Essay about Welcome to the Land of Do-As-You-Please

The wind chime hung from the roof of the abandoned house , it swayed calmly and slowly against the wind , everything seemed peaceful . We - my father and I - sat on the porch of the rundown house that only we knew about . It was dark and I wasn’t the biggest fan of the night , the night is unpredictable but yet so beautiful .

“I wish they’d slow down,” I whisper to myself slipping a white dress on with pink flowers. I search for the matching pink tights and check my watch. If I don’t hurry I’ll miss him. Walking out the door I am instantly saddened by the smell of the poluted air. I begin to day dream about a world where Montag, my uncle, everyone I hold dear, can sit on the porches, talking into the night. The street lights would break the dark abyss and egnite laughter and smiles. We would talk about the world and nonsensical things. . . HONK. I’ve barly managed to jump out of the way. Silly people, if only they would take the time to slow down, they’re missing the most beatiful things

The day was dark. I could feel a storm approaching. The gentle sunlight glistening through the clouds, now covered by a heavy mist. Drop. Drop. Drop. The coldness of the water tinged my face. And the earth shook, as a large boom erupted from the sky followed by a light crackle. By now, I was soaked, like that night. I continued walking through the deserted streets when a large flash erupted from the sky. Oh, great lightning, today was getting better and better. A woman and her young child was running towards their car to seek shelter. The walk was a long and dreadful one, I found myself looking at the place I left 15 years ago. The house was still dark and foreboding as ever, the shutters hanging off its hinges and the roof in a state of disrepair.

Imagine, if you will, a brisk night wind coming fast across a lake carrying a pungent smell, something you can’t quite identify, but is nonetheless familiar enough to send a shiver up your spine. As it hits the trees, they creak out a somber call in the still night air. Or was that groan something more…human? You notice, for the first time, the absence of tires humming on pavement and you wonder if it’s that late, or maybe just a slow night. The soft tapping of your shoes on the sidewalk is the only accompaniment your slow breathing has as you move towards the warmth of your home, holding thoughts of a warm bed in the palm of your hand to keep the chill away. You don’t notice at first, perhaps because the reality of what you’re hearing is

The lights of the town were veiled in darkness, a mere inverted shadow amidst the gloom of the night. Distant thunderings, as those brought to mind with Dies Irae or the distant chattering of a great blaze could be heard, drawing nigh upon the trembling hands of the people frantically seeking a shade for the lights that would soon propagate should their brilliance stretch to the skies, but found difficulty locating even their hands at arm’s length, due to the cloud over the town, in the streets, as real and thick as the blanket of golden and crimson extending toward the town at a propeller’s rate, silencing the natural beauty of the countryside amid the sounds of death and destruction.

She shares her terrifying story in solitary confinement, in hopes of making an impact on this topic. First, she talked about how getting away from the shouts and chaos of the general inmate population was a relief, for about the first 20 minutes. Then she realized she was completely alone for the next month, which left her uneasy. She mentioned how guards were treating her so poorly, that by the time she was let out, she emerged with fear. The guards thought it was funny to chuck her food tray, causing some to spill, giving her less food.

Today has been a long day, but I felt the need to come back and write something down in this journal before retiring for the night. I thought this place was creepy during the daytime, but that is worth little when compared to how eerie the nights are. Everything outside is pitch black, with no moon to break through the dark void.

The smell of burning flesh is repugnant. It lingers on every street corner, on every piece of cloth, in every shallow breath. The sky is red. Glowing through black clouds that are heavy with the ashes of those who have stopped screaming. More than three thousand tonnes of high explosive bombs are dropped. Again. Again. Again. Just like dust caught in a sunbeam, the ash swirls a slow descent. The air pulls in. Pauses. Pressure building. The blood in your veins almost recoils, your brain bruised in your skull. A moment of vertigo. Then nothing but noise. Loud. Angry. Ringing. And pain, so much pain. Screams rise, the crescendo approaches. Hellfire rips through the buildings, the sky, the people, your heart. This city is a firestorm.

It was later that she found out that she had been kidnapped by an agency that sold people. She couldn’t believe it when the boy told her. Shaking with fear she began to sob again. Closing her eyes she willed it to be dream, but every time she opened them she was still in that bed, restrained, and wearing a blue hospital gown. She didn’t spend too long in the facility and she never got a chance to ask why the boy had been injured.

The stone streets were a veil at this time of night, with who knows how many menacing horrors hiding behind the curtain. The lingering gas hovering over the ground was timid, dispersing at the sight of anyone who strayed near. The moon tried to pry into the city’s shadows, but it was too thick to cut. The buildings were nothing but faded memories: gray, eroded structures that once boasted splendor and beauty. Street rats, both rodent and human, scuttled about in the alleyways, knocking assortments over and fleeing if anyone walked past, just like the gas. A dog barked in the distance. Car horns blared on 5th Avenue nearby. Tank sighed. No place like home.

Walking down the streets, I imagine everyone’s stories; I picture them around the campfire. It is so easy to blatantly ignore the world when I only think about myself. Just as with the cottage of hope, everyone deserves a chance to create and grow. Seeing people struggle on the street makes it impossible to turn a blind eye. However, nobody has enough money or power to eradicate the midnight nation or its problems which seep into the daylight

At night, dogs prowled the streets, their heavy paws slamming against the cold, hard concrete. Their masters holding them from behind, restraining them from running away wild, rampaging along the quiet city. The civilians called them the Guards, always roaming the streets, keeping us “safe”. The city itself was dark, bleak and dying. The smell of pollution wafted throughout the buildings and roads.

In today's day and age contemporary society's are built upon the thought of citizen conformity to a prescribed set of values and norms to. This idea of complies to social standards makes one think as to how these norms of fact society as a whole and an individual. The main driving component which draws people too conformity are the desire to be excepted in certain status groups. People fear that if they do not conformity is norms that they will be breaking the social contract therefore been shunned by society at not being able to achieve their personal goals. Further analysis of these forces for conformity in contemporary society it will be shown that these forces produced negative ethical conduct and

The time was midnight and the weather was unbearable. The dirt roads had become frozen shadows of the night, making it hard for anyone to see anything. Nay one was out, most were either sleeping or stuffed into the tavern, drinking, and gambling. Nay one 's dumb enough to be outside during this night, nay one but me. From a distance, I hear a piano being played inside the tavern, just barely audible due to the sounds o ' the snow storm. I eased closer to the tavern, desperate to get some warmth and perchance a meal that doesn 't taste like crap. Nay one noticed as I entered, they were too busy drinking and gambling or both. Always too busy to notice.

A chilled breeze caused my hair to stand up on end, so I peek over my shoulder to see the window in my bedroom door open. The blue, polka-dotted whipped around violently but I couldn 't hear the sounds of a strong wind. Huh, could have sworn I 'd closed that. . . I spring to my feet and shiver as I step across the cold floor toward my room. On my tip-toes, I pull the screen down to shut it and take a minute to stare out the window. The moon cast a dim light over the small town, illuminating only the fronts of houses and the tip of trees, abandoning all else to darkness. A light fog danced in the distance and I smiled thinking how perfect it looked on Halloween 's night. I looked down from the top floor one last time then tugged the curtains shut.