A morbid melancholy stole over me. Anxiety gnawed at my heart. I was a living corpse. There was a feeling of chill in the air every day as I felt. I faked illness so as not to go to school. Despair hangs heavy in the stifling air. It was a dreary day for me , cold and without sunshine. I dread people and always avoid people. The door was locked from the inside. A cold grey light crept under the curtains. The windows were secured with locks and bars. The room felt cold and sterile.The flowers faded for want of water. A single lamp was suspended from the ceiling. The clock ticked louder and louder in a quiet room. I regarded the room as a refuge from the outside
English Homework - zilan elma The glistening sun scorching my eyes bring me back to consciousness , i have only a few seconds of silence before i am overcome with an unbearable screech next to me .
For days he stayed there, curled up by the wall. The sun would rise, somewhere, illumine the mouth of his pitiful den, grace the cold rock in front of him with a soft blue sheen, and set again, immersing his life in empty darkness. One day, two, three, he stopped counting, buried his mind in the chambers of his soul where a soft dim warmth still glowed. Waves of grief passed through, turned him over in riptides of hungriest despair, roaring death pounded nightly at his door, and then, hearing no answer, tore away again, letting warm comfort envelop him and soothe his damaged
Summary In this book, Jonathan discusses the changing dynamic between his parents and himself. In the beginning his parents appear to be a loving couple and he appears to be a very devoted son. As his parents age and his father’s illness progresses, those dynamics change. His father loses all recollection of who his family is and Jonathan’s mother seems to detach herself from the situation, referring to his father as “the baby” most of the time. Kozol (2015) says, “Before she fell asleep that
He slammed the door shut and locked it. The locking mechanism made a decided click that was a comfort to his harried senses. The acrid scent of sweat reached his nose, and he became more aware of the mess he’d created on himself. He peeled his t-shirt off, immediately more comfortable than before. His breathing slowed and evened out as he allowed himself to relax. He slid his back against the wall and sat heavily. Once again, as time slugged by, he felt his anxiety rising. It was dark and all he could hear was his calm breathing. He was safe, he was fine. Nothing could get him
Preston’s mother was a teen mom who was impregnated at the age of 16 and gave labor at 17. His father was not present from the beginning of his life and has not made an attempt to help raise him and support his mom. It would be extremely difficult to be a teen and still have to raise a child on your own. Introduced to Preston at age seven was his soon-to-be step dad and his two siblings. This was good for him and his mother but ended up to be a tough situation for Preston. Preston felt that his step father treated his step brother and sister better than he treated him. Which made some difficulties throughout his life.
“You bloody kids, you’re always trying to hurt me. Leave me alone.” Bland curtains blocked all but a thin stream of light that peered into the dull room. The air was heavy with the scent of oppression masked only by the overpowering smell of chlorine and bleach burning her nostrils. A fire burned between her legs as she lay paralysed on her back; the agony swallowed her whole. The iron bed frame seemed to loom over her, its cold hard bars pressed against her scalp. Barely audible, Daisy could hear small regular breaths escaping from a small cradle beside her. The stabbing sensation that ran through her frame seemed to disappear as she thought about its tiny occupat. Daisy felt her stomach tighten as she looked at the two large double doors guarding the entrance to the room, the frame groaning under their combined weight. A sliver of light crept from under the doors illuminating the ceiling with a blurry yellow haze. Daisy could see dark shadows moving slowly behind the doors, and she gradually became aware of the muffled sound of grim voices beyond
She arrives on the 5th floor and steps out into the clean hallway. The smell of the hallway has a familiar heart retching smell, like the smell of the hotel she stayed in when Grandpa's funeral came about, the smell rips aways those memories and puts her heart in two as she slowly drags her feet down the long bare hallway. She sobs quietly as she arrives at the clean white door of her apartment. She stands there for what seems like an eternity constantly replaying the summer times over and over. The times where her life was fruitful and
ONE Sheriff Eldritch Meeks straightened his hat and emerged from the Chevy Bel Air. Its beacon singed into the back of his neck. Red. Eldritch watched thin sheets of dust sweep down the highway. Everything was fuzzy. He wiped rain from his eyes and took a deep breath. The knife twisted harder into his brainstem. Headaches. The pain was getting worse. Stabbing. Pinching. Wriggling. Eldritch needed a cup of coffee and a cigarette. He needed a fucking detox. But it would have to wait.
Booker arrived at the chapel early Monday morning, keen to get his debriefing with Tom over with as quickly as possible. He was professional enough to know he needed to put his disappointment to one side and concentrate on their assignment, but the sting of Tom’s rejection still lingered. He thought they’d made a connection, and he’d looked forward to building a solid friendship with the shy officer. But despite a promising start, he realized he now had no choice but to accept what Penhall had told him. Tom was weird, and his mercurial temperament made it impossible to break down the barriers that kept him at arm’s length. Whether Will was responsible for his brother’s character traits or not was still open for debate, but as far as Booker
High School Terrifying for some, exciting for others. Yes, the first day of high school comes every year, and for me, terrifying says it all. I had no choice but to flop out of bed, hiding underneath my covers full of dread Scared, and nervous is an understatement. I moped around my house getting ready for the day I stressed, feared, and panicked about.
" Y'ARE very snug in here," piped old Mr. Woodifield, and he peered out of the great, green leather armchair by his friend the boss's desk as a baby peers out of its pram. His talk was over; it was time for him to be off. But he did not want to go. Since he had retired, since his... stroke, the wife and the girls kept him boxed up in the house every day of the week except Tuesday. On Tuesday he was dressed and brushed and allowed to cut back to the City for the day. Though what he did there the wife and girls couldn't imagine. Made a nuisance of himself to his friends, they supposed ... Well, perhaps so. All the same, we cling to our last pleasures as the tree clings to its last leaves. So there sat old Woodifield, smoking a cigar and