The Theme Of The Lottery By Shirley Jackson - 1159 Words

When â€Å"The Lottery† begins, nothing seems unusual about this community, no hint of what is to come, or how heinous an act is about to occur. As they ready themselves for what seems to be a cheerful event, preparing as if to win something valuable, rather than to lose this lottery, eagerness and enthusiasm fill the air. The tradition, this community has been following, is overly duteous, more sheep like, illustrating the extent to which people will go to fit in, to be part of a crowd, to feel accepted. The theme of this story is a reflection on some of Shirley Jackson’s life, from her experiences as a wife in a small community in conjunction with her perspective of the events of WW II. Jackson was born in San Francisco and grew up in an†¦show more content†¦Looking at another central idea which parallels her life, is the hint of feminism. According to author James Sallis, in the book written by Ruth Franklin, Shirley Jackson: A Rather Haunted Life, â€Å"Jackson wrote, she says, always with a central interest in womens lives, and in genres regarded as faintly disreputable,.† Feminism has a recurring role in The Lottery’s theme, beginning with the way in which the men gathered in one area, and the women in another. Jackson also described the men as â€Å"speaking† but the women as exchanging bits of â€Å"gossip†, and then again, when the Watson boy needs to draw for his mother, they express how pleased they are that she has† a man to do it†. So, there is another serious theme in Jackson’s writing: the dark and evil side of humanity, with its follow the rules savior faire. Without a doubt, the war and the Holocaust had a profound effect on how she perceived the world. Some believed she was slightly perverse and odd along with her writing style and stories, but according to her husband, Stanley Edgar Hyman in his book about his wife titled The Magic of Shirley Jackson, rather the opposite was true stating, â€Å"Quite the reverse: they are a sensitive and faithful anatomy of our times, fittingShow MoreRelatedTheme And Theme In The Lottery By Shirley Jackson996 Words   |  4 PagesThe Lottery by Shirley Jackson is a story of an unusual town caught in a trap of always following tradition, even when it is not in their best interest. Jackson uses symbols throughout the story that relate to the overall theme. This helps the reader clearly understand her main message. Jackson uses setting, tone and symbols to convey a theme to her audience. By doing so she creates significant connections to the theme using old man Warner and the black box as examples. The setting and tone inRead More, Symbolism, And Themes In The Lottery, By Shirley Jackson1252 Words   |  6 PagesShirley Jackson’s The Lottery, is a realism story that was written for the main purpose of entertainment. Jackson writes about a small village that gathers every year for an event they call â€Å"The Lottery†. Every head of households comes up and draws a slip of paper from the box. Bill Hutchinson draws the first slip of paper with the black dot but Tessie Hutchinson quickly exclaims the lottery is not fair. Mr. Summers then puts five slips of paper back into the box, one for each of the family membersRead MoreTheme Of Symbolism In The Lottery By Shirley Jackson960 Words   |  4 Pagesshall be purged with death. The beauty of this world is just a mere mask to hide its monstrosity.Tear off its mask and you shall be bestowed upon the gift of the cruelty of this world. Shirley Jackson’s short story the â€Å"Lottery† illustrates the characte r Tessie Hutchinson as a figure of symbolism as it leads to the theme that the norms of society isolates those who are a victim of labels and expectations because they decorate the origins of sins therefore premonition of the ruin to some extent becomesRead MoreSimilar Themes In The Lottery And The Destructors By Shirley Jackson774 Words   |  4 Pagesâ€Å"The Lottery† and â€Å"The Destructors† are both very intriguing short stories. Imagine being out in the hot, bright sun and then suddenly being stoned by fifty people or driving up to your house one day from being out of town and seeing your house completely gone. Feelings or emotions of hurt, sorrow, or loneliness begin to appear. People can be cruel for no reason because that individual is not happy with their life or simply jealousy. Shirley Jackson who wrote â€Å"The Lottery† and Graham Green who wroteRead MoreGreat Theme of Symbolism in the Short Story, The Lottery, by by Shirley Jackson1033 Words   |  4 Pagesthe short fictions read in the Grade 11 English curriculum, The Lottery by Shirley Jackson is by far the most important story read because of the theme, the characters and the symbolism. The Lottery is a story about a community, who every year draws the lottery for someone in the village. A lottery is often associated with positive things such as prizes, and money, however, this story has a twist; whoever gets the black marked lottery ticket is stoned by the community people as it is a long traditionRead MoreLiterary Themes InThe Lottery, By Shirley Jackson796 Words   |  4 PagesIn the short story â€Å"The Lottery,† by Shirley Jackson, many literary elements are used. The chronological order in which the story is told is what makes this short story interesting and its ending shocking. Jackson narrates the unfolding of a village’s lottery ceremony by providing a detailed description of the plot, symbolism, and tone and style to portray the strong commitment between the lottery and the people in the village. As the story begins, Jackson starts to develop the plot by describingRead More Theme of Tradition in The Lottery by Shirley Jackson Essay1322 Words   |  6 PagesThe Lottery by Shirley Jackson Americans day after day live much of their lives following time-honored traditions that are passed down from one generation to another. From simple everyday cooking and raising children, to holidays and other family rituals, tradition plays a significant role on how they go by there everyday lives. In Shirley Jacksons short story, The Lottery, the citizens of a small farming town follow one such tradition. A point is made regarding human nature in relationRead MoreThemes Of `` The Lottery `` By Shirley Jackson And The Ones Who Walk Away From 1861-18651553 Words   |  7 PagesSafeAssign Logo Help I have chosen to examine the theme of attempted but failed equality in my final paper. The theme of equality is present throughout many of the dystopian short stories, novels, poems and films we have studied in class. The three stories I feel this theme is most present in are â€Å"The Lottery† by Shirley Jackson, â€Å"Harrison Bergeron† by Kurt Vonnegut and â€Å"The Ones Who Walk Away From Omelas† by Ursula Le Guin. In these stories society tries to make everything orderly and just. TheirRead More Shirley Jacksons The Lottery 946 Words   |  4 PagesShirley Jackson is said to be one of the most â€Å"brilliant and influential authors of the twentieth century.† â€Å"Her fiction writing is some of the most important to come out of the American literary canon.† (http://shirleyjackson.org/Reviews.html) Jackson wrote many short stories and even some books. They are more on the dark, witchlike side, however. Kelleher explains that Jackson stated in some interviews that she practiced magic. No one really knows if she was serious while practicing witchcraftRead MoreAnalysis of The Lottery by Shirley Jackson993 Words   |  4 PagesSpanish author, When we blindly adopt a religion, a political system, a literary dogma, we become automatons. We cease to grow. Shirley Jackson was born in 1919 in San Francisco, California to Leslie and Geraldine Jackson. She is most well known for her short story titled â€Å"The Lottery† which was first published in The New Yorker to overwhelming and mixed reviews. The lottery, as portrayed in the short story, is a religious, annual ceremony in the afternoon of June 27. This event is said to be older

Importance of Leadership - 3195 Words

Chapter 1 The Importance of Leadership D. Quinn Mills Leadership How to Lead, How to Live  © 2005 D. Quinn Mills. All Rights Reserved. Leadership: How to Lead, How to Live Few things are more important to human activity than leadership. Effective leadership helps our nation through times of peril. It makes a business organization successful. It enables a not-for-profit organization to fulfill its mission. The effective leadership of parents enables children to grow strong and healthy and become productive adults. The absence of leadership is equally dramatic in its effects. Without leadership, organizations move too slowly, stagnate, and lose their way. Much of the literature about organizations stresses decision-making and†¦show more content†¦But there are also people who wish to appear to be leaders, but aren’t actually. They say that they are leading others; they posture as if they are setting direction and inspiring others. Yet often they are merely pretending. There’s an old saying that the way to become a leader is to find a parade and run to the front of it. We refer to a person â€Å"leading† a parade, but walking at the front isn’t really leadership unless the person in front is actually choosing the direction! If the person isn’t choosing the direction, then being at the front of the line is merely a way to pretend to be a leader. 12 The Importance of Leadership Leadership can be used for good or ill. Hitler seemed to be a leader of the German people, but he set an evil direction. He had great leadership skills, but put them to terrible uses. Sometimes people in business use leadership skills to exploit others. Sometimes people in charitable organizations use leadership skills to benefit themselves rather than the people they are supposed to help. Leadership skills can be perverted to pursue bad ends. The Importance of Ethics The danger that leadership will be perverted is why ethics are so important to good leadership. Ethics are the inner compass that directs a person toward what is right and fair. Only if a person has an inner ethical compass can he or she be sure that leadership qualities will not turn to evil ends. Learning to lead with good objectivesShow MoreRelatedImportance Of Leadership1086 Words   |  5 PagesQuestion: Please provide details of all organizations youve held membership in, and include officer/leadership information. Leadership Committee Member - National English Honors Society As a member of the National English Honors Society Chapter of McLean, I focused most of my time in various writing events rather than community service opportunities. The primary reason for this was due to transportation issues that made me unreliable in such aspects of my Chapter. When I was a junior, I participatedRead MoreThe Definition Of Leadership And The Importance Of Leadership875 Words   |  4 PagesLeadership Reflection Essay The purpose of this essay is to ruminate on the definition of leadership and the importance of leadership in an organization. The commitment to lead, guide, and inspire other people has an impact on the organization, but, what is leadership? Leadership can be defined and applied in various ways. A leader must have a vision which guides the team to succeed in meeting a goal. A leader must be flexible to adjust to the different variables and treat each individual usingRead MoreImportance Of Leadership712 Words   |  3 Pagessomething that I expected of myself when applying for one of the 28 Yearbook positions during my sophomore year. What started as a way to explore my slight interest in graphic design has grown to become an experience that has helped me to realize my leadership potential. The juniors are responsible for selling ads to aid in lowering the price of the yearbook. I quickly set a goal to sell as much ad space as I possibly could. Although I am not typically an outgoing person, I pushed myself to speak toRead MoreThe Importance Of Leadership700 Words   |  3 PagesA client of ours on the West Coast is a great example of thought leadership gone right. Several years ago, this client — a strategy consulting firm — published regularly. It even had relationships with publishers such as Fast Company and Harvard Business Review, through which it published several series of articles. As business picked up, however, publishing became less of a priority. In the months before we began working together, this company hadn’t published in a while, and its relationshipsRead MoreThe Importance Of Leadership1255 Words   |  6 Pagesnot consider the officer in question fit for the position. According to the Ava FFA Chapter Constitution and Bylaws, as well as the 2017-2018 Officer Contract that the officer in question was asked to sign, we can prove that she is not fit for the leadership position as an Ava FFA Chapter Officer. We are requesting that she be removed from her office position immediately. In the Ava FFA Chapter Constitution and Bylaws, it states in Article III, Section C, â€Å"Any FFA officer who is unable to fulfill his/herRead MoreThe Importance Of Leadership840 Words   |  4 Pageshave no clue what I was thinking, i cant even walk straight let alone learn PHYSICS so Im pretty happy with the choice. Okay so hi Im Tessa kelly and i came to Santa maria in year 5, and never thought that I would be standing here or going for a leadership roles as I was never that interested. However, flash forward a few years to year 7, when I realised how much the senior leaders do for us, and how much responsibilities they had to carry along with them during their schooling life. I started admiringRead MoreImportance of Leadership Vision1118 Words   |  5 PagesLeadership vision [Name of the student] [Name of the institution] Executive Summary This assignment will focus on the leadership vision that how a leader should articulate his vision by adopting different ways. This assignment will provide you the importance of vision. It will also put the light on the roles of the nurses within the society. Table of Contents Executive Summary ii Leadership vision 1 Leader should articulate a vision 2 Importance of leadership vision in nursing 2 Read MoreThe Importance Of Leadership And An Organization1266 Words   |  6 PagesLeadership is both practical skills and research areas concerning the capability of an organisation or individual to guide or lead other individuals, organisations or teams. It is a process of influencing people socially where a person can register the support and aid of other individuals for the accomplishment of common tasks (Kvalnes, 2014). This is when the interpersonal skills come into use. Proper communication among all the hierarchies of the organisation is very important to achieve the desiredRead MoreThe Importance Of Leadership And Objectives Of Leadership Development Essay2315 Words   |  10 PagesTo make the most of leadership development, you need to plan for it carefully. As mentioned in the earlier section, you can minimise the risk of failure with a leadership program if you take the appropriate steps beforehand. In the final section, we’ll provide you the five essential steps you need to take to guarantee your leadership development is effective in achieving the benefits. Step 1: Define your businesses understanding of leadership Before you Google ‘leadership development programs’Read MoreImportance of Leadership Essay2451 Words   |  10 PagesLEADERSHIP 1 LEADERSHIP 2 Abstract What comes to mind when the words leader or leadership are heard? Usually a president, a teacher, a C.E.O, a work supervisor or a prime minister comes to mind. Well these are people who are considered to be leaders because they work to achieve a positive change for a particular organization or community. Leadership is the process in which

A Game of Thrones Chapter Thirty-two Free Essays

string(37) " went careening past her, stumbling\." Arya The one-eared black tom arched his back and hissed at her. Arya padded down the alley, balanced lightly on the balls of her bare feet, listening to the flutter of her heart, breathing slow deep breaths. Quiet as a shadow, she told herself, light as a feather. We will write a custom essay sample on A Game of Thrones Chapter Thirty-two or any similar topic only for you Order Now The tomcat watched her come, his eyes wary. Catching cats was hard. Her hands were covered with half-healed scratches, and both knees were scabbed over where she had scraped them raw in tumbles. At first even the cook’s huge fat kitchen cat had been able to elude her, but Syrio had kept her at it day and night. When she’d run to him with her hands bleeding, he had said, â€Å"So slow? Be quicker, girl. Your enemies will give you more than scratches.† He had dabbed her wounds with Myrish fire, which burned so bad she had had to bite her lip to keep from screaming. Then he sent her out after more cats. The Red Keep was full of cats: lazy old cats dozing in the sun, cold-eyed mousers twitching their tails, quick little kittens with claws like needles, ladies’ cats all combed and trusting, ragged shadows prowling the midden heaps. One by one Arya had chased them down and snatched them up and brought them proudly to Syrio Forel . . . all but this one, this one-eared black devil of a tomcat. â€Å"That’s the real king of this castle right there,† one of the gold cloaks had told her. â€Å"Older than sin and twice as mean. One time, the king was feasting the queen’s father, and that black bastard hopped up on the table and snatched a roast quail right out of Lord Tywin’s fingers. Robert laughed so hard he like to burst. You stay away from that one, child.† He had run her halfway across the castle; twice around the Tower of the Hand, across the inner bailey, through the stables, down the serpentine steps, past the small kitchen and the pig yard and the barracks of the gold cloaks, along the base of the river wall and up more steps and back and forth over Traitor’s Walk, and then down again and through a gate and around a well and in and out of strange buildings until Arya didn’t know where she was. Now at last she had him. High walls pressed close on either side, and ahead was a blank windowless mass of stone. Quiet as a shadow, she repeated, sliding forward, light as a feather. When she was three steps away from him, the tomcat bolted. Left, then right, he went; and right, then left, went Arya, cutting off his escape. He hissed again and tried to dart between her legs. Quick as a snake, she thought. Her hands closed around him. She hugged him to her chest, whirling and laughing aloud as his claws raked at the front of her leather jerkin. Ever so fast, she kissed him right between the eyes, and jerked her head back an instant before his claws would have found her face. The tomcat yowled and spit. â€Å"What’s he doing to that cat?† Startled, Arya dropped the cat and whirled toward the voice. The tom bounded off in the blink of an eye. At the end of the alley stood a girl with a mass of golden curls, dressed as pretty as a doll in blue satin. Beside her was a plump little blond boy with a prancing stag sewn in pearls across the front of his doublet and a miniature sword at his belt. Princess Myrcella and Prince Tommen, Arya thought. A septa as large as a draft horse hovered over them, and behind her two big men in crimson cloaks, Lannister house guards. â€Å"What were you doing to that cat, boy?† Myrcella asked again, sternly. To her brother she said, â€Å"He’s a ragged boy, isn’t he? Look at him.† She giggled. â€Å"A ragged dirty smelly boy,† Tommen agreed. They don’t know me, Arya realized. They don’t even know I’m a girl. Small wonder; she was barefoot and dirty, her hair tangled from the long run through the castle, clad in a jerkin ripped by cat claws and brown roughspun pants hacked off above her scabby knees. You don’t wear skirts and silks when you’re catching cats. Quickly she lowered her head and dropped to one knee. Maybe they wouldn’t recognize her. If they did, she would never hear the end of it. Septa Mordane would be mortified, and Sansa would never speak to her again from the shame. The old fat septa moved forward. â€Å"Boy, how did you come here? You have no business in this part of the castle.† â€Å"You can’t keep this sort out,† one of the red cloaks said. â€Å"Like trying to keep out rats.† â€Å"Who do you belong to, boy?† the septa demanded. â€Å"Answer me. What’s wrong with you, are you mute?† Arya’s voice caught in her throat. If she answered, Tommen and Myrcella would know her for certain. â€Å"Godwyn, bring him here,† the septa said. The taller of the guardsmen started down the alley. Panic gripped her throat like a giant’s hand. Arya could not have spoken if her life had hung on it. Calm as still water, she mouthed silently. As Godwyn reached for her, Arya moved. Quick as a snake. She leaned to her left, letting his fingers brush her arm, spinning around him. Smooth as summer silk. By the time he got himself turned, she was sprinting down the alley. Swift as a deer. The septa was screeching at her. Arya slid between legs as thick and white as marble columns, bounded to her feet, bowled into Prince Tommen and hopped over him when he sat down hard and said â€Å"Oof,† spun away from the second guard, and then she was past them all, running full out. She heard shouts, then pounding footsteps, closing behind her. She dropped and rolled. The red cloak went careening past her, stumbling. You read "A Game of Thrones Chapter Thirty-two" in category "Essay examples" Arya sprang back to her feet. She saw a window above her, high and narrow, scarcely more than an arrow slit. Arya leapt, caught the sill, pulled herself up. She held her breath as she wriggled through. Slippery as an eel. Dropping to the floor in front of a startled scrubwoman, she hopped up, brushed the rushes off her clothes, and was off again, out the door and along a long hall, down a stair, across a hidden courtyard, around a corner and over a wall and through a low narrow window into a pitch-dark cellar. The sounds grew more and more distant behind her. Arya was out of breath and quite thoroughly lost. She was in for it now if they had recognized her, but she didn’t think they had. She’d moved too fast. Swift as a deer. She hunkered down in the dark against a damp stone wall and listened for the pursuit, but the only sound was the beating of her own heart and a distant drip of water. Quiet as a shadow, she told herself. She wondered where she was. When they had first come to King’s Landing, she used to have bad dreams about getting lost in the castle. Father said the Red Keep was smaller than Winterfell, but in her dreams it had been immense, an endless stone maze with walls that seemed to shift and change behind her. She would find herself wandering down gloomy halls past faded tapestries, descending endless circular stairs, darting through courtyards or over bridges, her shouts echoing unanswered. In some of the rooms the red stone walls would seem to drip blood, and nowhere could she find a window. Sometimes she would hear her father’s voice, but always from a long way off, and no matter how hard she ran after it, it would grow fainter and fainter, until it faded to nothing and Arya was alone in the dark. It was very dark right now, she realized. She hugged her bare knees tight against her chest and shivered. She would wait quietly and count to ten thousand. By then it would be safe for her to come creeping back out and find her way home. By the time she had reached eighty-seven, the room had begun to lighten as her eyes adjusted to the blackness. Slowly the shapes around her took on form. Huge empty eyes stared at her hungrily through the gloom, and dimly she saw the jagged shadows of long teeth. She had lost the count. She closed her eyes and bit her lip and sent the fear away. When she looked again, the monsters would be gone. Would never have been. She pretended that Syrio was beside her in the dark, whispering in her ear. Calm as still water, she told herself. Strong as a bear. Fierce as a wolverine. She opened her eyes again. The monsters were still there, but the fear was gone. Arya got to her feet, moving warily. The heads were all around her. She touched one, curious, wondering if it was real. Her fingertips brushed a massive jaw. It felt real enough. The bone was smooth beneath her hand, cold and hard to the touch. She ran her fingers down a tooth, black and sharp, a dagger made of darkness. It made her shiver. â€Å"It’s dead,† she said aloud. â€Å"It’s just a skull, it can’t hurt me.† Yet somehow the monster seemed to know she was there. She could feel its empty eyes watching her through the gloom, and there was something in that dim, cavernous room that did not love her. She edged away from the skull and backed into a second, larger than the first. For an instant she could feel its teeth digging into her shoulder, as if it wanted a bite of her flesh. Arya whirled, felt leather catch and tear as a huge fang nipped at her jerkin, and then she was running. Another skull loomed ahead, the biggest monster of all, but Arya did not even slow. She leapt over a ridge of black teeth as tall as swords, dashed through hungry jaws, and threw herself against the door. Her hands found a heavy iron ring set in the wood, and she yanked at it. The door resisted a moment, before it slowly began to swing inward, with a creak so loud Arya was certain it could be heard all through the city. She opened the door just far enough to slip through, into the hallway beyond. If the room with the monsters had been dark, the hall was the blackest pit in the seven hells. Calm as still water, Arya told herself, but even when she gave her eyes a moment to adjust, there was nothing to see but the vague grey outline of the door she had come through. She wiggled her fingers in front of her face, felt the air move, saw nothing. She was blind. A water dancer sees with all her senses, she reminded herself. She closed her eyes and steadied her breathing one two three, drank in the quiet, reached out with her hands. Her fingers brushed against rough unfinished stone to her left. She followed the wall, her hand skimming along the surface, taking small gliding steps through the darkness. All halls lead somewhere. Where there is a way in, there is a way out. Fear cuts deeper than swords. Arya would not be afraid. It seemed as if she had been walking a long ways when the wall ended abruptly and a draft of cold air blew past her cheek. Loose hairs stirred faintly against her skin. From somewhere far below her, she heard noises. The scrape of boots, the distant sound of voices. A flickering light brushed the wall ever so faintly, and she saw that she stood at the top of a great black well, a shaft twenty feet across plunging deep into the earth. Huge stones had been set into the curving walls as steps, circling down and down, dark as the steps to hell that Old Nan used to tell them of. And something was coming up out of the darkness, out of the bowels of the earth . . . Arya peered over the edge and felt the cold black breath on her face. Far below, she saw the light of a single torch, small as the flame of a candle. Two men, she made out. Their shadows writhed against the sides of the well, tall as giants. She could hear their voices, echoing up the shaft. † . . . found one bastard,† one said. â€Å"The rest will come soon. A day, two days, a fortnight . . . â€Å" â€Å"And when he learns the truth, what will he do?† a second voice asked in the liquid accents of the Free Cities. â€Å"The gods alone know,† the first voice said. Arya could see a wisp of grey smoke drifting up off the torch, writhing like a snake as it rose. â€Å"The fools tried to kill his son, and what’s worse, they made a mummer’s farce of it. He’s not a man to put that aside. I warn you, the wolf and lion will soon be at each other’s throats, whether we will it or no.† â€Å"Too soon, too soon,† the voice with the accent complained. â€Å"What good is war now? We are not ready. Delay.† â€Å"As well bid me stop time. Do you take me for a wizard?† The other chuckled. â€Å"No less.† Flames licked at the cold air. The tall shadows were almost on top of her. An instant later the man holding the torch climbed into her sight, his companion beside him. Arya crept back away from the well, dropped to her stomach, and flattened herself against the wall. She held her breath as the men reached the top of the steps. â€Å"What would you have me do?† asked the torchbearer, a stout man in a leather half cape. Even in heavy boots, his feet seemed to glide soundlessly over the ground. A round scarred face and a stubble of dark beard showed under his steel cap, and he wore mail over boiled leather, and a dirk and shortsword at his belt. It seemed to Arya there was something oddly familiar about him. â€Å"If one Hand can die, why not a second?† replied the man with the accent and the forked yellow beard. â€Å"You have danced the dance before, my friend.† He was no one Arya had ever seen before, she was certain of it. Grossly fat, yet he seemed to walk lightly, carrying his weight on the balls of his feet as a water dancer might. His rings glimmered in the torchlight, red-gold and pale silver, crusted with rubies, sapphires, slitted yellow tiger eyes. Every finger wore a ring; some had two. â€Å"Before is not now, and this Hand is not the other,† the scarred man said as they stepped out into the hall. Still as stone, Arya told herself, quiet as a shadow. Blinded by the blaze of their own torch, they did not see her pressed flat against the stone, only a few feet away. â€Å"Perhaps so,† the forked beard replied, pausing to catch his breath after the long climb. â€Å"Nonetheless, we must have time. The princess is with child. The khal will not bestir himself until his son is born. You know how they are, these savages.† The man with the torch pushed at something. Arya heard a deep rumbling. A huge slab of rock, red in the torchlight, slid down out of the ceiling with a resounding crash that almost made her cry out. Where the entry to the well had been was nothing but stone, solid and unbroken. â€Å"If he does not bestir himself soon, it may be too late,† the stout man in the steel cap said. â€Å"This is no longer a game for two players, if ever it was. Stannis Baratheon and Lysa Arryn have fled beyond my reach, and the whispers say they are gathering swords around them. The Knight of Flowers writes Highgarden, urging his lord father to send his sister to court. The girl is a maid of fourteen, sweet and beautiful and tractable, and Lord Renly and Ser Loras intend that Robert should bed her, wed her, and make a new queen. Littlefinger . . . the gods only know what game Littlefinger is playing. Yet Lord Stark’s the one who troubles my sleep. He has the bastard, he has the book, and soon enough he’ll have the truth. And now his wife has abducted Tyrion Lannister, thanks to Littlefinger’s meddling. Lord Tywin will take that for an outrage, and Jaime has a queer affection for the Imp. If the Lannisters move north, that will bring the Tullys in as w ell. Delay, you say. Make haste, I reply. Even the finest of jugglers cannot keep a hundred balls in the air forever.† â€Å"You are more than a juggler, old friend. You are a true sorcerer. All I ask is that you work your magic awhile longer.† They started down the hall in the direction Arya had come, past the room with the monsters. â€Å"What I can do, I will,† the one with the torch said softly. â€Å"I must have gold, and another fifty birds.† She let them get a long way ahead, then went creeping after them. Quiet as a shadow. â€Å"So many?† The voices were fainter as the light dwindled ahead of her. â€Å"The ones you need are hard to find . . . so young, to know their letters . . . perhaps older . . . not die so easy . . . † â€Å"No. The younger are safer . . . treat them gently . . . â€Å" † . . . .if they kept their tongues . . . â€Å" † . . . the risk . . . â€Å" Long after their voices had faded away, Arya could still see the light of the torch, a smoking star that bid her follow. Twice it seemed to disappear, but she kept on straight, and both times she found herself at the top of steep, narrow stairs, the torch glimmering far below her. She hurried after it, down and down. Once she stumbled over a rock and fell against the wall, and her hand found raw earth supported by timbers, whereas before the tunnel had been dressed stone. She must have crept after them for miles. Finally they were gone, but there was no place to go but forward. She found the wall again and followed, blind and lost, pretending that Nymeria was padding along beside her in the darkness. At the end she was knee-deep in foul-smelling water, wishing she could dance upon it as Syrio might have, and wondering if she’d ever see light again. It was full dark when finally Arya emerged into the night air. She found herself standing at the mouth of a sewer where it emptied into the river. She stank so badly that she stripped right there, dropping her soiled clothing on the riverbank as she dove into the deep black waters. She swam until she felt clean, and crawled out shivering. Some riders went past along the river road as Arya was washing her clothes, but if they saw the scrawny naked girl scrubbing her rags in the moonlight, they took no notice. She was miles from the castle, but from anywhere in King’s Landing you needed only to look up to see the Red Keep high on Aegon’s Hill, so there was no danger of losing her way. Her clothes were almost dry by the time she reached the gatehouse. The portcullis was down and the gates barred, so she turned aside to a postern door. The gold cloaks who had the watch sneered when she told them to let her in. â€Å"Off with you,† one said. â€Å"The kitchen scraps are gone, and we’ll have no begging after dark.† â€Å"I’m not a beggar,† she said. â€Å"I live here.† â€Å"I said, off with you. Do you need a clout on the ear to help your hearing?† â€Å"I want to see my father.† The guards exchanged a glance. â€Å"I want to fuck the queen myself, for all the good it does me,† the younger one said. The older scowled. â€Å"Who’s this father of yours, boy, the city ratcatcher?† â€Å"The Hand of the King,† Arya told him. Both men laughed, but then the older one swung his fist at her, casually, as a man would swat a dog. Arya saw the blow coming even before it began. She danced back out of the way, untouched. â€Å"I’m not a boy,† she spat at them. â€Å"I’m Arya Stark of Winterfell, and if you lay a hand on me my lord father will have both your heads on spikes. If you don’t believe me, fetch Jory Cassel or Vayon Poole from the Tower of the Hand.† She put her hands on her hips. â€Å"Now are you going to open the gate, or do you need a clout on the ear to help your hearing?† Her father was alone in the solar when Harwin and Fat Tom marched her in, an oil lamp glowing softly at his elbow. He was bent over the biggest book Arya had ever seen, a great thick tome with cracked yellow pages of crabbed script, bound between faded leather covers, but he closed it to listen to Harwin’s report. His face was stern as he sent the men away with thanks. â€Å"You realize I had half my guard out searching for you?† Eddard Stark said when they were alone. â€Å"Septa Mordane is beside herself with fear. She’s in the sept praying for your safe return. Arya, you know you are never to go beyond the castle gates without my leave.† â€Å"I didn’t go out the gates,† she blurted. â€Å"Well, I didn’t mean to. I was down in the dungeons, only they turned into this tunnel. It was all dark, and I didn’t have a torch or a candle to see by, so I had to follow. I couldn’t go back the way I came on account of the monsters. Father, they were talking about killing you! Not the monsters, the two men. They didn’t see me, I was being still as stone and quiet as a shadow, but I heard them. They said you had a book and a bastard and if one Hand could die, why not a second? Is that the book? Jon’s the bastard, I bet.† â€Å"Jon? Arya, what are you talking about? Who said this?† â€Å"They did,† she told him. â€Å"There was a fat one with rings and a forked yellow beard, and another in mail and a steel cap, and the fat one said they had to delay but the other one told him he couldn’t keep juggling and the wolf and the lion were going to eat each other and it was a mummer’s farce.† She tried to remember the rest. She hadn’t quite understood everything she’d heard, and now it was all mixed up in her head. â€Å"The fat one said the princess was with child. The one in the steel cap, he had the torch, he said that they had to hurry. I think he was a wizard.† â€Å"A wizard,† said Ned, unsmiling. â€Å"Did he have a long white beard and tall pointed hat speckled with stars?† â€Å"No! It wasn’t like Old Nan’s stories. He didn’t look like a wizard, but the fat one said he was.† â€Å"I warn you, Arya, if you’re spinning this thread of air—† â€Å"No, I told you, it was in the dungeons, by the place with the secret wall. I was chasing cats, and well . . . † She screwed up her face. If she admitted knocking over Prince Tommen, he would be really angry with her. † . . . well, I went in this window. That’s where I found the monsters.† â€Å"Monsters and wizards,† her father said. â€Å"It would seem you’ve had quite an adventure. These men you heard, you say they spoke of juggling and mummery?† â€Å"Yes,† Arya admitted, â€Å"only—† â€Å"Arya, they were mummers,† her father told her. â€Å"There must be a dozen troupes in King’s Landing right now, come to make some coin off the tourney crowds. I’m not certain what these two were doing in the castle, but perhaps the king has asked for a show.† â€Å"No.† She shook her head stubbornly. â€Å"They weren’t—† â€Å"You shouldn’t be following people about and spying on them in any case. Nor do I cherish the notion of my daughter climbing in strange windows after stray cats. Look at you, sweetling. Your arms are covered with scratches. This has gone on long enough. Tell Syrio Forel that I want a word with hirn—† He was interrupted by a short, sudden knock. â€Å"Lord Eddard, pardons,† Desmond called out, opening the door a crack, â€Å"but there’s a black brother here begging audience. He says the matter is urgent. I thought you would want to know.† â€Å"My door is always open to the Night’s Watch,† Father said. Desmond ushered the man inside. He was stooped and ugly, with an unkempt beard and unwashed clothes, yet Father greeted him pleasantly and asked his name. â€Å"Yoren, as it please m’lord. My pardons for the hour.† He bowed to Arya. â€Å"And this must be your son. He has your look.† â€Å"I’m a girl,† Arya said, exasperated. If the old man was down from the Wall, he must have come by way of Winterfell. â€Å"Do you know my brothers?† she asked excitedly. â€Å"Robb and Bran are at Winterfell, and Jon’s on the Wall. Jon Snow, he’s in the Night’s Watch too, you must know him, he has a direwolf, a white one with red eyes. Is Jon a ranger yet? I’m Arya Stark.† The old man in his smelly black clothes was looking at her oddly, but Arya could not seem to stop talking. â€Å"When you ride back to the Wall, would you bring Jon a letter if I wrote one?† She wished Jon were here right now. He’d believe her about the dungeons and the fat man with the forked beard and the wizard in the steel cap. â€Å"My daughter often forgets her courtesies,† Eddard Stark said with a faint smile that softened his words. â€Å"I beg your forgiveness, Yoren. Did my brother Benjen send you?† â€Å"No one sent me, m’lord, saving old Mormont. I’m here to find men for the Wall, and when Robert next holds court, I’ll bend the knee and cry our need, see if the king and his Hand have some scum in the dungeons they’d be well rid of. You might say as Benjen Stark is why we’re talking, though. His blood ran black. Made him my brother as much as yours. It’s for his sake I’m come. Rode hard, I did, near killed my horse the way I drove her, but I left the others well behind.† â€Å"The others?† Yoren spat. â€Å"Sellswords and freeriders and like trash. That inn was full o’ them, and I saw them take the scent. The scent of blood or the scent of gold, they smell the same in the end. Not all o’ them made for King’s Landing, either. Some went galloping for Casterly Rock, and the Rock lies closer. Lord Tywin will have gotten the word by now, you can count on it.† Father frowned. â€Å"What word is this?† Yoren eyed Arya. â€Å"One best spoken in private, m’lord, begging your pardons.† â€Å"As you say. Desmond, see my daughter to her chambers.† He kissed her on the brow. â€Å"We’ll finish our talk on the morrow.† Arya stood rooted to the spot. â€Å"Nothing bad’s happened to Jon, has it?† she asked Yoren. â€Å"Or Uncle Benjen?† â€Å"Well, as to Stark, I can’t say. The Snow boy was well enough when I left the Wall. It’s not them as concerns me.† Desmond took her hand. â€Å"Come along, milady. You heard your lord father.† Arya had no choice but to go with him, wishing it had been Fat Tom. With Tom, she might have been able to linger at the door on some excuse and hear what Yoren was saying, but Desmond was too single-minded to trick. â€Å"How many guards does my father have?† she asked him as they descended to her bedchamber. â€Å"Here at King’s Landing? Fifty.† â€Å"You wouldn’t let anyone kill him, would you?† she asked. Desmond laughed. â€Å"No fear on that count, little lady. Lord Eddard’s guarded night and day. He’ll come to no harm.† â€Å"The Lannisters have more than fifty men,† Arya pointed out. â€Å"So they do, but every northerner is worth ten of these southron swords, so you can sleep easy.† â€Å"What if a wizard was sent to kill him?† â€Å"Well, as to that,† Desmond replied, drawing his longsword, â€Å"wizards die the same as other men, once you cut their heads off.† How to cite A Game of Thrones Chapter Thirty-two, Essay examples