English
It was a Saturday, and here I was, walking along what should have been, a resplendent beach, like I have been doing for the past few years. There were a few early morning walkers, some of whom I knew by face, and a few whom I knew by name. Being bred in a cosmopolitan city, I had an eye for details, and while I try and keep to myself, I just couldn’t get myself to turn and look the other way when I saw her.
The beach is a popular place, and is among the most crowded places on weekends. It is among the most frequently visited places in the city, and because of the number of people visiting the beach during the day, the beach was bound to be littered with plastics and papers left behind by the visitors. As it was early morning, the garbage truck had not come as yet, and the reminiscent of the previous day was evident. There were a few seagulls and some other species of birds walking on the beach, pecking away at things they found edible and some, that weren’t.
As I strolled down the beach waving my hand at a few people whom I knew, I was about to cross a hawker whom I have been seeing there for the years that I’ve visited the beach, when he said,
“Good morning Jimmy, care to have some flowers?” “It’ll just cost you seven dollars!”
“You could be lucky today, you know” he continued. “There are quite a few familiar faces along the beach, and you might find someone interesting,” he ended.
“No thanks, Marty” I replied, “I’ll survive on my own.”
“Don’t blame for not offering a hand,” he quipped. I waved my hand in his direction and kept walking.
Marty was about forty-five years old. He was slightly built and balding, and he always wore a green cap to hide his baldness. He claimed that he never married, and was still looking for a suitable suitor. I liked Marty. As I passed Marty, I began to think of Dorothy. Dorothy and I had been seeing each other for two years, and we considered ourselves to be the best couple in town. One day, two years ago, Dorothy left this world and me in dark remorse.
I turned to look at the rising sun without interest, and as it rose from beyond the horizon, my shadow on the beach began to become shorter and shorter, as if it was about to swallow me. The sky was a magnificent picture of splashed orange and blue, yet to me, it seemed dull and sad. Dorothy’s memory was back to haunt me once again.
I looked away from the rising sun and looked at the people on the beach. It was then, that I saw this girl. She was wandering carelessly along the beach. Her long, brown hair swayed in the morning breeze, and she like Marty, wore a hat. Her elegant long dress hugged her body as I saw her fighting the wind to try and keep her dress orderly. Unable to break the resistance, she sat on the golden sand and looked at the sun. My interest in the girl grew with every passing minute and I suddenly felt something that I haven’t felt for years!
I was unmindful of my surrounding and looking at this girl with intent. I walked in her direction, and was about to call out to her when I saw her face and stopped.
She looked sullen and forlorn, and the sky faded into oblivion as my mind turned dark.
The next day at school, our junior class was all hushed up. Our teacher was explaining about the process to register for the SAT and AP tests, and I wasn’t particularly interested in it as I had no plans for the future. As other students in the class heard her pass the instructions, I noticed this girl walk toward our class. She walked up to the door and asked our teacher permission to come in. It was the same girl I saw on the beach! I couldn’t mistake her long, brown hair. The hat was missing alright, but she didn’t have the same look that I saw yesterday. She wore a short, dark-brown pant, and a matching cream top. However, unlike yesterday, her hair was curly, crimped, and coiling. She had heavy makeup on her face, but that didn’t hide her sharp facial features. She had small eyes that sparkled in bright daylight, and an equally small nose. Her lips were full and well covered with cherry-red “Was this the same girl that I saw at the beach yesterday?” I thought.
This girl was full of life; she smiled at everyone, unlike the remorseful girl I saw yesterday. “Hello, my name is Julie,” chirped this small-framed girl. “I moved into this city a week back, and I am very happy to be here,” she ended. “Julie” is it, I thought. I will have to talk to her sometime.
I got my chance to talk during the lunch break. Luckily for me, the usual hustle and bustle usually associated with the cafeteria was missing today, and there were not too many people sitting near her, and so, I picked myself and walked over to Julie and said,
“Hi, my name is Jimmy.” “Hi Jimmy, I’m Julie.” “Are you from my class?” she asked. “Yes, I am” I replied. “Where are you from Julie?” I asked. “OhI’m from Sussex, in England.” Her voice was a giveaway. She had this peculiar accent that was alien to ours, and when she mentioned England, I knew it right away.
“So, how come you’re here?” I asked. “I came as an exchange student, and while I’m beginning to like this place, I did feel homesick for a while,” she continued. I was tempted to tell her that I noticed that at the beach, but refrained myself from saying so. “How is England?” I asked, “Never been outside Texas all my life.” “England is a nice country.” “London is its capital, and the people from England are called the English,” she remarked. “So, you could call me an English girl,” she said with a smile.
The more I talked to her, the more interested I became in her, and it wasn’t everyday that a Texan, would run into a foreigner; let alone another American from another state in Texas. Her sticky, straight accent was music to the ears, and like me, most of my classmates wanted to befriend her, which she did.
Somehow, my friendship with Julie grew.
One day, out teacher called Julie and told her that she was acting against the school regulation that forbids women from wearing such short dresses to school. “Ma’am,” replied Julie, “I understand, but I don’t like wearing my grandmother’s pyjamas to school either. You are still old-fashioned, while we in England dress elegantly,” she quipped.
That day, I hated our teacher. She never liked anyone other than Americans, which showed all of pride and prejudice. It was demeaning of her to talk to a guest from another country in the way she did. Isn’t it right to allow people the freedom of expression in this country? How could she ask Julie to wear something that was absolutely within the realms of decency? I was so frustrated by her behaviour that I left school immediately after the bell rang.
That was when I bumped into Joe. Joe and I have been friends since childhood, and when he said “What’s up Man?” I told him what happened in school. We never kept a secret between us, and would spend as much time we could together. “Tell you whatlets grab some Dr. Pepper. I’ll wait for ya on Ronald Street tonight,” I said. Whenever we were bored, this was out pastime.
I also worked part-time at a high-end jewelry store in a mall, and as my dad was a single parent, I didn’t want to press him more than I did for money.
“That would be ten thousand dollars, ma’am,” I said to a customer of mine who was around forty-years-old, and was wearing a diamond necklace and rings. “Would you sign here for me?” I ended.
“Why sure, young man,” she responded and signed on the paper that I extended to her. While attending to this woman, I saw a girl a girl whom I recognized instantly, walk by the store. It was Julie! I was never close to any of the store hands because they were from a different world altogether I thought. I ran out in search of her, but as soon as I spotted her, she had already reached the exit door of the mall.
“Hey! What are you doing outside during business hours?” yelled my boss when she saw me standing outside the store. “I was just looking for a customer I thought I saw,” I lied with a smile. “I’m back.”
Later that evening, after I finished work, I waited for Joe at Ronald Street. I waited and waited, until after thirty minutes or so, my phone rang. “Hey, it’s me, Joe. Sorry to say, but I can’t come there today,” said Joe. “Butwhy not?” “I have to run an urgent errand, and I just can’t let it pass,” he responded. “Fine,” I ended sarcastically, “I’ll find something interesting to do,” and hung up.
Came Saturday, and there I was at the beach again. I saw Marty selling flowers to a bunch of young girls who were laughing and playfully looking around them. “Hi Marty,” I said. “Hi Jimmyhaven’t seen you for a week.” “Hope everything is okay,” he asked apologetically. “Everything is fine, thank you,” I replied and moved on after waving to him.
As I walked briskly past some other morning walkers, I saw her. I really didn’t want to disturb her peace with nature, and thought of walking on when I saw from the corner of my eyes, her crying. Somehow, there was a connection between me and her. I began coming to the beach to drown my sorrows after Dorothy’s demise, and Julie also seemed to have some connection with the beach.
I walked up to her and enquired why she was crying, to which she said, “Hi, I feel rather lonely here. I miss my family, and my friends. I look out to sea in the direction of England.” “Somehow, I am not able to adjust to the new environment here.”
“Don’t be hard on yourself, Julie,” I said. “Let me tell you that I too felt the same, but time has been a healing factor.” “I want you to know that from now on, you have me for company.” I told her about Dorothy and how hard it was for me to live my life without her. As she heard my story, she looked me in the eye and said, “I may not be Dorothy, but I will try and be a good friend.”
Hearing this, I knew the second part of my life had begun.
Covering Letter
In writing this essay, I wanted the audience to understand the void created by Dorothy’s untimely death that had a deep impact on the author. By including rhetorical situations, I wanted the audience to be part of the story, and it was again by choice that I included Marty; the flower seller, as a symbolism of my cherished moments with Dorothy. I wrote this essay a number of times in the past week, and the number of revisions and rewrites only helped me develop the situation better. I used the ‘Show, don’t tell” technique to bolster my sense of admiration, dejection, and excitement, and I believe it helped me move from one situation to another without the slightest oratory glitch. It would have come easy for my readers to understand what was happening between scenes, and it didn’t warrant any further explanation to bridge this vacuum. Besides, by purposefully avoiding the cliché, I believe I was able to rejuvenate the creativity in my audience. On comparing the original draft with this draft, I am sure the reader will agree that I have put my whole effort to make it as readable as possible. My readers will agree, I believe, that I have taken pains to correct the structure and tone in developing a more comprehensive and well-thought plot. By using rhetorical situations, the story has a more purposeful and narrative style, and the audience is able to visualize the scenes in their minds. This style of writing came through the number of novels I have read in the past. It was hard to include the rhetoric, but in the three weeks I had, I could use the situations better. I admit that there is still a lot of work left for me to become a better writer, but with practice, I can only keep improving. Keeping in mind the audience, I understood the importance of the correct usage of language, punctuations, word choice, vocabulary, and sentence structure. Had it not been for the numerous revisions, I wouldn’t have achieved what I did now. I hope my audience feels the same. I read a number of peer-reviewed articles to understand the flow, and it also helped me understand how and where I had to use commas, exclamation marks and semi-colons to improve sentence structure and clarity. I feel I have gained considerable knowledge on how a story should be written and can to a certain extent, read papers to provide an overview. I focused on how sentences were written, and how stories were developed in my peers’ drafts. In order to stress on the sound effects, I used a number of power and action verbs, and adjectives. I did this so that my readers would get clear idea of what the situation was like when a dialogue was used introduced. In my first draft I made a whole lot of mistakes, and in weeks this had come down considerably. Now, when I consider this, I feel terrible and am happy that I have improved my writing capability. In order to correct myself, I read my draft a number of times and compared this with some of the peer-reviewed articles. I found out where I was making the mistakes and started correcting myself. I don’t regret my choices because it helped me learn a lot of things. I feel truly elated that I could introduce a number of dialogues in my short story, and this added a lot of positive thoughts. I could use dialogues to develop new situations. I believe that too much of simple writing can spoil one’s creativity and bring about a lot of grammatical mistakes. I am happy to say that genre, purpose, message, context, and audience helped me devise and articulate situations to entice the audience. This was one way of developing my creativity and also the plot. I have read a lot of advice notes from other fiction writers, and after having experienced how to write a fiction myself, the advices I can offer to future fiction writers is understand your audience first before you start writing your story. By understanding your audience, you will be able to develop stories in your mind that interest your audience. Next, the first time you sit to write your story, try to sit through it as far as possible, because a lot of ideas can come to mind, and all these should be put on paper. This will then be your first draft. A number of grammar mistakes will occur, but those can be corrected during the second, third, and even in the fourth draft. Also, make it a point to review articles and stories written by other fiction writers; for they can give you ideas and improve your writing style. In the end, I want to say that when I read my original draft, there were a lot of grammar mistake which embarrassed me to such an extent that and I could not read it fluently. For the peer review of my fictional story and Commencement Speech essays, all the hand written words on my original drafts were peer reviewed, and it was when my classmates asked me to expand my story did I present the final story called ‘Nightfall.’
