Irony's Attractions: A Narrative Fiction

Yusef Komunyakaa and Eavan Boland illustrate their personal experiences in order to emphasize how mistakes or tragic events will follow you for the rest of your life. The events that occur personally will haunt you every second of your life until you come to terms with them. The poems “Facing It” and “The Necessity of Irony” both reflect on past memories by using similar language and tone in order to realize what is truly important in life for a better future.

Later that night, I was comforting Vinyl at the news she and I got today. We were lying in bed together, our bodies pressing up against each other as we held each other close; I caressed the area around her eyes, trying to help her sleep, hoping that it would dwindle the tension she had within

Situational Irony Ever heard the song “Ironic” by Alanis Morissette? Really big in the early 00’s but anyway, that’s beside the point. It has terribly “ironic” situations like a man buying a lottery ticket at age 98 then dying the next day, 10,000 spoons when all you need is a knife, and meeting the man of your dreams, then meeting his beautiful wife. It’s like rain on your wedding day, it’s a free riiiiiide

Lilly glanced down the row of cars all parked up under the trees. A chill moved through her. She brought her knees up to her chest, pressed her thighs against her rib cage and let her head sink down. She needed to find a place to stay. She needed somewhere to sleep and she needed to be able to get ready tomorrow to make sure Bobby saw her looking hot again. Because he would kick himself once he saw her all made-up in a nice dress and nice shoes. He’d feel pretty dumb for avoiding her this last year over a stupid pair of flip-flops. But how was she going to be that girl who turned his head if she spent tonight sleeping rough? Lilly closed her eyes and tried not to let it upset her. Puffed up eyes was the last thing she

A strongminded man who has everything going for him, nice job nice car, great friends, etc. comes home every night to a sick mother whom he takes care of after a long day of living a lavish life. His one weakness is his sick mother because she taught him everything. No one, not even his best friend knows about his other life and so that 's how he keeps it. Oh the irony right? Big strong man afraid to live his truth in fear of change and facing his reality. In The Metamorphosis, author Franz Kafka speaks on a character name Gregor, who somehow manages to transform into a hideous insect, and the ironic life he lives. During the story Gregor has a family whom he cares for, a job as a salesman, and a lack in

Its 7:09 am and Olivia is woken up by a wetness between her legs. She looks down and finds that the wetness is actually her water that broke. She anxiously wakes up her husband John, and the two of them quickly gather their things. After nine long months of waiting, John and Olivia are finally on their way to the hospital to welcome their first child into the world. The two have already chosen Jacob Alexander as the baby's name and have the nursery ready for him at home. Once at the hospital, Olivia and John meet with their doctor, Dr. Rodriguez, who assures the anxious couple that everything will be fine and their new son will be in their arms in just a matter of hours. It is now 8:22 am and the pain from

Desiree had spent far to much time debating one what to do with all the information she now had. The evening before had been filled with so much that she wondered if there was ever a way to accept it all. She had spent the evening tossing and turning in her bed. Her mind always returning to thoughts of Razio. His face, his hands, his lips that still seemed to leave a tingle upon hers. His voice that still echoed in her mind. The way he held himself, and the small spark of light that seemed to push back the cold loneliness she had seen there.

Laughter; it is a crazy thing. We never intentionally laugh, it is always someone or something else that makes us, well, laugh. There are comedians whose jobs and livelihood rely on us laughing. But in my case, it is no comedian or actor, it is my mom.

As we can see, Kierkegaard traces a parallel between Socrates’ ironic practice and a picture. Furthermore, the effect of his rejoinders is likened to that of an image suddenly popping up while we stare at this picture. In order to get at Kierkegaard’s point, we have to consider that this passage is contained inside a discussion of Xenophon’s portrait of Socrates. In fact, the whole passage is meant those aspects of Socratic irony which Xenophon missed. In this regard, Kierkegaard writes that what he dislikes in Xenophon’s treatment of Socrates is his failure to portray the two essential elements of Socratic irony. The first one is ‘situation’, the second one are his ‘rejoinders’ . A bit below, Kierkegaard adds that ‘[…] Socratic questioning is clearly […] analogous to the negative in Hegel, except that the negative, according to Hegel is a necessary element in thought itself, is a determinant ad intra [inwardly]; in Plato [and therefore in Socrates] , the negative is made graphical and placed outside the object in the inquiring individual’ . This two ways of conceiving the negative give way to two modes of leading philosophical inquiry. In the first case,

Mary glared at William, burning a hole into him with the fury in her gaze.

This is how I’m getting closure, if you read this its because you care about how you made me feel…..

“Good afternoon, my dear Sam. How was school?” the man who called himself Lucas Maxis said in his perfect American accent. “The same old same old.” she replied in a bored tone. She hadn’t told him of her daily trips up to the old fortress upon the hill yet, and if he thought anything was suspicious, he never brought it up. She always just told him she was hanging out with the girls from school, but that wasn’t true. She couldn’t stand any of her classmates apart from Eddy. They were so shallow, and so absorbed in their own lives that they paid her no attention, other than the occasional whisper about how ‘uncool’ she was. The only one at all who she cared at all for was the beautiful young man named Thomas Schuster, and she adored him wholeheartedly. When she was around him, her heart skipped a beat and even the pain of her past was no longer a trouble to her. He was perfect, with his short hair the colour of rich chocolate, and his dazzling blue eyes the colour of the sparkling ocean. He was perfect in every aspect to her, and whenever they passed in the halls, she felt the thing in her mind willing to break free. This emotion was new to her, something perfectly human - love. She had no shortage of contact with him either, what with him being one of Eddy’s closest friends. She had slowly been working up the courage to ask him out, but every time she tried, it stopped her. Filled her head with

Word was that there was to be a party of a grand scale somewhere in Bartlett that night and June did not want to go. Three days into a short winter break had already turned into three days of lengthy nights filled with equal portions of cheap drugs, cheaper beer and the expensive drama that always seems to accompany these. Three days of a waterfall of hormones and horniness, backseat lovers and backdoor lies, cascading onto a door; the wood swelling and sweltering and splintering, soon to be nothing but driftwood. Fragments dangle like an unlit cigarette clinging to the lips of a red-rimmed girl whose eyes have experienced too much of everything but sleep. Sleep, the friend whose visit she had long prolonged and wished to reinstate. June hadn’t even been home in that time span, opting instead to crash at her best friend Lexi’s house; which was never a problem because Ms. Sherry adored her (sometimes, it was said, more so than her own daughter). She was tired, and not only in the physical sense, but in that deeper, emotionally tinged sense as well.

He laid on his bed, photographs taken out from their albums were scattered out around him. Her smooth warm hands holding gently on his right hand, it just wasn’t the same anymore. He needed to feel her flesh for one more time, her hands, where they belonged, in his. Her scent, so familiar, her dazzling chocolate brown eyes which were the kind that you can look into and get lost within it, her long wavy and golden brown hair that falls brilliantly over her chest and her kissable cherry lips. She was still painted on his mind.

“Good, you’re awake,” Louis smiled. “I thought you might be hungry when you woke so I went to get us something to eat. Vera, you can set that down and leave it, we’ll manage fine.” Vera sat the tray on a low table and then left the room. “I did not want to wake you when I left; you looked to be sleeping so peacefully,” he said, uncovering the tray. I blushed remembering our earlier lovemaking. Just remembering caused me to want him again. And, even though I tried not thinking of it and feeling that way, I felt that way.