Escape

The narrator in this torture chamber is submitted to several kinds of traps and torments: the pit, the rats and the closing walls. He tries to escape from each one of these but every time he succeeds he finds himself in a worse situation than he was before. Inside the chamber he is deprived of the sense of sight so at first he cannot know where he is or what dangers surround him. His will however

The prisoner exemplifies resourcefulness which is shown through his actions of survival. Despite his unstableness, he still manages to remain clever in such a frightening situation. Poe asserts that the prisoner is resourceful considering he uses the hem of his robe to plot out his area: “I tore a part of the hem from the robe, and placed the fragment at full length, and at right angles to the wall. In groping my way around the prison, I could not fail to encounter this rag upon completing the circuit.” (Poe 3). Being that he uses his resources to find his way around the tomb, he learns that he is among a treacherous pit which could mean death. This action alters the whole course of the story due to the possibility of the prisoner falling into the pit. The prisoner continues to show signs of resourcefulness in the toughest situations: “Observing that I remained without motion, one or two of the boldest leaped upon the frame-work and smelt at the

“The setting plays an important role in how the narrator discovers the many ways he may die” (2). It is a dungeon full of torturing traps, and the character, as any normal human, feels terror inside his prison and fears his death in any of the cruel ways arranged for him. Still, he has to decide between death and the relief which it brings or life with the interminable agony of being tortured as a lab mouse.

At the most remote end of the crypt there appeared another less spacious. Its walls had been lined with human remains, piled to the vault overhead, in the fashion of the great catacombs of Paris. Three sides of this interior crypt were still ornamented in this manner. From the fourth the bones had been thrown down, and lay promiscuously upon the earth, forming at one point a mound of some size. Within the wall thus exposed by the displacing of the bones, we perceived a still interior recess, in depth about four feet, in width three, in height six or seven. It seemed to have been constructed for no especial use within itself, but formed merely the interval between two of the colossal supports of the roof of the catacombs, and was backed by one of their circumscribing walls of solid

The quiet breeze blew as our ship ported into the wooden dock. It was pitch black, the smog suffocated the stars so the moon was our only light as we exited the boat. We were walking down the hollow metal stairs to then go onto the cobblestone streets.

The night crawled quickly as the sun sank from the horizon. But there was hardly any sign of the star’s presence, only a shadowed moon, struggling for supremacy over the dark heavy clouds that rolled over the top.

Escape Lane is an avant-garde jazz record by a creative quartet that feels cohesive regardless the distinct backgrounds and styles of its menbers.

It was a wild night on the Ohio River, and now he rode on into the night the blackness for so long. The wind buffeted him as all heaven burst open and rain came down torrentially , onto him, onto his horse, onto the letter. It was a dark and stormy night indeed. He rode on into

Su Tong is a pen name of Tong Zhonggui. He was born in 1963 in Suzhou and now living in Nanjing with his family. Su Tong is not only a greater writer which 20th century last stages appears, but also he is the representative writer of the vanguard literature and is one of the founders of "neo-historicism" novel (Jing). Vanguard literature is a kind of literature, which is against the traditional culture and deliberate violation of the principles of conventional creation and appreciation of the literary habits, and one-sided pursuit of artistic form and style of the novel. As usually, the vanguard literature writers through different kind of suggests, metaphor, symbol, association and imagery to explore people's inner life.

The moon appeared in the extremely large black irises eyes behind the mask. Fascinated, I watched a shadow travel across the moon to be reflected in his eyes. Then I watched as the light totally disappeared from his eyes. I felt his shoulder muscles tense and tremor beneath my hand. Boudreaux looked toward me and when I looked into his face, I almost yelled out. His blonde hair was dark as the night and so were the eyes behind the mask. I watched as he slowly began to remove the mask, wondering just what would be different when done. I was not prepared for the result. Except the color of his eyes, he was the spitting image of

“I shrank back - but the closing walls pressed me resistlessly onward. At length, for my seared and writhing body, there was no longer an inch of foothold on the firm floor of the prison.” For a few moments my feet felt like they were floating on air. The warm air coming from the pit made me feel uneasy. I tried to grab on to the wall where two sections of the wall join together. For a moment I thought I was saved but I started my descent into the pit. The very horrid smell from decaying bodies caused me to pass out. I must have been completely surrounded in water with at least 25 other decaying bodies. After several minutes I came to a state of consciousness and felt every inch of my skin burning, my heart felt like it was going to explode.

“The door of the jail being flung open from within, there appeared, in the first place, like a black shadow emerging into the sunshine, the grim and grisly

Most of my days are a blur after the first week of captivity. My time is usually consumed with being locked in my room, or as I call it, my prison cell. During the day, Dylan keeps me locked in here with nothing to do aside from sleeping, reading the same old books, and gazing out the forbidden window, providing a glimpse of life outside continuing without me. The rain from early morning left a few droplets of water on the foggy glass that I observed until they collapsed into a small puddle on the pane outside. My life now reduced to the point where watching water trickling became amusing. I spend hours staring at the view of an adjacent brick apartment complex, which looks as if it hasn 't been renovated in a decade or two, and the almost always empty parking lot below. Empty in the sense of lacking other people. I considered screaming for someone to save me either through the window or against the walls, but knowing Dylan he probably has some type of preventive measure against my escape like how he forbids me to look or walk by the window, fearing someone will spot me. Besides Dylan, the only time I ever see people, aside from the occasional visitor, is if I am early up enough to catch glimpse of people leaving for work during the sunrise. I never see them arrive back home since Dylan is always back before that. Luckily, the parking lot tells me when he 's coming to give me a head start on acting like I spent my time doing something productive. The window seems to be my

After time passes, his father’s beloved youngest son dies. “He faded, and so calm and meek, / So softly worn, so sweetly weak, / So tearless, yet so tender—kind,” (Lines 187-189). He is the only survivor, and yet begins to give up on life. The prisoner reflects on his last youngest brother’s passing away in peace. That even in suffering his brother held on to who he is and that being imprisoned would not break him, nor the sickness that was killing him. Yet, the pain torments the prisoner’s mind, of how alone he is and how he could do nothing to save his brother. As the oldest of these brothers, he is responsible for them, also, to protect them from

The sun had long since made its way across hemisphere, dipping behind the mountains. There was no moon tonight, and what light there is, was swallowed up in the darkness of the night, although watching a sunset was the last thing on my mind tonight.