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Looming Death or as otherwise entitled, The Descriptive Essay, English Lesson 22 By Jeremiah T. Waking from unconsciousness, a solitary man, in a solitary room opens his eyes. Awakened to darkness, accompanied by a dull, painful pounding; continuous, like the second hand on his pocketwatch. He feels for his watch, but it is gone, along with all the rest of his belongings. "How did I come here, and from hence did I come? The darkness prevails so that I could be in a king's palace or a pauper's grave." The visions of fantasy have been mixed in unhealthy doses to his faltering perceptions of reality, making it difficult to recall. --shhhhink! The train of thought is interrupted, he looks to the direction of the sound. Above him is a lone window, opening the room to the sounds outside. Through the window, dusty, broken paths of light intrude upon the darkness. "If only I could look out the window." His arms are weighed down by thick chains attatched to the wall. He strains against the iron, as if he was a modern Hercules, but falls back in his weak state, as blood steadily trickles from an open wound. Exhausted, he views his surroundings. He rests on a single wooden plank protruding from the stone brick wall. The wood is worn from many years of knawing by the rats. He looks toward the ceiling, but the pain intensifies, and he is soon enveloped in darkness. The man awakes after a fitful sleep. His head is clearer, his senses are sharper. Through the window, he hears the sounds of many people gathering, increasing in volume like an approaching storm. The scratching and gnawing of the rats are gone. Laughing, yelling, and cheering now fill his ears. "What could this mean?" The room is as dark as black tar, but his eyes adjust. The walls of his room are filled with jagged and chinked stones, covered in places by algae and mildew from years of dampness. The stones are piled upon each other, looking like a brick wall stacked in the dark. His eyes follow the wall into a dark corner where no light reaches. It is so dark, the wall may not exist at all. He tries to go towards the corner, forgetting the iron chains, which hold him fast to his wooden shelf. The sound outside, which has been continually building, roars, then diminishes to a murmuring silence. A booming voice proclaims in French, I present to you, Louis XVI for execution!--silence. SSSHHHINK!-- followed by resounding cheers. A sick feeling falls into his stomach as he remembers the revolution, the attack, and the imprisonment of himself, royal servant of the king- the king, who is now separated on the platform of the guillotine. "Is this to be my end? To die at the hands of uneducated peasants? The peasants, who for so long have been harmless putty in the nobilities' hands? Death seems far away, as an enemy lurking in the distance, but could it be nearer than I anticipate?" Despite the tumultuous noise outside and the shaking fear in his soul, he falls once more into blackness. He is wakened by a closing door gone unnoticed, groaning like the cry of death on its rusty hinges. In front of the door is a loaf of bread and a mug of water, sharply reminding him of his parching thirst. He reaches for the water, but is held back by the iron chains. He frantically strains for even a drop of the precious liquid, but it is no use, it is there merely to mock his thirst. The pain grows once again, his breath is short, his head falls on its side. Blackness begins to cloud his vision. He shakes his head, and before he becomes senseless, his eyes fall upon words etched upon a wall. 'Eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow you die.' | |||
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