On December 11, 2017, Lucas Goldsmith and I presented a project on the author George Orwell, as a team of two we read his work 1984, and in previous years we read another of his works called Animal Farm. During this presentation, we were given the task of emulating some of his work, as well as emulating from another groups project and work they gave us. I will first share my first emulation of another group and then the one from my own presentation.
Here is the excerpt we emulated from:
“A little Rumpelstiltskin figure, contorted with hatred, he gripped the neck of the microphone with one hand while the other, enormous at the end of a bony arm, clawed the air menacingly above his head. His voice, made metallic by the amplifiers, boomed forth an endless catalogue of atrocities, massacres, deportations, lootings, rapings, torture of prisoners, bombing of civilians, lying propaganda, unjust aggressions, broken treaties. It was almost impossible to listen to him without being first convinced and then maddened. At every few moments the fury of the crowd boiled over and the voice of the speaker was drowned by a wild beast-like roaring that rose uncontrollably from thousands of throats.” Orwell, 1984
Emulation 1 – George Orwell: 1984
A small shadow cast over my feet, masked with evil, it grabbed my leg and with one hand pulled me while the other, small and bony, clawed to the reach the other leg. The sound was like no other, screaming from down in the depths like people burning as they rot in hell, the world beneath our feet, the fiery kingdom, a place where souls never escape. It was almost impossible to not hear without the thoughts of death and despair creeping over the horizon, whispering “join us,” with a snake-like hiss. At every few moments, I tried to grab something. The shadow pulled harder drowning me in a black pit from Hades himself.
Emulation 2 – Sir Arthur Conan Doyle: Hounds of Baskerville (pg.84)
A cold wind swept down my neck setting the hairs on my neck on edge. My hand tightly locked in place like ice grew inside my joints. Somewhere there, on the frozen tundra, was a home, hiding under Jack Frosts blanket, a ray of warmth touched the side of my cheek as I fight my way out of the open and into the trees. The darkening sky slowly cast a shadow over my head while I lay on pine needles and dead grass. My eyes close slowly putting my mind into dream mode, slowly my eyes woke up in the middle of the darkness to see lights breaking through the midnight sky. My mind thought that they were going to lead me to a place that I could only see in dreams. The flow of the lights pushed me along in the freezing cold temperatures. Everything around me stood still, not a creature stirring in the night, not even my light in the midnight sky. The feeling of lost set in like a ghost, “how can I be lost?” A beam of light pierced through the branches of the pine trees and landed on my face. The warmth felt like a lost soul finding its owner. My home, I was home. A cabin in the darkening sky.
If you do want to look more at our George Orwell project there is a link below to look at it.