They lock me up and put me in a cell. The truth is, its smell was starting to engulf the house. I am but a man, scurrying down from his worst fear. As I began to pass into the mysterious afterlife or whatever it was that indeed waited for us on the other side, I felt immense, never-ending, soul-consuming regret for what I had set in motion through my comparatively innocent attempted slaying, for now the blame of the apparent fate of the entire world rested upon my shoulders. Forcing me forward like a dog under his control.
Later, when he finally succeeds in killing the victim, he becomes. I drag his body down the hall to the guest room and place him under the boards in there. Truly I have done my justice in this world, but this feeling of justice only lasted yet a brief second. And it seems that out of nowhere the hellion jumps at me. The story is narrated in first-person; as a result, the reader is not able to conclude a great deal of what the narrator is saying is true. It seems that --if so by magic—his limbs had reattached themselves.
And I shall be thanked by all who have suffered, like I have. Then he opens the shutter of the lantern so that a single ray falls on the eye. The narrator seems to have a lot of sympathy for the old man. It's very simple you see, I am but a lunatic, keeping his pace by a daily dose of blood spilt on his very face! I would be able to hear this from a mile away! The Old Man's face came into my head. I looked around, seeing that I was in a prison. For now I have to hide what I have done.
I could taste the buttery flavor of murder on my own lips as I dug my nails into the soil. The narrator's paranoia mounts as the heartbeat gets louder. Through obvious clues and statements, Poe warns the reader to the mental state of the speaker, which is irrationality. Although this was the case, the police do not think that it matters. But fail did my plans, as a dark, slim figure approached my iron wrought cell.
He begins to think the only reason the policemen are being nonchalant is because they can hear the heartbeat too and know what the narrator did. But then he thinks he hears the man stirring, but he goes on, gradually putting the lantern inside, knowing that the room is pitch black. I could hear his heartbeat. Through this, the writer can effectively suggest unsaid ideas and meanings to the audience. Truly I have done my justice in this world, but this feeling of justice only lasted yet a brief second. While one of them hauled the body up and tried quite pathetically to revive him, the other turned toward me and had an angry glint in his eyes. What do you get out of this, His money, the satisfaction that you are now a murderer? In this particular story, Poe decided to write it in the first person narrative.
I look down at the boards on the floor that flow throughout the house, a great place to place the old man. The men were getting closer. The narrator keeps a calm demeanor during the investigation and even brings the policemen into the old man's room to sit and chat casually. They can come in the form of phrases, colors, objects or events. Finally, I was at peace and I could enjoy my life, so I thought.
The narrator waits, but the old man does not fall back to sleep because he feels someone outside the door. The tip of my blade glinted like water in the grudging moonlight, my hands itched with the desire of death as I drove the blade half way home. His unreliability becomes immediately evident in the first paragraph of the story, when he insists on his clarity of mind and attributes any signs of madness to his nervousness and oversensitivity, particularly in the area of hearing. He is a classic example of Poe's unreliable narrator, a man who cannot be trusted to tell the objective truth of what is happening. As for dramatic irony, since we know that the narrator is the one that killed the old man, 1687 Words 7 Pages a story. Surely I shall have my revenge! They did a full search of the house and decided that I was innocent so they left me to be. He imagines what the man has been going through since he awoke, trying to explain away the noise and comfort himself but in vain because he feels that Death is in the room.
I opened the door a greeted the officers accordingly. I threw open the front door, ran outside as you see that is a short distance, being that the house was so small , and grabbed the first large, fallen tree branch I could find. I was suddenly shunned into reality, for I knew not why. My heart thumped within me, as the guilty rage of the tell-tale heart spread through my blood. His jaw hung limply from his half decayed face. He admits that his motives for the act to follow are curious, that there was no passion that provoked it.