The sergeant turned to the captain, saluted and placed himself immediately behind that officer, who in turn moved apart one pace. It makes for a good little Poe-esque tale. The reader, therefore, should be skeptical immediately. As he walked, he was in a kind of sleep. But then he felt a sharp pain in his neck and could not breathe. Read it before you read reviews so it's not spoiled.
All is as he left it, and all bright and beautiful in the morning sunshine. Everything slowed down to where I could watch individual pieces of glass moving so slowly that I could have caught them with a pair of chopsticks. And he saw the bridge, with the wall at one end. بیرس به لطف تجربیات شخصی خود در جنگ داخلی، موفق شده اعتبار و سندیت داستان خودش را افزایش بدهد. He looked down and saw the water under the bridge. These pains appeared to flash along well defined lines of ramification and to beat with an inconceivably rapid periodicity.
There was a big sound in his ears. The journey that he undergoes after the fall from the bridge is a journey toward death and away from consciousness and reality into an abyss of literary genius with Faraquar more a spectator, just as the audience is at this point. Part 1 is the exposition. It is now dry and would burn like tinder. His eyes hurt so much that he could not close them.
It turns out this whole escape thing never happens. It is a very immediate, visceral sort of story that's all about the senses. That is a good gun. His whole body was racked and wrenched with an insupportable anguish! Keen, poignant agonies seemed to shoot from his neck downward through every fiber of his body and limbs. Bierce was a masterful craftsman of the English language and here captured an idea, a concept that went on to influence scores of writers after him.
Death is a dignitary who when he comes announced is to be received with formal manifestations of respect, even by those most familiar with him. He has a flashback to some night where a southern soldier came to their door. Suddenly he heard a sharp report and something struck the water smartly within a few inches of his head, spattering his face with spray. He believed the rope had broken and that he was in the river. Part 3 of the story distorts time insomuch that it is the longest section, contains most of the action, yet encompasses only a few seconds. Bierce employed a distinctive style of writing, especially in his stories.
He was sure they were arranged in some order which had a secret and malign significance. The cord fell away; his arms parted and floated upward, the hands dimly seen on each side in the growing light. He had not known that he lived in so wild a region. The water roared in his ears like the voice of Niagara, yet he heard the dull thunder of the volley and, rising again toward the surface, met shining bits of metal, singularly flattened, oscillating slowly downward. All around him there was a great white light and the sound of a cannon. Doubtless, despite his suffering, he had fallen asleep while walking, for now he sees another scene - perhaps he has merely recovered from a delirium.
Such a fantastic, sneaky story. آن ها با ترسیم اجسادی تکه پاره و خون آلود، افتخار جنگ را زیر سوال می بردند و هزینه ای که برای دستیابی به یک پیروزی صرف می شد را به نمایش می گذاشتند. This is set in the 19th century but there have always been people through out history and today as well who have made foolish choices. The water roared in his ears like the voice of Niagara, yet he heard the dulled thunder of the volley and, rising again toward the surface, met shining bits of metal, singularly flattened, oscillating slowly downward. His neck was in pain and lifting his hand to it found it horribly swollen.
God help me, I cannot dodge them all! His brain was as energetic as his arms and legs; he thought with the rapidity of lightning. He wore a moustache and pointed beard, but no whiskers; his eyes were large and dark gray, and had a kindly expression which one would hardly have expected in one whose neck was in the hemp. His neck was in pain and lifting his hand to it found it horribly swollen. Bierce, in typical Bierce fashion, heads down to Mexico and is never heard of again. As he came up to the top again, he saw the bullets hit the water. This story was about a man named Peyton Farquhar. I would recommend reading this story without commentary and then reading it a second time with analysis because Bierce has layered in some symbolism into the story.