commands Aeolus to “be still” and cites him as a “tyrant” as he coerced the wind, which is similar to how the white men had enslaved Phillis. As Susanna crosses the ocean, like the slave ships did, personifications of the

…as the sun declined towards the horizon, the wind died away into a gentle breeze and the sea became free from breakers. But these gave place to a heavy swell; I felt sick and hardly able to hold the rudder, when suddenly I saw a line of high land towards the south. Almost spent, as I was, by fatigue and the dreadful suspense I endured for several hours, this sudden certainty of life rushed like a flood of warm joy to my heart, and tears gushed from my eyes. How mutable are our feelings, and how strange is that clinging love we have of life even in the excess of misery (211).

“They did not heed the crashing torrents, and the roar of the elements made her laugh as she lay in his arms” (page. 396) The storm reaches its climax, as do Calixta and Alcee, and in his arms she is no longer scared, she now laughs at the roaring storm. “The growl of the thunder was distant and passing away. The rain beat softly upon the shingles…” (p. 396). The storm is passing, the threat is over

The poem starts with Porphyria’s love listening to an earnest storm. Robert Browning’s use of the words sullen, spite, and vex (line 2-3) give true metaphorical meaning to this storm. This storm was not only raging outside of his cottage, but it was raging inside of himself. He feels anger and resentment because of his solitude. Porphyria's love hears his own emotions within the wind. The wind is slowly making its way towards him, and the derangement is inevitable. He adds, “I listened with heart fit to break.” (line 5). His heart is made to be destroyed, and the words within his mind are not only strong but loathsome. Porphyria soon comes indoors from what seems to be a harsh storm. As the wind roars Porphyria "Shuts out" the storm (line 7). She contains him, the monster inside, by making him feel warm. Porphyria starts a fire to enliven her love and the cottage they share. As the wind is howling outside, Porphyria hasn't stopped the storm, but she has brought momentary serenity. Porphyria gets settled in and sits beside her love, calling for him.

It began as a sharp whisper in the air,a kind of whisper that pierced the eardrum ceaselessly to foreshadow a harsh rain.It hissed harshly refusing to be ignored,the sky then shook,signaling the monstrous wind to destroy every feeble object in its path.This chaos was eerily beautiful and the sound that it carried was sweet euphoric music to my ears.I rested on a bench completely obscured from view in the Noel backyard.

“No I’m brushing my teeth first.” Steve said and Bucky nodded and went back to the couch When Steve came out he frowned.

It was dark outside and the moon and the stars had already made their way up on the sky. Tonight was a night like any other: Bucky had gone to the bar to pick up a nice dame, only this time he went home a little earlier than intended. He fumbled with the keys once he had reached his and Steve's apartment, stumbling inside with a grin when he had finally managed to open the door, obviously very drunk. As usual, Steve was sitting on the couch with his sketchbook in his lap, concentrated on whatever he was drawing while listening to the radio. Bucky made his way to where Steve was seated and leaned over his shoulder, looking at the drawing.

As she burrowed her face into his chest, she inhaled his familiar scent of perspiration and spicy bay rum. Shifting around, she nestled her back into Asa’s solid chest and shoulder. When he wrapped his arms around her, and she could feel the rhythmic beating from his heart. Moored work boats filled the glassy, calm harbor, many of them on their way to the Northeast after a winter in the South and the Caribbean. Since land and sea were in a constant tussle for wind in Nell’s coastal town, it was unsettling to her when it died. When Asa began to caress her arm, a haunting penny

Dr. S.O. Young, a Cline acquaintance, was drawn by the sheer power of the storm as it assailed his home. Opening the door to a second-floor gallery, he hauled himself outside and was immediately pinned to the exterior wall by 125-mph winds. He remained there, agape, as he surveyed the unfolding drama.

“Great captain a fair wind and the honey lights of home are all you seek. But anguish lies ahead; the god who thunders on the land prepares it, not to be shaken from your track, implacable, in rancor for the son whose eye you blinded. … Though you survive alone bereft of all companions, lost for years, under strange sail shall you come home, to find your own house filled with trouble: insolent men eating your livestock as they court your lady. Aye, you shall make those men atone in blood! … Then a seaborne death soft as this hand of mist will come

World’s held their breath as one single tear rolled down the cheek of a broken queen. Not a sound was uttered as the breath was released and Penelope wiped her cheeks clean of any sign that she had been mourning as she slid out from between the blankets. She crept through her house, though it could have been a stranger’s without her lord to make it a home. As she stepped onto the soft grass a warm wind whispered in her ears.

After passing through the rugged ocean, Howland and his shipmates had no friends to welcome them. No houses or towns to repair when feeling down. As summer coming to a close, the weather was brutal, the whole country was full of woods, in which all represented a terrible

“Her long shadow fell to the water’s edge. Her face had a tragic and fierce aspect of wild sorrow and of dumb pain mingled with the fear of some struggling, half-shaped resolve. She stood looking at us without a stir, and like the wilderness itself, with an air of brooding over an inscrutable purpose…”

The introduction to your edition relates the ambiguity of the storm's meaning to a real-life event. Critics believe that Shakespeare may have been influenced by the reports of the voyage to Jamestown where a new settlement was being planted. In 1609 one of the ships was blown off course and arrived in the Bermudas. The written accounts of the survivors emphasize the providential naturel of their adventure. Instead of devils, they found an "island paradise" and survived their ordeal very well. In our play, Ferdinand says, "Though the seas threaten, they are merciful." What looked like a disaster turned out to be for the good of all.