⦁ As I was reading this essay I couldn't help but become continually intrigued by the apparent, and somewhat subliminal illustrations the writer portrays throughout the story. For example, Passarello's influence related to "Harpy" strongly relies on herself, her lifestyle, but more importantly, her mother. She cites her mother's role in her college drama club play, The Crucible, providing insight and luring the reader into an oncoming paragraph of interesting rhetoric as she expels how her mother shrieked, nay, screamed at an imaginary demon-bird. What is this creature? Mythology would strongly suggest this is a Harpy; a ravenous feathered monster with the body of a bird and head of a woman, but does it stop here? The author could have taken
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I myself am not a typically loud person. I rarely ever bring myself to scream. However, screaming has always appeared to me as a way to make one-self heard in time of need or frustration. Perhaps the most unnerving sound my ears might have unpleasantly had to endure, were the screams of my eldest sister. One night in our friend's shagged barn my sister, and her two friends, thought it would be an amusing hoax to lure my young and unknowingly afraid self into the giant rusting carcass of animals and hay. The noises I heard from a distance outside sounded almost like an animal in need of help, but it was just a girl impressionist luring a small boy to the aid of a stuck goat, sheep, or pig. I traipsed my way over and into the barn, un-cautiously looking around for the clumsy oaf practically begging for aid. Then it happened. The most shrilling and bone chilling screams came from the rafters, resonated by the pipes of three teenage girls. The sound still haunts me today. My life flashed before my eyes as I experienced the most fear I have ever accepted in such a short amount of time. My arms tensed, my legs quit moving, and all I could think about is having to get away and find my mother. When Passarello writes about the only time she screamed out of fear the image of that night only burns into the page as I associate myself to
I myself am not a typically loud person. I rarely ever bring myself to scream. However, screaming has always appeared to me as a way to make one-self heard in time of need or frustration. Perhaps the most unnerving sound my ears might have unpleasantly had to endure, were the screams of my eldest sister. One night in our friend's shagged barn my sister, and her two friends, thought it would be an amusing hoax to lure my young and unknowingly afraid self into the giant rusting carcass of animals and hay. The noises I heard from a distance outside sounded almost like an animal in need of help, but it was just a girl impressionist luring a small boy to the aid of a stuck goat, sheep, or pig. I traipsed my way over and into the barn, un-cautiously looking around for the clumsy oaf practically begging for aid. Then it happened. The most shrilling and bone chilling screams came from the rafters, resonated by the pipes of three teenage girls. The sound still haunts me today. My life flashed before my eyes as I experienced the most fear I have ever accepted in such a short amount of time. My arms tensed, my legs quit moving, and all I could think about is having to get away and find my mother. When Passarello writes about the only time she screamed out of fear the image of that night only burns into the page as I associate myself to