Creative Writing The Inferno Essay Research Paper

Creative Writing: The Inferno Essay, Research Paper

Creative Writing: The Inferno

It is the ether of humdrum: a mountain concatenation of stucco that lies

atop fallow tonss the size of kitchen magnets. Welcome to suburbia. I

effortlessly enter my pervious pastel castle, but the ocean trip to my room is an

acclivitous conflict ; it is rather an unsurmountable pursuit. The trek to my cell

consists of a frozen coiling stairway. It is non smooth and slippery, though,

but bouldery and parlous. The portal lies beyond the stairway?

I force my manner through the scratchy forcefield of ban. The

scream of my lacrimation flesh are subdued by the overmastering silence of the room.

Wordss are mouthed, but non spoken. They do non be. This cell of torture

does non let linguistic communication, the incarnation of resistance. As I step into my room,

I notice all colourss of the spectrum for a fraction of a 2nd, so they appear

ruddy. Countless pictures adorn the walls ; they are all of one individual. I know

her, but who is she? Her eyes are dark and puzzling. I can see the unhappiness in

her eyes. Her eyes. They lack the luminescence of the vernal character they

portray. Her glimpses Pierce through my being similar visible radiation through glass. The

rug is a sea of contempt. It stabs my pess with its blades of disdain. The

walls of jeer laugh at me as I foolishly seek to mount them to free myself of

its presence. Yet there is no flight. I have inflicted more pain upon myself.

Nothing is soft in here ; everything is jagged. My un-sanded wooden chest of drawers

remainders on the right side of the room access. Figures of terpsichoreans with unseeable

spouses lie atop the uneven surface. They seem to travel easy across the

chest of drawers, like seaweed floating aimlessly across the sea. My unpleasant and

discomforting bed of rock remainders in the centre of the room. It is non the usual

form of a bed. Rather, it seems as if it were molded to suit my organic structure entirely. Is

at that place no consolation? The cupboard stands merely two pess off from the forepart of the bed.

Inside is a universe of decease and devastation. My apparels are victims of either

disregard or overexploitation. My places, an array of black, sit near the pes of the

cupboard. They excessively are guiltless victims of carelessness or maltreatment. They are

casualties of an foolhardy spirit. The malodor of decay creeps from my olfactory organ into

my oral cavity. I lick my lips in disgust of this new gustatory sensation. As I look about the

room, I notice the mirror above the chest of drawers. It is warped and deceptive.

Gazing into the mirror, I see more than merely my organic structure. I see a being shouting out

because of the torment of deformation. She can non be heard.

A flood of darkness overtakes my sleeping room. My eyes are all of a sudden fixed on a

beam of visible radiation. The wireless that rests to the left of my chest of drawers has a visible radiation that

indicates power. It beckons me, but I am restrained by the dark angels in my

sleeping room. They ever appear when I long for anything. They are with me, in my

room, for infinity.