Not The Same Song I 've Always Sung

Everything had began magnificently the day I attended the renaissance fair. It was the first time I’d ever been to any festival of the sort, and the air was full of magic. At exactly 10:30 in the morning, the ceremony began. The King and Queen presented themselves atop the castle’s balcony to address their people. As the beautiful royals welcomed us into their kingdom, my heart beat erratically, and I crossed the threshold with my breath held. There were so many events that I wanted to see, and activities I wanted to try; I couldn’t wait to get inside. I wasn’t just an ordinary guest, however, I had a job to do. Carrying my instrument lightly with one hand, dressed as a princess and feeling important, I walked proudly through the bustling

After the excitement about the watermelons died down, we headed inside with the strange fruit. Ernie had finished up with dinner by that time. He laid everything out on the dining room table. Half of the family members gathered food onto a plate and migrated to the living room. The other half, including CC, Jim, Ashley, Aunt Jill, and I, sat around the dining room table. I was very confused by the food in front of me. I had never seen whatever rested on the plates at the center of the table. Only after CC put some of the food on a plate, did I consider getting

“When you got to the table you couldn 't go right to eating, but you had to wait for the widow to tuck down her head and grumble a little over the victuals, though there warn 't really anything the matter with them, -- that is, nothing only everything was cooked by itself. In a barrel of odds and ends it is different; things get mixed up, and the juice kind of swaps around, and the things go better.” (Twain, 1)

In Homer’s Iliad, sleep–albeit a seemingly simple verb–is a multifaceted concept that highlights the strengths and weaknesses of humanity within various characters of the epic poem. On one hand, sleep is viewed as something to be avoided, a weakness bound to result in destructive consequences. On the other hand, sleep is a tool that provides restoration and gives one a respite from their reality, whether it be temporarily or permanently. Together, the two features of sleep portray the humanity of a breadth of characters, ranging from the fully mortal Diomedes to the the all-powerful Zeus. In the end, it is clear to the readers that although the central figures within the poem constantly strive to perform at an “immortal” level, the mortal element of sleep consistently arises, humanizing the Homeric characters of the Iliad and glorifying the human experience.

The stone hollow echoed with dozens of small breaths and the clunky shuffling of chairs and tables. The lighting pulsated, from glowing orbs, the color of mandarins, positioned near walls throughout the room. Every child in the room was quiet in fear of disobeying and in pure content that today was another school day. Eilig sat in the back left of the room, at an ancient wooden desk with years worth of scratches and pen marks. Everyone else’s desks were identical: a scribbled-out heart an inch away from the corner, a deep, inch long scratch on the side. The silence was contagious until a woman entered the room, with hare-like features she clutched a clipboard, needle-like claws holding the soft wood in place.

The last rays of the sun gleamed off golden domes and then shot up into the sky to spark the first shimmering of stars. Then the darkness came. Swift it fell, as though a lamp were snuffed out, and the air stilled, and an eerie silence grew. This was no rowdy city; not tonight. It was a city under siege, and word of the dark sorcery of the previous night ran from district to district, house to house, person to person. Fear ruled the shadows tonight. The house doors were shut. The inns were empty. All the city’s windows were barred.

I couldn’t sleep. My ears would ring from silence. The commotion of the old city would haunt my ears. I yearned for the noise. I yearned for the old Ainrofilac.

My voice rang, interrupting my own thoughts. The memories inside my brain were like corridors, most being empty or locked up. It was my new goal in life to create new memories.. Better memories I guess.

Energy, kindness, and endurance made itself known throughout the abbey. The masquerades couldn't help but talk and dance and smile and wonder within the walls of the orange room. When one walked by, they could almost feel the warmth seeping through the cracks of the closed door. The candelabrum added to the bright tranquility radiating from the decora from wall to wall to window. As soon as a masquerader walked by, the window would jump out at them inviting, them in. An extreme amount of piquancy, rejuvenation, and spontaneity arose from the walls of the room and blew away the masqueraders with such awe. A room such as this caused a overwhelming feeling unable to be described by the simple mind. Maybe it was the way the room showed exhibitionism, or optimism, or flamboyance, or was it the creative-flare that drew masqueraders in?

     The Mists of Avalon throws the throbbing pulse of femininity into the reader’s face. It expels a truth which can be felt through every sentence, paragraph and chapter. It is a grouping of heartwarming characters, horrifying plot twists and several tragedies surrounding many different themes. The Mists of Avalon becomes a legend seen through new eyes, with details, majestic language, and haunting foreshadowing that hold the reader through its more than 800 pages. It is a story of another time and place. It's the legendary saga of King Arthur and his companions at Camelot. Their battles, love, and devotion are told this time from the

Ellie brought out the dishes of the freshly cooked meal, everyone looked up from their conversations in delight. This was their first meal together and it had been days since they had eaten. Ellie with knowledge on how to cook hare, brought on the job and prepared it with the only three ingredients they had over a fire. Once the meals were served on leaves, everyone began to eat and very quickly.

Marianne met Henry in the middle of the hall, where he took her hand again, and led her up to her seat. He took a moment to pull out her chair, and his hand lingered on her shoulder for half of a second. He slid into his seat beside her as his father stood, beginning to make a toast about unity and chivalry, and the power the two kingdoms would have together… Marianne tried her best to pay attention. Truly she did. But it had been a long day, and even longer weeks preparing for this day. Sea journeys and carriage rides and scalding hot baths… What sounded best right now was a warm bed.

Precious little useful remained to be found, only a blood-spattered hallway and shards of broken glass under foot. Riven stopped to observe the ruined photograph, but Imogen kept on with Dellemar to the kitchen, already suspecting - and rightly so - they'd find nothing worth the saying in this room either. As if the dark, dried blood did not speak volumes enough, a broken chair spindle in the kitchen sealed the promise that the emptiness of the house had anything to do with a family simply uprooting for "elsewhere." The kitchen hadn't so much as a single, dried up corn kernel for a mouse to nibble. Even the hearth was utterly barren, only cold ash and more broken glass littering the great river stones and kiln-fired tile. Cupboards, pantry, all were as empty as the rest of this place seemed. Imogen had long since learned to expect little from this world, from that fickle bitch Fate or its callous gods, but that did not keep a faint twinge of disappointment from cruelly pinching her

After we had left Circe’s island, after a whole year, we hadn’t listened to Circe’s words. My men and I took a stop at a strange island before visiting the Underworld to hear a prophecy. We landed anyway and took rest along the shore, disregarding the bizarre creatures crawling on the sand.

(‘C/MP,’ 49). Then Circe bitterly acts her inevitable script. The old romantic story dominates, and the promising critique of story and language is debased to a withering tongue-lashing…” The aforementioned quote illustrates how the theoretical piece assumes the reader understands certain aspects of the primary text, including the fact that the myth of Circe has been revisioned and reformulated to bring to light Circe’s female characteristics and providing the “other side” that has not been mentioned or shown in the original myth. As stated in “Circe/Mud Poems”, “People come from all over to consult me, bringing their limbs which have unaccountably fallen off, they don’t know why [...] I spend my days with my head pressed to the earth, to stones, to shrubs, collecting the few muted syllables left over; [...] Come away with me, he said, we will live on a desert island. I said, I am a desert island. It was not what he had in mind. I made no choice / I decided nothing / One day you simply appeared in your stupid boat, / your killer’s hands, your disjointed body, jagged / as a shipwreck …” (pgs. 49 - 50) The fact that the author illustrates how Circe begins in an effort to embody the oppositional perspectives but later abandons this when Odysseus washes up