Mr Wayne Narrative

“It’s not everyday we get company around here,” I reminded myself, “we haven’t shown our chateau in ages.” As we walked down the elegant staircase, each step creaked one by one. My hand-held lamp with the bright, burning fire was in clutch as we walked around the dusty furniture until we saw some of my men. They were silent, but you could see the fear in their eyes - almost like the fear in Rainsford’s. One had the guts to come up, and offer another light looking for a way to impress me with his concern, but I quickly declined.

In mocking the organization of a real eulogy, the publisher illustrates her negative attitude towards the death of the working man and the lack of remorse for his departure. The flow of thought in the composition reveals an impersonal tone, allowing characters to remain unimportant and nameless, which is in a satirical contrast to the true sense of loss usually presented by obituaries. Her structure mirrors the corporate mindset that every individual has an ‘expiration date’ - identifying the characters by their age - the “fifty-one-year-old deceased”, the“forty-eight-year-old widow”, and the “sixty-year-old company president” (Goodman line 32). This organization of the characters through numbers showcases the labor addict’s lack of importance to his company - bringing up a major societal problem within corporate America that only sees its workers as statistics. Goodman pokes fun at the sense of fondness and loss created by eulogies in order to reveal the insignificance of the man’s life to the business world - who care more about profits than the lives of their employees.

The nurse’s depression had become unmanageable and a vortex of despair affecting her work, so she decided to take time off to deal with this bad situation that was consuming

He walked through the door like John Wayne into the Alamo. His voice was the voice of ultimate command that would cut through the air like a tomahawk missile. He talked like everything he said was going out on a P.A. system. I’ve never heard anyone talk so well before or since

I am walking in the cool twilight air, down a dull cobbled path with a tinge of green moss, illuminated by blazing red gas street lamps. After a short stroll, I find myself outside number twenty-four, a dark blue, double story building, several of the exact same trailing to the side. I step up the old wooden stairs, receiving a faint creaking "hello" from each one. "Jules!" I shout. "Jules?" The light isn't on. I am confused. Maybe he went out to buy milk or eggs... But shops in Epsom aren't open this

When Monday arrives, I dread going to work. Yet, I go and put on a brave face. Right off, Megan fills me in on Sarah’s new job. “It’s at another studio in motion picture marketing.” When I react surprised that it’s not in development, she says. “She wanted a change. What about you? Are you Afterwards, we discuss my plans. “I hope you’re staying?”

As his hands were trembling, the quill dropped on the table. He knew that there was nothing to be done. His signature stared at him. As if it was a good idea. He was old but still young minded; he knew what he was doing. However, he noticed that his time would end soon enough and that his lover needed him. Compensating for his actions, he held his wife's hand for her assurance, while the crackling of the fire enhanced his fluctuating decisions. With one look at her, he realised that it was necessary. Tears of blood, one by one, trickled down creating a seal for the envelope. The seal of the House of Van Garret.

After a year or so of living in my Middle West paradise, the cold, merciless hand of the East Coast came and rapped on my front door. It arrived in the form of a letter from Daisy, who, in a magic act that could rival Harry Houdini, disappeared with her hulking husband and her oh-so precious daughter, only to brutally reappear in the envelope resting in my hands. The envelope was heavy, as if the weight of the three years since that infamous summer had all been transferred to this single letter. Simply holding it I knew I would not be able to handle myself if I were to simply toss it into my fireplace and attempt to forget its existence. So I brought it in from my snow-covered mailbox and into the safety of my home.

In sixth grade I had a science teacher whose name was Mr. Snyder. He had a passion to teach young students the unlimited and extraordinary details of science. He would not only speak to us about the facts and theories of science but he would always demonstrate anything that could be demonstrated. Because he was a visual teacher my learning experience grew and so did my fascination. His interest in science was astounding to me as a sixth grader. He was also very humorous. For example, one day in class we were learning about electricity and how it can transfer through those who are linked by hands. Mr. Snyder made us all hold hands and experience electricity moving through us and have the ends of our hair fly up. Another example of his humor is when we learned about the tongue and how

Although, as I began to think about it while we progressed towards the entrance, it wasn’t so strange after all. I did understand the sort of business that took place within such establishments, essentially contradicting the meaning of the word “gentleman”, and could now understand Margaret’s reluctance to come here, and her distaste for her uncle aside from his aggressive nature. I suppose I became slightly lost within thoughts and consideration of possibilities that I found myself straggling behind Margaret by about ten feet, just within the allotted visibility of the town, and briskly quickened my pace to re-arrive at her

I ran my hands over the smooth, heavy parchment and began reading. The letter was written with the intention of going to someone named Adalie’s second cousin explaining their absence from the family reunion and the recent events of their life. By the end, I found the letter interesting, almost like a biography, enthralled I decided to write back. I apologized for opening it, and I even put what I had been up to lately (leaving out the diabetes/transplant thing because I was not in the mood for a pity party.) I proceeded to put the letter back into my mailbox, running my hands over the rusty, yellow metal, then went back to my monotonous daily routine.

Daisy and I both saw the notes at the same moment. We both just stood there, too nervous to reach out our hands. Finally after a couple minutes of staring at the letters, I reached for mine. Daisy followed and grabbed for hers. We both opened them slowly, trying to not tear the envelope.

Rain pelted down like the sky had cracked open and a plug was pulled. I placed my hand on the red marble wall to steady myself as I walked up the stairs-- which lead up to the New York plaza hotel. Everything will change tonight--Niall my boyfriend has promised that much. After two years together I have decided that I am finally ready to lose my v-card. And what better day then my 21st birthday.

I woke up swiftly. My senses were blurred, except for my hearing. All I could hear was the

I heard the door open and I ran down stairs. I saw Nicolle and Emily in the front door.