The Room Smelt Of Sick And Death Essay

Her loving husband, John, never takes her illness seriously. The reader has a front row seat of the narrator’s insanity voluminously growing. He has shown great patience with the recovery of his wife’s condition. However, the narrator is clear to the reader that she cannot be her true self with him. In the narrator’s eyes she feels he is completely oblivious to how she feels and could never understand her. If she did tell him that the yellow wallpaper vexed her as it does he would insist that she leave. She could not have this.

The night air was heavy with silence. Clouds drifted across a calm sky, and a full moon shone in the distance. In a small hut on the outskirts of the valley, an old man lay in bed, awake in the peaceful slumber of the village. His breaths came in rattling gasps, his forehead burned, and his joints felt stiff with pain. He shifted on the blankets, his withered hands clenched in fists as he tried to suppress the wave of bitter memories coming to him. His life had been nothing more than work, loss, tragedy. He remembered all of his hope, his ambition, in his youth, and he smiled bitterly. No one would remember him as the man that he had once hoped he would become. Now, as his breathing became heavier and he felt himself fading on the brink of

The room was musty and dimly lit. A heavy curtain was drawn across the only window, allowing only a slight and pathetic slant of balmy sunlight to slip in. Faintly, the air tasted of dog urine and stray fur—a fusty undertone hovering beneath ghostly.

It seemed that she lay on the ground, staring at the bottom of a wagon loaded with hay. She blinked, trying to see the wagon clearly- it sat near a barn, there were several pumpkins on the ground beside the wagon and one atop the hay. Allie raised her head and blinked her eyes several times before the depth of her vision leveled out and she realized that she was in bed. She lay there a moment, staring at the wall- a painting that hung there, had somehow taken her inside it. That too, had seemed real. Her head felt larger and heavier than normal and her mouth was dry. She was so thirsty that when she tried to swallow, she could taste the brandy she drank the night before- Eli had not told her that it would cause one to have strange dreams and make their head feel as if it weighed a ton. She finally made it to a sitting, and then to a standing position. She dressed and then cautiously made her way down the stairs to breakfast- she was not hungry, but she knew there would be plenty to drink besides coffee and milk. She could nibble on something to keep her grandmother from nagging

Enchanted by her serene radiance, I did not disturb her. Suddenly she began to speak in a whispered hum that was more like a song, unique in a dwelling full of ranting outbursts. She spoke of years long past, swimming in the pond with her sister and dancing in the moonlight. I could picture all in my head, like I was watching a movie. Then she began repeating the story she had just told me, and I realized that she was merely talking to herself. Although this discovery disenchanted me at first, I soon realized that, although the woman was talking to herself, she still had so many fantastic stories stored in her mind. The residents of the home all had some life flittering in them and numerous stories to share; they just need someone to listen to them. After my experience at the home I knew that one of my goals in life would always be o help make sure that people were receiving proper treatment, and not merely stuffed away and drugged up.

When she drew back the curtain, she could make out a homemade, pole-framed-bed in the middle of the room. The light coming through the small window gave the room a murky appearance. Upon the bed, under several layers of quilts, were the skeletal remains of the cabin’s former owner. Before she even got near the bed, she knew it was a

With careful examination, it proved that there was a multitude of problems building on each other worsening the condition exponentially. After comprehensively examining the problem, the doctor spoke in a soothing, hopeful voice. He explained every single detail about what was occurring in her body and why she acquired the dilemma she is in now. More important than the diagnosis was the look in her eyes. Her dead, beaten eyes became alive. Her posture, at first looking down, cold and defeated, altered just the slightest as her chin rose a few inches. Her door was on the verge to slam shut and every trace of light along with it, but, the doctor was able to conjure a flame and bring the light back to the darkest room. Although the treatments at every specialized doctor proved futile, this doctor was able to return hope to her. It was more than just a diagnosis; he had saved her

His head began ringing from the sound, his body tensed up and warm tears began to drop from his face. Soon after, he fell unconsciousness and escaped the sounds that haunted him. He felt something warm brush his hand and a whisper in his ear.” Stay... strong... my darling” and his body suddenly felt calm. The warmness drifted away from his hand and He regained consciousness. He found himself still suffering from the shrieks of the fallen. He eyes opened wide, set up, leaned against his sister’s bed and sighed. He pulled his legs to his chest and wrapped his arms around his leg waiting for the screams to stop. In that moment, area fell into a loud silence.

Andrea sat in the break room, waiting for her shift to start at 8:30, her long, crisp black hair covered the back of the seat. Andrea had her face deep into paperwork but, then noticed Mary walked into the room and looked up, took off her glasses and wiped her forehead. Andrea’s porcelain skin, looked like it has barely seen any sunlight, or even touched. Mary and Andrea had most of the day piled up in paperwork, except for their breaks. At lunchtime, Mary added to her stories of sleepwalking into the forest, including the one early in the morning.

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

Glancing to the clock, I made note that it was barely past three o’clock and yet here I was planted in bed. I hated being ill, especially living alone. Although I have much support from my sister and her husband, I still spent most of the morning alone. I was not surprised by my illness, I had been grieving more and more as the days came. My entire state of mind had begun to strip away what little patience and avoidance I had. I had stopped eating for several days, my

Massaging her aching temples, Penny walked to her kitchen and grabbed a piece of bread from the cupboard, then, popping the bread in her toaster, she took her phone from her bedside table and connected it to the charger hanging on the wall above her bookcase. It had been dead for almost a whole day now and she thought it might be time for her to reconnect with society. She walked to her bathroom, carelessly pulling back her long, kinky red hair, and looked in the mirror. A lack of sleep and a general feeling of depression had caused her usually bright green eyes to seem tired, and had drained almost all color from her already-white skin. She grabbed her toothpaste.

wind. It was as if it was crying, almost howling for its voice to be

In the corner of the room, an old lady was slouched on a cracked, olive upholstered chair. A man gripped her veiny hand and softly patted her back. She appeared to suffer from a vigorous cough, which originated deep in her chest. Delicate curls framed her fragile face as hair was neatly swept to one side. A double string of ivory pearls swooped around her neck, landing in the lull of her collarbone. Vintage black eyeglasses were diligently balancing on the bridge of her crinkly nose. The wrinkles that adorned her face were indicative of many years lived and with each cough, they furrowed. She wore a knitted rose cardigan over what appeared to be a light blue night gown. It was evident that she had been rushed to the hospital as she was still wearing her fucia puffy slippers.

Touched by fading moonlight, the girl looked pale as a ghost, distressed and sorrowful. Great drops fell from her eyes; the heavy rain clouds in her mind let loose their turbulent nature. She felt the muscle of her chin trembled like a small child, again, she looked toward the window as if the darkness outside could soothe her. However, she tried to keep her sobbing down by biting her lips, afraid the woman would “visit” again. Meanwhile, in the hallway, there was only deadly silence, creating an overwhelming sense of emptiness.