The Sound Of Rushing Water

He struggled to find comfort for his back, and couldn’t help wincing. He heaved a sigh of agony and placed his head on the pillow, lied on his back, rather uncomfortably, closed his beady eyes and speechlessly waited for that moment to arrive. Heavy footsteps ware approaching. Their shoes clap rhythmically on the floor.

She slowly undid the towel and removed it from his waist watching as his penis flopped free. She patted his left ass cheek and gave him a kiss, “I know you’ll be fine.”

concern for her and hoped she appreciated how quick he rushed to her aid. The cut she

Tom sat up and pulling a cushion onto his lap, he hugged it protectively against his chest. “You were staring at me,” he mumbled against his trembling fingers.

An affectionate hand stroked over the top of his head. “Are you okay, baby?” a voice whispered from beyond the realm of Tom’s thoughts. “Do you wanna

In Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury, symbolism plays a key role in crafting the theme of the novel. Fire is a multifaceted and powerful symbol. The Tree of Life is a strong biblical allusion used throughout the story. Bradbury metaphorically describes books as birds many times in the novel as well. Together, these symbols are used to develop the theme of change being possible if one expands their knowledge and is free to create their own opinions

He looked up at me as I tried to reassure him that he was going to be okay. “Help is on the way.” I could feel the fear in his eyes.

In James McBride’s “The Color of Water,” a young James shaped an imaginary world for himself where he believed his true self was the boy who lived in the mirror. He sought this young man in the mirror, as an outlet for his poignant aggravation and a flight from his agonizing veracity. Thus, James could take out all his fury and irritation into the boy in the mirror, who would pay attention to him without any awful judgments towards him. On the other hand, James needed the boy to be a precursor of what he could be or cover in other life—his imaginary world—. “To further escape from painful reality, I created an imaginary world for myself...” (McBride 90).

“There, we can see your beautiful face again,” she says, depositing the washcloth into the murky water, and extracts the bandages and tape from the medical kit. “It's not bleeding, but knowing you, you'll figure a way to open it up again.” She grins.

Like the current beneath its surface, it pulls and tugs at her soul, inviting her to its depths. Edna was attracted to the water, just the same as she was her changes. When she first begins to transition, she was chary and distant, hesitant of its mysterious qualities- she felt the same way towards the ocean. She was not sure why, but she could not resist the temptations of this new fantasy, and she could not stop herself from finding her way back to the water. In her eyes, “the voice of the sea is seductive; never ceasing, whispering, clamoring, murmuring, inviting the soul to wander for a spell in abysses of solitude; to lose itself in mazes of inward contemplation,” (Chopin 33). Edna felt connected to the water; in it, she reached self-actualization and encountered a side of her no one else knew existed...even herself. It was only once its potent seductions drew her in did Edna begin to see and feel the alterations swelling inside her. The true turning point and catalyst in her awakening was her ability to swim on her own. While Edna did attempt to swim before, she was never truly free- she depended on the

The cleanest, good smelling, shiney bathroom he had ever been in. The walls were white like pearls, the floor looked like diamonds, and the appliances look like quartz. Overwhelmed with excitement, Rainsford removed all his clothes and hopped into the shower. He had been in the heavenly shower for half an hour, enjoying the water, his cleansing, and most of all: the smell. He hadn’t had any sort of bath since two days before his departure to the island. Only all of this had ended shortly. Rainsford had opened the curtains to the shower and there stood Ivan. He had blood coming from his mouth, and the wound to where the knife was flung into. He had been breathing most hoarse and hard. Rainsford had whispered, “Ivan?!” Knowing what he was here for, he could not go anywhere, seeing that Ivan as blocking the door and the window was too high up for him to jump. Rainsford just sat there, watching Ivan stand there with his knife in hand. Rainsford braced for what was coming. Before Ivan slowly walked to the chateau, he had lost a terrible amount of blood and was bleeding out at an incredibly fast speed. The floors were covered in almost blackened blood.

he looked at his mother, and steadied his breathing as he watched her massage the sides of her

"Yeah," Victoria mumbled, turning the corner, "But now that the adrenaline has faded away it's starting to hurt." She looked like she was in pain. Her face was consorted in pain, her eyebrows pinched together as she bit her bottom lip as she held her injured arm.

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

When he'd mentioned that she should know how to put on bandages in case a teammate was injured, her first thought was that he knew about her team and was judging her for it. She had flinched away, the pain too real.