My creative nonfiction's muse came from a very eventful week in my life. There are crashes, fires, sickness, everything for a good storyline. Best of all, it's all true. Though the material was plentiful, my actual commitment to the essay itself wasn't. Procrastination is a common and recurring theme in my existence, a bane one at that (the procrastination). I made excuses for myself so that I could sleep better at night. Work (mostly work), family, prior paramount arrangements, anything that may have come up. I mostly wrote out the entire paper by hand, usually because I wasn't around the computer. I thought that this was more work, but it also helped me in process because I could see my writing in a different angle then before. Besides some grammatical errors and some sentences that I want to refine more, I believe that I have a good blend of show and tell. I stayed within the confides of what needed to be done i hope.
In this post, I will provide two scenes: a scene about a familiar place and scene about a strange place.
Familiar Place I turn down a emulation starved road, with curves resembling that of a snake. Even as many times that I have passed down this winding way, there's a particular turn or two, that comes too sharp. This stretch of street feels like it last forever but in actuality about 2 miles before I reach my destination. As precarious as I have to be these days because of the ice that has been constantly covering the road, I slowly drive around the lane. With much anticipation, I arrive to the top of the summit. I turn on to the thoroughfare and park my car. I walk across a lawn, blanketed by snow and pull open two heavy metal doors that place me directly in the building belonging to a group called public safely. This is where I clock in for work. The interior of the building itself looks like a asylum for the mentally disturbed. The white tile floors look more off-white because of the caked on dirt. Small metal gates act as dividers or the may just be there for no good reason. In my mind, I feel as though they are there to divide the police officers and security watch (me) just so they can feel superior. As I walk to the from desk, I am greeted by the police officers across the room with the usual terms of endearment, such as, "blunt", or "MJ". Ignoring them, I finally arrive to the main desk, across the hall, parallel but very close to the metal gates. I am acknowledged by a overweight Caucasian male, his name escapes me at the moment. "Brown, how are you tonight?" "I'm doing well sir and yourself on this lovely night (sarcasm intended because it was at least six degrees)?" He laughs. "Where are you located?" "Emelen". "Enjoy your night". And off into the night I went. Unfamiliar Place I arrive to where I need to be. I have been flying on this plane for over 8 hours. Everywhere I looked, I felt a jolt of excitement course through my body. The feeling of being in a new land, different from the one you were born and raised on, was evident to me. The majority of the individuals I came across as I overheard there conversations, spoke with a thick, island accent. It was hard for me to understand them, which added to my anxiety. The first person besides the flight attendant who escorted me and my family to our chauffeur. I notice that he is armed and first thought is "I am not getting into the car with that person", but in reality he has it for our protection. Criminals in this country are apparently notorious for targeting Americans because they feel that they always have the most money. Hearing this from the flight attendant quickly withdrew my intolerance. Once we had all our belongings, we carried on to the chauffeur's very expensive, brand-new 2014 Mercedes Benz. All leather on the inside, very shiny on the outside. The car reminded me of America but that's where the similarities stop. The ground was completely barren. No grass, concrete, just uneven dirt mounds as far as the eye can see. This scenery was stretched as far as the eye can see expect for the occasion rouge dog packs. This is where I will post my writer's roundtable story where I use three famous authors quote and turn it into a scenario. I expediently work my way up the stairwell, through the crowds that loiter near the entrance, moving between students like a obstacle course. Familiar sights welcome me and let me know I'm in the right place. The dozens, upon dozens of computers. The sometimes smiling face that occasionally greets you as you past him/her by, curiously gazing at you to see if you have and questions or concerns. The comforting carpet on your feet. There are many different names for this place, or least I refer to it myself, in many different names. The commons, the library, etc. Here was my desired location but not my exact destination. I turn to my left. I see a group of students eating causally, seated across a thick, transparent window. It almost seems as if the students who walk by are strictly there for the viewing pleasure of those seated students. On the same side, I see a cafe with a batista who looks exhausted (I don't know why, not a lot of heavy lifting going on over there) but joyful, as she interacts with consumers. I notice a sign above her station. It reads, "Do not eat, or drink". I pause for a few moments to appreciate the irony but remember what I came for. i came here for 3 English instructors to assist me in passing my class. I'm struggling. One might ask themselves, "Wow you are doing that bad that you need three instructors?". To reiterate, the scenario is quite dire but there is no need to go into specifics. I breeze around a blonde whom I see quite often, quite often doing nothing. She, as usual, had a expression on her face. An expression that looked like it read, "please go the opposite direction" and I intended to do so. I finally reach my destination after passing the blonde and I'm greeted by three stern faces. I introduce myself to them first so there won't be any misinterpreting of who I am.
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Bryan A. Brown
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