Creative Writing: Three Droning Tone

The city always seemed to push the stars farther away from the world in the dead of night. Rain had begun to sprinkle downtown and it began to trickle across the top of the parked cars in the street. Vernon was sitting there silently listening to the drizzle outside that sounded like pebbles falling on a tin roof, still thinking about the dreams his been having. The Coffee Cup was like any other diner nestled between apartments and liquor stores. There was seven cut-up stools and behind them against the wall sat a cigarette machine and no smoking sign. The counter was worn from years of service. Two booths sat facing the storefront windows

I’m late. The Starbucks line was long and the coffee stain is still splattered on my black skirt. I check my calendar, September 11. The city’s smog is killing me. If it wasn’t for this meeting, I’d be at my allergist getting new medication to deal with it. I take another sip of my coffee. The heat and the splash of mint I had them add, helps open up my sinuses.

“Some people say I was lucky to survive, other will say I deserved it for the choice I made. I’m here to say I was lucky, it’s never ok to say your life isn’t worth living even at your worst you can always look forward tomorrow will come and if you put your mind to it you’ll see that anything is possible.” – Stephen McGregor Professional Paralympian

“Do let us go downstairs,” I pleaded to John. “There are such pretty rooms there.”

When the author arrives in New York, she is entranced by the city. The author’s love of New York is so deep that she cannot establish the years during which many of her early memories took place. Instead of being distinct, the memories are a mass jumble of imagery that captures her favourite aspects of the city. One night, Didion was running late to meet someone. Despite her rush, she stopped at Lexington Avenue, bought a peach, and ate it

The boat creaked, rocking back and forth gently in the waves. A piece of charcoal gripped in her hand as she scribbled on a paper, attempting to mimic her brother, who was crudely drawing stick figures in a book. She glanced up at the two adult figures moving the boat, warm affection flooding her. They were comfort, protection and nourishment. As she went back to her drawing, a large blue-skinned hand rumpled her hair, sparking a laugh. The burst came out mixed with a bark, a clear sign of her heritage. Her brother laughed in response, and with a mischievous glance began tickling the foot closest to him. Soon, all the passengers reveled in laughter, their barking and merriment echoing out across the waters. The day passed, uneventful and boring,

“Like Miss Emily it stands “lifting its stubborn and coquettish decay” alone amidst alien surroundings. When the town complains about the smell emanating from the house, the judge equates house and woman: “Will you accuse a lady to her face of smelling bad?” Miss Emily becomes a fallen woman where she lived in a house that had “once been white… set on what had once been our most select street…lifting its stubborn and coquettish decay above the cotton wagons and gasoline pumps an eyesore among eyesores.” The house, like Miss Emily, has fallen from purity and like Miss Emily it is an eyesore, for

Then some of people noticed a new guest, dress as a clothes of the Red Death. Everyone was freaking out because of him. When Prince Prospero saw this guy, he became angry and asked courtiers to seize him and unmask him. But no one have the courage to do it, including Prospero himself. The Red Death walked through the rooms, heading toward the black room. Prospero chased him with taking his dagger. Prospero reached the edge of the dark room, the Red Death suddenly turned to face him, and Prospero fell on the ground and dead. "Then, summoning the wild courage of despair, a throng of the revelers at once threw themselves into the black apartment, and, seizing the mummer, whose tall figure stood erect and motionless within the shadow of the ebony

An unsettling evening wind started to blow its way through the Central Park. The sun began to set, sending a cascade of colors streaming through the evening sky. The day had started with the normal chaos that a normal Friday had encompassed. John was having difficulty finishing the last piece of business for that day, his mind kept day dreaming towards his lovely wife and wonderful children. As he set in his chair completely exhausted in his tattered office listening to the clock that was ticking in the background, and it approached the wishful hour of five o’clock.

Detective Tom Reilly let the photo slip from his fingers, and ran his palm over a scalp adorned with light brown hair, shorn in a buzz-cut, then lifted his deep-blue eyes to stare at his colleague. "I'm not sure, Jarrod," he replied slowly, and drew his gaze back to the image of the bruised, battered and naked woman that had landed face-up on his desk, located in a office on the second of the Police building in the ninety-sixth precinct. The woman who, by appearances, could be his wife's sister. Not that you could tell from the crime-scene photo.

I would not have stopped there if it wasn’t for my children’s constant begging for ice cream, even before 9 A.M. It seemed a suitable place, with a garden and several empty tables where the sun’s rays intended to stay a little longer that morning. Or maybe it was the desire for a cup of coffee, or perhaps the smell of mint or fresh pastries. Somehow that place had gathered all fragrances from one New York, April morning, just far enough away from the crowds and noise, yet close enough to everything.

A summery July moon shines bright above as Elise walks along Manhattan’s theater district. The avenue is heavily congested with private vehicles, taxis and buses. Elise rapidly blinks her eyes against the glare of red, yellow, and green lights reflecting off the vehicles and storefronts. She rushes toward the subway stairs to escape the incessant sounds of honking and shouting as sleek, fashionable club-goers and restaurant and theater patrons spill out onto the sidewalk.

This literary work is started out with a setting of New York on a rainy, gloomy day. New York is known to be an exciting city that never sleeps, full of successful people such as Blake, the main character, or people struggling just to get by, like Miss Dent. The city being so crowded and loud makes it hard for people to really think and calm themselves down. “He noticed now how much louder the rain made the noises of the street… horns were blowing urgently… The sidewalk was crowded… he wondered if she was following him.” (Cheever 2) Even on these rainy days the streets are still full of sounds and people. These many noises give Blake a serious case of paranoia. Blake saw Miss Dent earlier and now the many distractions around

The blare of saxophones, trombones, and trumpets exploded over the ballroom hum of muffled voices. Young couples crowded the dance floor as the band broke out in a lively rendition of Glenn Miller’s popular hit, “In the Mood.”

Set in Manhattan in the 1980’s, Bright Lights, Big City, written by Jay McInerney, tells the somewhat autobiographical story of a twenty-four year old, recently separated, lonely man, hiding from his world, or what’s left of it. His wife, a fashion model, abandoned him and relocated to Paris, his boss fired him from his job as an editor, and his friend ditched him at a club―more than once. He then spent his nights snorting enough cocaine to make Mount Everest seem low, and had a nasty encounter with a rabid ferret that almost resulted in a one-handed narrator. As a reader, following the roller-coaster life of our unnamed narrator definitely kept me on the edge of my desk chair from the cover until the end. Some of the reasons behind my constant attention to the novel were a few aesthetic choices the author made, including the use of second person point of view and the development of the narrator. The author’s decision to use these two style choices—second person point of view and the development of the narrator―helped to create a unique and fun yet timeless and relatable story of a young man, alone in the bright lights, big city of NYC.