Advanced Essay #1: The Man on the Wall

Introduction:

This essay is my reflection on a connection I had made with an important person in my life, which was then suddenly severed. My goals for this paper were to try and enhance my descriptive language and to work on describing actual events that happened in my life. I wanted people to understand the connection that I had with this person and how guilt and sorrow came to affect that relationship. I am proud of the work that I did in using imagery and painting a picture through words because I feel that it added a lot to my writing and is one of the aspects of this piece that are most engaging. In the future I would like to work more on my structure, because I feel this piece was made up of a lot of different pieces that didn’t quite go together, but I forced them to, and next time I would like to make the story more fluid.

Advanced Essay:

An old and scratchy voice yelled to me from afar. I turned around, confused as to what I had just heard. A familiar face poked its head out of a car. “You boy, come here, let me show you what I have here for you!” I approached with caution, still startled by the voice that had come out of nowhere. On the corner of the street stood a small car, almost miniature, with a dark blue coat, it was shining from the glare of the sun that bore down upon it. I staggered towards the vehicle, looked through the gaping window to see my father and the woman to which the familiar voice had come from. Now knowing that I could trust the owners of this machine, I grasped the latch to the door and stepped in. Immediately I felt a cool blast of air pour onto my face, and a cold metal object thrown into my lap. I was unsure as to what it was until I was able to take a closer look at it. A metal man lay in my lap, staring up blankly into my eyes, carrying little to no emotion on his face, though he looked curious. He looked as though he was looking through my eyes and into my past, present, and future, though he just sat there, emotionless, worthless. I lay out his flat body in my arms, grasping him, wondering what use he was to me. Why should I care?

The metal man lay on the wall with a look of curiosity on his face. His body thin and bony, easily breakable, so thin in fact that you could see the outline of each and every crevasse in his body. Each one of his limbs hung lifelessly from his torso as if he were a skeleton hanging dead from above. His chest was like a washboard that could be played as a musical instrument. His left arm dangled towards his side lifelessly gripping a guitar that looked like it would be played in a rock and roll band, though it hasn’t been touched for a long time. A charm is wrapped around his neck clinging closely to his skin. A column of ridges peaked out of his face in the place where his nose would be, seemingly connecting his round skeleton eyes to his wide open mouth. The lifelessness that fills him seemed to be the same that might fill a robot, an inhuman metal contraption that sits upon the wall until it is needed. His metal seemed beaten and worn, covered with dents and rust, but through the battered and mangled body that lies there are intricate designs carved into each limb, resembling starry skies and gusts of wind. He stares straight forwards as if he is looking right at you, but you know that he can’t see anything. The metal man is made of scraps, but seem to be something new, a masterpiece depicting a man with an extensive story to tell. He reminded me of her. The old lady who once thought of me. Every time I stared at the corpse of a man strung up on my wall, I was filled with the sight of her face, gleaming at me, hammering the image of her into my mind. It made me happy, knowing there was someone in this overwhelming population who cared enough about me to make a special connection with me.

It hit me all at once, a wave of confusion washing over my entire body. I heard her say the words, but I was unable to comprehend their meaning, each word translated into a foreign language, something that made complete sense, but only sounded like jibberish to me. “I’m leaving on a trip,” she began in a mild tone, “to the middle east, to help the refugees from Syria, to provide them with the many comforts that they need.” Her words confused me, I wanted to believe it wasn’t true, even though I knew every word was spoken with complete sincerity. I didn’t want to believe that she was leaving to such a dangerous place all on her own. I tried to make up excuses in my head: Maybe she just is just fooling with us, she knows that someone of her age wouldn’t make it in that part of world. Maybe she will change her mind once she realizes the mistake she is making. But deep down I knew she wasn’t going to change her mind, and she knew that she wasn’t making any mistake. This was where she was meant to go, and there was nothing I could do to stop her. At this moment I felt completely alone. And I was. I didn’t see her again after that moment, and I continually ask myself: Will I ever again? Was I the one worth leaving?

I never really appreciated her until she left me, and I will always regret not telling her how I feel. The lack of time that I had is something that keeps spinning around in my head, the idea that there may have been another moment, and there may have been another time where I could see her. Every time I now look at the lifeless figure that hangs on the wall I think of her, and how I might see her again someday.