Poe uses death as a theme in "The Tell-Tale Heart", "The Masque of the Red Death", and "The Black Cat". It is obvious in "The Tell-Tale Heart" when the main character kills the old man. It pops up again in "The Masque of the Red Death" when death come and kills the prince and all of his party guests. Again, it is prevalent in "The Black Cat" when the narrator kills his favorite cat and again, when he murders his wife. The deaths may have had something to do with the fact that all of the people I his life that he loved died from tuberculosis. Because of the death that surrounded him in his life, it became a theme in many of his short stories.
The difference that "The Black Cat and "The Tell-Tale Heart" share however, is that the narrators both suffer from mental illnesses. This could be a metaphor for Poe himself. Poe had a very dark life and a dark way of writing, it was no widely accepted the way it is now during the time he was alive. He was seen as crazy and it was very possible that people thought he was ungodly. The mental illness could have been driven by Poe's own personality. In "The Black Cate", the narrator became a drunk and that's when his illness began to manifest itself. Poe was also a drunk, it was leading into alcoholism, if not fully alcoholic. Poe may have noticed a change in his behavior because of the alcohol and exaggerated it in his stories.
The next thing that Poe emphasized in his stories, were the houses the characters lived in, In "The Tell-Tale Heart" and "The Black Cat", the houses had little to no description. However, in "The Masque Death" the rooms in which the party took place was very detailed and descriptive. Poe plays off of the saying "home is where the heart is". In the "Tell-Tale Heart" however, Poe made a mockery of the saying by having the dead heart continue to beat underneath the floor boards. And in "The Black Cat", the home started off happy and slowly became something dark and dangerous. This may have been a metaphor for Poe's home, he started off with a happy life and slowly everyone around him died of a disease and left him alone in his house to be depressed.
The main difference in "The Masque of the Red Death" is the theme of fear throughout. The chiming clock and the people stopping was the main source of fear. In my opinion, this came from Poe's fear of death. This particular short story was written around his time of death. I believe he knew that it was close to his time and he was afraid. His fear of the inevitable was manifested in this story of death being inevitable. He didn't want his life to end, but he knew it was coming anyway.
Friday, January 23, 2015
Friday, January 16, 2015
The Day I Woke Up in Jail...
The darkness from my mind began to fade as I gradually awoke, I blinked a few times trying to get the sleep out of my eyes. When I was finally fully awake, I stood up to try and see all of my surroundings. I looked out of the small window and realized the sun was just beginning to peak over the horizon, "must be early in the morning." "Hi, I'm Lace. What are you in for?" I jumped so high upon hearing that unexpected voice I could have smacked the ceiling. "Jesus lady. You scared me." I said breathless. She then got out of bed and stood next to me and said, "sorry, I have that effect on people sometimes." She just stared at me for a minute and repeated her original question. "I...I...don't know. I'm not sure how I even got here. It feels like I lost time, I don't remember anything from last night." I whispered completely bewildered. I tried to remember, but failed. After I answered, she crawled back into bed, said goodnight, and fell back asleep. "Well that was a weird exchange." I dropped my arms to my sides with a heavy sigh and that's when I noticed the significant bulge in my pocket. "What's all this stuff?"
I reached into my pocket and found five items that confused me. "Why is all of this in my pocket?" As I looked down at the items I held in my hands, the memories began to flood back to me with a pounding headache. In my left hand I held a hunting knife with a golden handle, I recognized this as the same one my father owned. But the part that wasn't normal was the glob of dried blood stuck to the blade of the knife. This was the strongest evidence of what I had done. I knew what the white handkerchief had been used for. It was clean, mostly, apart from some of the blood that had gotten on it from the knife. Then I looked to my right hand and saw a brass knuckle, which I knew had contributed to the harsh bruising and pain in my left hand, my non-dominant hand. Next was a picture of my mother and I from when I was a kid, "we looked so happy." And last was the piece of paper with an address on it...his address. Then it was confirmed, I knew I had finally taken my revenge.
Backtrack seven years to when I was a senior in high school. It was midway through Spring semester, I was about to graduate. It was March 17, 2014, I remember the day very clearly, I was called into the principle's office because he wanted to talk to me. I was scared obviously, I mean I hadn't done anything wrong, right? I couldn't remember doing anything anyways. Well it turns out I hadn't done anything wrong, he just had some new for me. "Ah, Miss Justice. Please, have a seat. I need to talk to you about something very important." His voice held a grave tone, he stopped and looked me dead in the eyes and sighed. "Your father called me about twenty minutes ago, I'm sorry to be the one to tell you this, but you have to meet your father at the morgue at Riverside Hospital. Your mother has been killed. "No..." Everything faded out. I couldn't hear anymore of his words, I couldn't think, I couldn't feel, I was just numb. I left the school in shock and drove to the hospital to see my mother's dead body.
When I finally got to the hospital, I saw my father in tears with a very official looking cop standing next to him. When I began to approach the pair, the cop made eye contact and advanced towards me. I stopped and waited for him. I didn't say anything when he stood before me, I just looked, and waited. Turns out my mom was headed to grab some lunch when she turned the corner and saw a man there in the ally. She worked downtown and of course it's always a sketchy place. The man was crazy, he saw fit to attack my mother and mug her. When she fought back, he pulled out a gun and shot her through her stomach. The cops didn't know who had done it. There was no security footage and there were no witnesses to the attack. There were a couple people that they had suspicions of, but in the end their alibis were solid and there was no suspect. The case was close.
Now, back to the present. I'm 24, and I'm a detective now. When I finally made it into the police force after graduation, I reopened my mother's case and did some investigating of my own. I did what the police couldn't, I found her murderer. I had found that the guy's name was Donny Roush, he was divorced with two kids and still lived on the bad side of Columbus. I'm a cop, I know what I did was wrong, but I needed the satisfaction of knowing that he suffered as much as he made my mother suffer. The day before I ended up in this tiny cell with Lace I went to visit my father, like I do every Saturday morning. That's when I picked up the hunting knife with the gold handle. The handkerchief also came from his house, though it was my mother. I needed some way to wipe away the prints. When I grabbed it out of her things I had to stop for a minute, that little handkerchief meant something, it was one of the few things I had left of her. Engrave in the bottom corner were her initials, SDP, in white thread. In that box was also a picture of my mother and I, upon seeing it I pocketed it. I took the items I needed and left my father's house. Earlier in the week, when I had found Donny Roush, I wrote his address down, I carried that with me then too. After leaving my dad's, I went and bought the brass knuckles for my left hand, I needed some protection for that hand too. After I had gotten everything I needed, I took out that small piece of paper in my pocket with the words 2976 Mail Brooke Drive written on it. I stared at it for a minute and set off to bring Mr. Roush to his demise.
Midnight: July 12. I was sitting in my car staring at the small bungalow that held my fate along with Donny Roush's. I waited for an hour to gain the courage I needed to do the deed. I knew this meant losing everything, my job, my house, my status...my life, especially because I intended on turning myself in when the deed was done. I walked up to the door and picked the lock. The house was somewhat quiet, the only sounds were light snoring and the sound of a television in the back where a blue light was flickering. I crept toward the noise to find Roush sleeping in his old, beaten up recliner. I pitied the man before me, he'd gotten fat, he looked beaten, but not any worse than what I had planned to do to him. When I approached his sleeping form, I made a wrong move, the board squeaked, and Roush woke up. I froze, and when he saw the hunting knife in my hand his eyes grew wide, I could almost taste the fear I saw in his eyes. "Why did you do it Roush?" He looked at me with genuine confusion, "What?" "You killed her. Why? For the money? Was that it? Was that all you wanted?" With each question, I grew angrier and angrier almost to the point of yelling. If I didn't stop soon a neighbor would hear me. "I never intended to. It just happened. I was desperate." He didn't deny knowing what I was talking about, which I respected him for. "She was the most important person to me..." When I saw no real remorse in his eyes for his deed that had gone unpunished, that's when I pounced. Roush screamed.
In the end I had stabbed his chest 3 times and his stomach 6. He had a broken nose, swollen cheeks, a busted lip, a broken rib and two black eyes. I felt remorse for what I had done, and what was worse, I felt no better about the man laying dead at my feet who had killed my mother. It was all for nothing. When 10 minutes had passed and I finished sobbing, some of my mates from the office barged in and arrested me. I struggled and got hit in the head with a night stick. That's when I passed out. And over 24 hours later I woke up in this jail cell confused and now sobbing while my cell mate stares at me in bewilderment. I knew what I had done, and I regretted it all upon remembering. It was all pointless.
I reached into my pocket and found five items that confused me. "Why is all of this in my pocket?" As I looked down at the items I held in my hands, the memories began to flood back to me with a pounding headache. In my left hand I held a hunting knife with a golden handle, I recognized this as the same one my father owned. But the part that wasn't normal was the glob of dried blood stuck to the blade of the knife. This was the strongest evidence of what I had done. I knew what the white handkerchief had been used for. It was clean, mostly, apart from some of the blood that had gotten on it from the knife. Then I looked to my right hand and saw a brass knuckle, which I knew had contributed to the harsh bruising and pain in my left hand, my non-dominant hand. Next was a picture of my mother and I from when I was a kid, "we looked so happy." And last was the piece of paper with an address on it...his address. Then it was confirmed, I knew I had finally taken my revenge.
Backtrack seven years to when I was a senior in high school. It was midway through Spring semester, I was about to graduate. It was March 17, 2014, I remember the day very clearly, I was called into the principle's office because he wanted to talk to me. I was scared obviously, I mean I hadn't done anything wrong, right? I couldn't remember doing anything anyways. Well it turns out I hadn't done anything wrong, he just had some new for me. "Ah, Miss Justice. Please, have a seat. I need to talk to you about something very important." His voice held a grave tone, he stopped and looked me dead in the eyes and sighed. "Your father called me about twenty minutes ago, I'm sorry to be the one to tell you this, but you have to meet your father at the morgue at Riverside Hospital. Your mother has been killed. "No..." Everything faded out. I couldn't hear anymore of his words, I couldn't think, I couldn't feel, I was just numb. I left the school in shock and drove to the hospital to see my mother's dead body.
When I finally got to the hospital, I saw my father in tears with a very official looking cop standing next to him. When I began to approach the pair, the cop made eye contact and advanced towards me. I stopped and waited for him. I didn't say anything when he stood before me, I just looked, and waited. Turns out my mom was headed to grab some lunch when she turned the corner and saw a man there in the ally. She worked downtown and of course it's always a sketchy place. The man was crazy, he saw fit to attack my mother and mug her. When she fought back, he pulled out a gun and shot her through her stomach. The cops didn't know who had done it. There was no security footage and there were no witnesses to the attack. There were a couple people that they had suspicions of, but in the end their alibis were solid and there was no suspect. The case was close.
Now, back to the present. I'm 24, and I'm a detective now. When I finally made it into the police force after graduation, I reopened my mother's case and did some investigating of my own. I did what the police couldn't, I found her murderer. I had found that the guy's name was Donny Roush, he was divorced with two kids and still lived on the bad side of Columbus. I'm a cop, I know what I did was wrong, but I needed the satisfaction of knowing that he suffered as much as he made my mother suffer. The day before I ended up in this tiny cell with Lace I went to visit my father, like I do every Saturday morning. That's when I picked up the hunting knife with the gold handle. The handkerchief also came from his house, though it was my mother. I needed some way to wipe away the prints. When I grabbed it out of her things I had to stop for a minute, that little handkerchief meant something, it was one of the few things I had left of her. Engrave in the bottom corner were her initials, SDP, in white thread. In that box was also a picture of my mother and I, upon seeing it I pocketed it. I took the items I needed and left my father's house. Earlier in the week, when I had found Donny Roush, I wrote his address down, I carried that with me then too. After leaving my dad's, I went and bought the brass knuckles for my left hand, I needed some protection for that hand too. After I had gotten everything I needed, I took out that small piece of paper in my pocket with the words 2976 Mail Brooke Drive written on it. I stared at it for a minute and set off to bring Mr. Roush to his demise.
Midnight: July 12. I was sitting in my car staring at the small bungalow that held my fate along with Donny Roush's. I waited for an hour to gain the courage I needed to do the deed. I knew this meant losing everything, my job, my house, my status...my life, especially because I intended on turning myself in when the deed was done. I walked up to the door and picked the lock. The house was somewhat quiet, the only sounds were light snoring and the sound of a television in the back where a blue light was flickering. I crept toward the noise to find Roush sleeping in his old, beaten up recliner. I pitied the man before me, he'd gotten fat, he looked beaten, but not any worse than what I had planned to do to him. When I approached his sleeping form, I made a wrong move, the board squeaked, and Roush woke up. I froze, and when he saw the hunting knife in my hand his eyes grew wide, I could almost taste the fear I saw in his eyes. "Why did you do it Roush?" He looked at me with genuine confusion, "What?" "You killed her. Why? For the money? Was that it? Was that all you wanted?" With each question, I grew angrier and angrier almost to the point of yelling. If I didn't stop soon a neighbor would hear me. "I never intended to. It just happened. I was desperate." He didn't deny knowing what I was talking about, which I respected him for. "She was the most important person to me..." When I saw no real remorse in his eyes for his deed that had gone unpunished, that's when I pounced. Roush screamed.
In the end I had stabbed his chest 3 times and his stomach 6. He had a broken nose, swollen cheeks, a busted lip, a broken rib and two black eyes. I felt remorse for what I had done, and what was worse, I felt no better about the man laying dead at my feet who had killed my mother. It was all for nothing. When 10 minutes had passed and I finished sobbing, some of my mates from the office barged in and arrested me. I struggled and got hit in the head with a night stick. That's when I passed out. And over 24 hours later I woke up in this jail cell confused and now sobbing while my cell mate stares at me in bewilderment. I knew what I had done, and I regretted it all upon remembering. It was all pointless.
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