Analisis De Agua Para Elefantes
Páginas: 2 (306 palabras)
Publicado: 16 de octubre de 2011
Arlezley Curiel
October 12, 2011
Period 5
Fall Break Rhetorical Analysis Essay
Water for Elephants
Page 144-145:
I reach for the napkin, and as I doI catch sight of my hands. They are knobby and crooked, thin-skinned, and--like my ruined face--covered with liver spots.
My face. I push the porridge asideand open my vanity mirror. I should know better by now, but somehow I still expect to see myself. Instead, I find an Appalachian apple doll, withered and spotty, withdewlaps and bags and long floppy ears. A few strands of white hair spring absurdly from its spotted skull.
I try to brush the hairs flat with my hand andfreeze at the sight of my old hand on my old head. I lean close and open my eyes very wide, trying to see beyond the sagging flesh.
It's no good. Even when Ilook straight into the milky blue eyes, I can't find myself anymore. When did I stop being me?
I'm too sickened to eat. I put the brown lid back on theporridge and then, with considerable difficulty, locate the pad that controls my bed. I press the button that flattens its head, leaving the table hovering over me like avulture. Oh wait, there's a control here that lowers the bed, too. Good. Now I can roll onto my side without hitting the damned table and spilling the porridge. Don'twant to do that again--they may call it a display of temper and summon Dr.Rashid.
Once my bed is flat and as low as it will go, I roll onto my side andstare out the venetian blinds at the blue sky beyond. After a few minutes I'm lulled into a sort of peace.
The sky, the sky ---- same as it always was. "
October 12, 2011
Period 5
Fall Break Rhetorical Analysis Essay
Water for Elephants
Page 144-145:
I reach for the napkin, and as I doI catch sight of my hands. They are knobby and crooked, thin-skinned, and--like my ruined face--covered with liver spots.
My face. I push the porridge asideand open my vanity mirror. I should know better by now, but somehow I still expect to see myself. Instead, I find an Appalachian apple doll, withered and spotty, withdewlaps and bags and long floppy ears. A few strands of white hair spring absurdly from its spotted skull.
I try to brush the hairs flat with my hand andfreeze at the sight of my old hand on my old head. I lean close and open my eyes very wide, trying to see beyond the sagging flesh.
It's no good. Even when Ilook straight into the milky blue eyes, I can't find myself anymore. When did I stop being me?
I'm too sickened to eat. I put the brown lid back on theporridge and then, with considerable difficulty, locate the pad that controls my bed. I press the button that flattens its head, leaving the table hovering over me like avulture. Oh wait, there's a control here that lowers the bed, too. Good. Now I can roll onto my side without hitting the damned table and spilling the porridge. Don'twant to do that again--they may call it a display of temper and summon Dr.Rashid.
Once my bed is flat and as low as it will go, I roll onto my side andstare out the venetian blinds at the blue sky beyond. After a few minutes I'm lulled into a sort of peace.
The sky, the sky ---- same as it always was. "
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