Collinsville Flower Monologue

The Flowers By Alice Walker Written in the 1970's The Flowers is set in the deep south of America and is about Myop, a small 10-year old African American girl who explores the grounds in which she lives. Walker explores how Myop reacts in different situations. She writes from a third person perspective of Myop's exploration. In the first two paragraph Walker clearly emphasises Myop's purity and young innocence.

Alice Walker shows Myops innocence and subsequent loss thereof through her usage of vivid imagery as well as the small setting and symbolism in “The Flowers”. Myop’s sudden exposure to the harsh reality of racism surrounding her shatters her innocence. The tone of the short story changes abruptly showcasing the main characters shift in how she sees the world. For she is suddenly and violently thrust into a world in which skin color dictates how others in society will treat her.

Hello, I am Scarlet Williams. Before I begin my wild story, let me further introduce myself. I am from the beautiful city of Boston, Massachusetts, widely known throughout the world. I am an extravagantly rich socialite thanks to my father, the notorious George Williams IV. My family’s name has been prominent in this city for quite some time now. My father’s gorgeous white mansion lies right in the middle of town, for he does enjoy showing off his belongings. The house contains countless stunning rooms; however, the most mesmerizing would definitely be the “White Escape”, the name my father gave to our party room. When a certain light hits the chandelier, the room transforms into an enchanting wonderland, captivating even the most miserable

I’ve been living in France for my whole life, but I’ve never been to the French Riviera. That’s why I usually spend my summers daydreaming of these ideal vacations. Films, literature, music and Tumblr posts emphasised the imagery I have in mind. I would say it’s a mix of Bonjour Tristesse, Jeune & Jolie and Lolita‘s soundtrack -Stanley Kubrick’s version-. Plus, I recently discovered Anna Karina’s version of Sous le soleil exactement. I knew Serge Gainsbourg’s song, at first, but this one is definitely a thing! I love this video I found on INA’s website. You can see Anna singing in the garden, wearing a big hat under the bright sunshine. Everything seems to be unprepared, yet she’s so charming. She fascinates

Whether it is the delicate crease of a fallen leaf, or the subtle bend of a flowing stream. Whether it is the drumming of moist dacrocytes against tiled roofs, while a strip of startling colours begins to half-moon. Or the swaying of icy flakes lazily covering the plains in white, causing the arctic air to crawl up your spine. Whether it is the delicate kiss of the sunlight lingering through the hustle and bustle of the dancing canopies, or the vibrant hues of pansies bathing in the tepid breeze. Whether it is the horizon draining out its citrus hues, turning the skies into inky blackness or the moonlight bathing the city in its silvery radiance. It is us spirits that truly guide nature to its purpose.

Anybody can change your life in a negative or a positive way. Marguerite is a little girl who values education and she admire a woman by the name of Mrs. Flowers. As the story progresses you can tell that Mrs. Flowers is very fond of Marguerite and Marguerite thinks that Mrs. Flowers should be spoken to with respect, because she believes that's what she deserves. The theme of the story is you never know who is going to change your life. Mrs. Flowers taught her that not everybody needs an education to be intelligent, because they learn in their own special way that others may not understand, but to them it like second nature.

“The Flowers” by Alice Walker is a short story written in the 1970’s. The story focuses on Myop, a ten year old African American girl who loves to explore the land in which she lives. Carefree and naïve, Myop decides to travel further away from her ‘Sharecropper cabin’ and travels deep inside the woods to unfamiliar land where she discovers the decomposed body of an African American man. It is then Myop quickly grows up and suddenly becomes aware of the world in which she lives. The story relies on setting and symbolism to convey the theme of departing innocence.

Death of a Lily Coming home from school I see everyday My mother and her tools Just working away I always want to help But she just loves saying “Go away” But I always obeyed and said “Yes Momma Melp”

She finally approached the place she knew as home, a small white home with vines crawling up its sides and only one column left to hold up the front porch. It wasn’t much better than the rest in her neighborhood but provided enough for the family living inside it. As she made her way inside she was hit with a smell she had known her whole life. Her father would carry the scent home with him every day along with the black and gray stains on his face, proving how hard he had worked that day. Ever since his death, she tried to ignore it and move along with whatever she may be doing. Shaking the haunting thought aside, she made her way in the tiny house. Her brown boots covered in dried up mud and grass sounded heavier each step she took on the old creaking wooden floors.

The girl sidestepped around the nurse’s arms, besides he was still busy with the boy. She walked slowly towards the bed, each step taken with deliberate precision. The girl reached the bed and she stared down at the body. A single tear swelled in her left eye. It slowly carved a path between her cheek and the rest of her face, yet no sound came from her. Silently, she bent down and kissed the brow of the body. She walked over to the window, the sky was full of eerie stars, like ghosts from the past, the moon was almost full tonight. The sky was devoid of clouds. It was a perfect

Walking life's path, steering clear of the thorns, with a knapsack of stones, I silently mourn Coming to a crossroads, questioning which path to choose. The decision is mine, but it's not always clear, many surrender, capitulating to fear. One path is less distant, strewn with nightshade and stones, Intoxicatingly deceiving, with it's abundance of red blooms. With my legs entwined, vines holding in place, gathering stones, adding to my load, as I stumble along.

Treasure flower, a common name often applied to Gazania, originated because this plant is such a valuable asset in the garden. Many attributes recommend its inclusion in a variety of gardens, including drought tolerance once established, adaptability to many soil types, deer resistance, fire resistance, and tolerance of coastal conditions, heat, and wind.

Drenched, sodden, the boy awoke to the resonating drone of distant creatures, lurking within the foreign woodlands. Dawn had broken out like a bleeding wound. Thick clouds scudded the stricken sky as the sun receded into the darkness, blotting the glimmer of the ominous moon. He felt his way around the hard mattress, doused in a wet, sticky substance, before averting his gaze to a window. The room was decrepit. Dusty, run-down walls which hadn’t been maintained for ages. Beyond the crooked window, lay a vast overlay of trees, subtly swaying to the tune of the night breeze.

I have currently been building a life in the deep parts of the tropical rainforest. Things here are very different from home. They don’t have regular seasons here like places normally do. Spring, summer, fall, and winter are non-existent; instead, they have wet seasons and dry seasons. Both wet and dry last 6 months each. The wet season lasts from December-May, and gets 6-12 feet of rain during this period! The dry season lasts from June-August, and gets about 6 inches of rain.

“I had a dream I was seven, climbing my way up a tree. I saw a piece of heaven, waiting, impatient, for me,” she mumbled. Ellissa pushed the covers away from her and stood up from the bed. Barefoot, she stumbled toward her bathroom and stood in front of her sink. The baby blue wallpaper with white cherry blossoms in her small bathroom greeted her as warm sunlight filtered in through the tiny window. She pushed her dark hair away from her face to stare at her reflection in the mirror. An array of tiny freckles was splattered across her nose and cheekbones, resembling star constellations in a pale sky. Her eyes were big, gray specks in her pale face. They were storms in her frail form ready to start thundering at any moment. Ellissa opened the tap and washed her face, drying it with a small white towel next to the vanity. Yawning very widely, she went back to her room to get dressed. Unlike her colorful imagination, Ellissa’s bedroom was almost bare. The walls were painted a light beige to match her bed sheets, and there were no decorations. There was a large painter’s canvas on a stand next to a large window. Stepping over the sketch pads on the floor, Ellissa walked to the window and opened it, a gentle breeze moving her sheer curtains. She breathed in the fresh air and stared out across the meadow. The sun was rising― the sky painted in streaks of purple, blue, and gold, and she could hear the early birds chirping. Oh, how the view gave her life! Just a year below being a