1. Analysis of Dead and Buried
It is early afternoon during the first few days of fall as I began my brief walk to the local park. There is a slight breeze brushing against my face and it is the first time that I can tell that it is officially fall. ... The bright green leaves are now turning orange and are littering the walkways. ...
There were drops of blood falling to the ground, as I scream in pain. ... The blood was falling on my mother's grave. ... All I see is him giving money to the lady and she quickly leaves. ... I quickly fall to the ground and I see blood all over my face. ... " Emily says as she leaves the bathroom. ...
The next four lines speak of the swift rise and fall of the sun in its daily course. ... Our youth is like the sun and it may come and go as quickly as the sun will rise and fall. ... The speaker knows that he cannot stop the sun from rising and falling, which is the cause for time, but he love his mistress with such power everyday that it will be so much love for the sun to catch up to. ...
I cannot see anything. It is very dark. I am sitting on the floor and leaning on what seems to be a wall. I put my hands on my face and my head starts to hurt. I feel what seems like dried up blood on my forehead. That must explain why I was passed out. I put my hands in front of me and I feel a zip...
As the chilly autumn wind swept us along the path towards her house, lightly kicking through the heaps of orange and brown fallen leaves, Sarah and I were conversing about the Morals and Ethics seminar that we had just had at school. ... Sarah's father was outside in the garden, gathering up the unwieldy fall leaves and discarding them into a giraffe-like trash bag. ... I threw on the closest matching shirt and khakis that I could find in my closet and slapped on some gel to keep my messy blond hair from falling into my eyes. ...
He said I would stay forever. Forever wouldn't be very long. I promised it wouldn't be very long. The room was bleak but for a single light fixture on the farthest corner. It's pale light illuminating only a small section, leaving everything else in murk. Fingers of shadow clawed silently aroun...
My face and neck perspire as I sprint away, my heart pounding so hard in my chest, I think it may burst. That thing-the thing with the narrow pupils-is after me. With any glance it steals my way, I shudder in fear as if those eyes could send me straight to hell themselves. The adrenaline pumps throu...
Ghost stories, they have the power to throw us into another world, leading us to not only fear for the characters within the novel but for ourselves as the ghosts seem to follow the reader around weeks afterwards. It is the mastery of description that enslaves our minds as readers. Ghost stories paint vivid pictures inside the mind as they force us to come face to face with our deepest fears. Imagining ourselves as the main characters we become a part of the story, seeing, hearing, and feeling everything that the author is courageous enough to delve into the darker side of his or her subconsci...