Mackabee: A Fictional Narrative

Symbolism plays an important part in this story. The ebony clock is particularly significant “there stood against the Western wall, a gigantic clock of ebony.” Poe placed the clock against the western wall for a symbolic purpose. The sun rises in the East and sets in the West. The clock is nearer to the setting sun. The placement of the clock indicates an association with an ending. A sunset indicates the ending of a day, while the ebony color of the clock suggests its relationship with darkness and death. The characters react to the sounding of the clock’s chimes in a nervous fashion. “…While the chimes of the clock yet rang, it was observed that the giddiest grew pale.” Poe uses this clock to remind the characters that they have lived through another hour to build up the time of revelation. At each strike of the clock the characters stop everything as if they are waiting for the "Red Death" to come for them at any minute. At twelve, the stranger dressed as the "Red Death" appears. This time everyone begins to fear death. The darkness of the rooms causes shadows to form by the fires' light to increase suspense.

There is an ebony clock in the room and its chimes go off at each hour which causes all revelers to pause for a few seconds and think deeply>>> The clock is a symbol for passing time and it's ringing reminds people that their death is approaching, making them fearful. Also at the ringing of the clock, all activity/life stops which represents death. Moreover, the fact that the revelers are unable to stop the clock from ringing means that they cannot stop time or escape death

“There strikes the ebony clock… for the night is waning away; and there flows a ruddier light through the blood-colored panes; and the blackness of the sable drapery appals; and to him whose foot falls upon the sable carpet, there comes from the near clock of ebony…” (4) wrote Poe. Undoubtedly, enjoyment is stolen from the guests at the mere sound of a clock, or otherwise the sound of their slowing heartbeat. This ebony clock is the metronome to the extent of their lives. Furthermore, “But now there were twelve strokes to be sounded by the bell of the clock; and thus it happened… (5) was written at the demise of the characters. This clock’s eerie chiming on the hour prepared a frequent reminder that time is flying that their lives are growing dimmer with the time, and finally, death has

Throughout the work, Poe employs a seemingly simple ebony clock to symbolize the destined time of life, which no one can control. The clock is first introduced by describing the pendulum’s “dull, heavy, monotonous clang”, which automatically gives the idea that the clock is oppressive and evokes fear in both the readers and guests (Poe). As the story goes on, the characteristics of the clock unfold even more and reveal the emotions and actions it suggests. For instance, the clock’s “chiming imposes a start-stop movement on the festive

The black clock is also a symbolic element in Poe's story. "Its pendulum swung to and

For you, this is your home but suddenly, you have been dragged from your cage, endlessly beaten until your last breathe and intensely painful skinned alive, followed by a sudden stabbing electrocution through the anus.

Tears began to fall down my cheeks as he pressed his body into my back. I then felt....pressure....down below. And a searing pain ripped through my entire body as he forced himself inside of me. I could feel warmth running down my legs. I don't think it was water. I closed my eyes tight and tried to think of my family and making spaghetti with my mom and playing the piano with nana. With every thrust I felt myself sinking deeper and deeper into long lost memories of a time when I was truly innocent. I didn't even realize it had ended until I woke up in the medical ward 4 hours later. I was lying on my belly, my ass covered in blood-soaked bandages. They told me I had been stitched. They told me u would be okay. One of them leaned down and whispered to me "you deserved it" with a slight chuckle. I never saw their face. I shuddered to think that they could be treating me regularly. With such disgust and disregard for my

The rising sun was orient in the blue sky. Dewdrops sparkle in the morning sun. Someone patted me on the back. The man whipped out a knife. He was a fat clumsy and dirty looking man. His hair had been badly cut and the ends were uneven. The sight made me stop dead in my tracks. Fear stole into my heart. He cowed me with his threats. The smell of smoke clung to his clothes.On the one hand, he had pressed and held both my hands. On the other hand, he continually stroked my body. He just bear down on me with all his strength so I was unable to repel and move. The rough cloth pricked my skin.Then I just lost it and started screaming. "Stop it !" I bellowed at him. My word made no impression on him. No one was on the scene at the time. Why he did it? What was his intention in doing that? How could this happen to me? Why should it be me? After that, every step I took sent the pain shooting up my thighs. I could not breathe. As I straightened up, the ache in my back grew worse. I bore the pain without a word of complaint. I thought it would

Three boisterous knocks echoed against the walls of my cell as my security guard proceeded to let himself in. The tight grip of the guards hands on my bare skin sent blood pulsating up my entire arm as we made our way down the musty, gray corridor to the television

Furthermore, the clock institutes terror into the people. When the chimes sound at midnight even “the giddiest grew pale”. The chimes makes them nervous, because it reminds them that they are going to die and cannot escape its grasp. They people proved this by taking shelter in the abbey,

Scuttling innocently through the twisting corridors I bore the same expression; head down, shoulders hunched, avoiding any eye contact - my desperate attempts to deter the despot for one day at least. Despite my efforts, there was no escape, as seemingly within the second of having that naively optimistic thought, a cruel, callous voice demanded I surrender my broach. Fear spiked, as it always did, but with it came something else, an alien emotion ... Looking back now, I see that it must have been the cumulative effect of months of torment that brought me to the realisation that at this point I had reached the nadir of my life. Deriding cackles pierced my ears and this time I recognised the emotion, fury. It burned through my veins, along with the memories of the past to form a feeling of overwhelming power. I met the daggers that would usually invoke terror, and calmly, I said “No.”

The man’s insane eyes stare us down from the crack of the door. I can detect his wrinkles turning up, showing that he is smiling at us. My brother and I lay limp on the floor; pretending that we are weak. My stomach churns as I consider about what they are going to do now. The metal door slams open and a sea of white suited soldiers come at us. Each of the soldiers forcefully yanks us up and locks our hands behind our back. My mind snapped and in an instant, I turned around and tackled the soldier holding my hands. I aimed for his neck, and bit down as vigorously as I could. I felt his blood enter me; it tasted sweet and it energize me. I bite down more harder, until I heard the cracking of his cervical. He lets out a sharp, piercing

There is a “…gigantic clock of ebony” in the black room, its sound is described as “…clear and loud and deep and exceedingly musical, but of so peculiar a note and emphasis” (421). This suggests that the clock has importance, as it is a physical reminder of death. If the story did not use imagery, the reader’s interpretation of it would be completely different.

As a warm spray of water flowed over Booker’s battered flesh, the heat helped to soothe the pain radiating throughout his abused body. With a drawn-out sigh, he tilted his head forward and concentrated the steady stream over his aching neck muscles. He had spent the last three hours on his hands and knees, succumbing to each and every one of Holland’s humiliating sexual predilections, the aftermath of which had left him not only feeling demoralized but physically bruised and bleeding. However, despite the degradation he had endured, in his mind, it had all been worth it. His seventy-two-hour ‘contract’ with Holland was complete, and once showered, he would collect his recompense and put the whole sordid experience behind him. He was looking

A simple glance at their hands, where captors had slowly ripped off fingernails, was a prelude to what they had experienced in agony. Blisters from the flame of a torch. The repeated