The Caretaker Of Rosie 's Heart Essay

He waited until the night’s 11th hour. By now the Princess rested in the highest tower of the castle, locked away from the dangerous world, yet so oblivious to the dangers that which fated the rest of her life. Silently the peasant journeyed outside, where he stopped at the wall of the tower where she lay. He watched her in the darkness from below, lifting his face to her, letting the light rest on his every surface of darkness. The night was cloudless. The winds wailed between the motionless oak trees as its thin branches clawed out, ever so slightly disturbing the leaves with its hostile screeches. Not the thick moss of the trees nor the damp leaves squirming in his toes could distract the peasant from so enticing a scent. All that encircled him was the sweetness of lavender and rosewood, filling his entire being as he sunk into the grass, like sand washed over by the water, with every breeze passing

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

For once, she wandered toward him with no children in tow. Today, she wore no linen coif, and her elbow-length, blond hair hung down loose. Percival had not realized how thick and glossy it was. And instead of wearing her typical nanny uniform of a stiff beige tunic dress, she wore a pale blue dress, more fitted at the top, and cinched at the waist with dark leather girdle belt. The belt accentuated the curve of her hips, and he color of her dress brought out the light honey color in her eyes. She was even more beautiful than he recalled, and in that instant, her presence was the balm he needed to soothe his agitated soul. He realized that he’d had but one brief interaction with her earlier in the day, yet her presence was exactly what he needed.

A hiccupped laugh catches in Kent’s throat. “Yeah, I know, Zinny. I know.” Breathing deeply, he looks up. Zinnia grins, swinging her legs under a branch with toes pointed. Vibrant, glossy hair matches the orange leaves, and fair, freckled skin glows in the afternoon sun. Rosy cheeks and sparklingly blue eyes radiate life. She plucks a ginger leaf off the tree, colourful fingernails tapping against it rhythmically as she hums.

“Her room, where she could always find comfort and consolation. But her room, too, had been ruined. She had loved that room, the predominance of blue, her favorite color. And all her favorite things. Her special glass menagerie of frogs and puppys and kittens. The posters on the wall-New Kids and Bruce and messages like after the rain, the rainbow, so many posters that her father said he could have saved the price of wallpaper if he’d known about her poster madness. The room was her turf, her refuge, her hiding place. Where she could close the door and shut out the world, the C- in math- the worst mark of her life- the zits popping out all over her face, the agony of Timmy Kearns ignoring her after the first date. Her place of retreat to which she admitted only Patty and Leslie, with standing orders for

He could feel her next to him, holding tightly onto his hand as they trekked through the quiet city. The sheer beauty invaded every ounce of his being, filling him with a feeling that could only be described as breathtaking, overwhelming joy. Her smile, beautifully illuminated by the lights around them, refused to dull. The world around them seemed to disappear with every small kiss they stole from each

She threw her arms arm his neck, he stood unmoving for a second then warmed to her and patted her back.

“The firemen came to my house, they burned it down, I got out in time but my family didn’t” she mumbled. At this point she had been sobbing. I had engulfed her in a hug again, “A rumor had spread that I had a secret library in my house” she sobbed. I took a while for her to calm her down

The second source i reference in my investigation is book written by Maureen Honey, “Creating Rosie the Riveter: Class, Gender, and Propaganda during World War 2”. This is a secondary source because it was published after the war time in 1984. This document exists to tell us about all the events leading to the creation of a very symbolic figure, Rosie the Riveter. She creates it to explain how women who entered the workforce during this time were predominantly middle class housewives. The author chose to write it as a book because she has researched the issue and studied it for many years and wanted to inform the public on what she has found. Doing this in a book form is more informing. This document is trying to show that women were powerful

“Give… I chose give.” Rose smiled wide and leaned backward so Daniel would put her down. Almost as soon as her feet touched the ground, she raced toward me and wrapped her small arms around my legs, then begged to be held. When I picked her up, she hugged me tight. I couldn’t help myself, I hugged her back. I haven’t been hugged since I was little, almost as little as Rose. A tear escaped my eye and rolled down my cheek and down into her thick, brown

Two shelves of old stuffed animals sitting and watching from above the windows. A closet full of the clothes that make her blend into the crowd like a ghost. The clothes that made her known as that girl who busted the party. A trip to the past every second, she sits in her bed drifting back into the past each night just to remind her that a new beginning is here, and nothing else will take her down. This room was her for the hardest parts of her life. The place where everything was fought from the aftermath of the rape, to the pain of losing her friends, and the feeling that no one was ever going to understand. The same pillow used to cover her head on nights with overbearing yelling from her parents, or thoughts pounding her head. This was a room of remembrance of everything she made it through, and the courage she built up during it.

I was rigid like a statue, I honestly didn’t know what I could do to help her. I was shaking uncontrollably, and my mouth could not make out any words as if I forgot how to speak. I left it at that, nothing else was said. It remained silent the whole morning and afternoon because Jackie left the room to rest in one of the guest rooms. When it was approaching 8 o'clock Jackie swayed down the steps, I glanced at her. She had the same look as she did before she passed out. This time she muttered words.

She introduced him there with her, his hand tighten on her, sliding between her breasts and down her toned stomach in the top band of her panties and slide over her thighs. Next he had to lie to her.

While Rosie was far from breath sounds resounded in the woods and from two juvenile hearts pumping frantically, brunette and sturdy one jumped over a ruined big tombstone; after few more steps, stopped his health gushing body and waited the other one to keep up who has pale skin, grouchy physique and short

Laura, an innocent young girl, sees her life as charming and blissful. On a warm, golden hazed summer day, the Sheridans’ home buzzed with excitement. The day of the garden party was “ideal…[w]indless, warm, the sky without a cloud,” perfectly representative of Laura and the author. Her entire life is charming- utterly bursting with life. Being the “artistic one,” she flies about their home arranging and exploring the chaos. Laura’s eyes are attentive to detail and all the “silent splendor” enveloping nature. In an encounter with several workmen Laura finds them to be “extraordinarily nice.” Although Laura is aware