I’m lonely in a dark concealed room, covered in someone or something’s blood splatter. All I can smell is dust and death, I witnessed, I saw, I know. Everything is silent, not even a mouse creeping, no life at all. My heart was experiencing an adrenalin rush, I could hear the sound of my own breathing. Whoever he is, he’s got me.
When Lydia goes to the Fawcett farm, you expect noise but there isn’t any. As she walks down the hallway, no music is playing, nor is Lydia talking. When she finally gets into Dan’s room, there is no screaming. All you can hear is Lydia gasping and choking. Then as she runs to her car, you can only hear her footsteps.
More time passed and it started to get dark. I was worrying even more. As I peered out of the window, I still didn’t find Rosa, but I did find much commotion. With the curiosity racing through my mind along with the worry, I forced myself to check out what was going on. After several slow steps forward, I was stopped by a large African American woman with a tattered blue dress.
Meursault is also described as being very dismissive to the outside world, “Looking back on it, I wasn’t unhappy. When I was a student, I had lots of ambitions like that but when I had to give up my studies, I learned very quickly that none of it really mattered.” (Camus 41). Although
I take off not noticing the other opponents as I stride to my goal. Only I can see my mark. I feel motionless and stagnate, my body shuts down, but my brain continues to tell my arms and legs to move. The baton slowly slips, but I tighten my grip. Even though it’s only a short distance, like the hulk taking two steps, my muscles began to ache.
As negative thoughts enter my mind, I try as hard as I can to think of something POSITIVE or I try and do something. That is one of my coping mechanisms to battle the negative thoughts. I have to fight very hard on those days and I find it has become best for me to solely rely only on myself for comfort. At least I know …… I won’t let myself down! With no expectations, there is no disappointment that follows.
She had told him that she didn’t want him to come around anymore, but he still had a pull to her… an urge to protect her not just from others, but herself and him… He knocked. But there was no answer. He began to panic and let himself inside with the spare key. Everything was as it should be, nothing was out of place… but the house felt cold, almost lifeless. He began to call out, but there was no answer.
I rolled over and looked towards the faint light shining off my face at my bed side, its 2. Another sleepless night, I thought to myself. This has been going on for a while now, I never did believe in any paranormal activity so I just presumed it was water leaks. But something felt different about it tonight, my heart rate paced and the noises seem to get louder and louder. I couldn’t make out on what I was, it can only be described as whispers, and somehow it felt as if it was calling for me.
They stand frozen ashamed for what they have done, unable to "meet each other's glances." The precious sun has come and gone, and because of their despicable act, Margot has missed it. They walk slowly and silently towards the closet, and let her out. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Ray Douglas Bradbury (August 22, 1920 – June 5, 2012) was an American fantasy, science fiction, horror and mystery fiction writer. Best known for his dystopian novel Fahrenheit 451 (1953) and for the science fiction and horror stories gathered together as The Martian Chronicles (1950) and The Illustrated
I knocked, knocked and knocked like several times but yet still no response. This really kept me suspended and had no clue of what was going on. So, as I was about walking toward my door, all of a sudden, I heard the noise of the door opening and there was a man who came