Write An Alternate Ending To The Whirligig (Essay)

I never knew this would be my last day here… in Chicago. I hate my dad’s job, this is why I'm moving. Moving cities every year is hard and I hate it. My parents don't seem to bother all that much, they do it mostly for the money. As all these thoughts ran through my head, time went by and I finally arrived at my new house. As I out, all I could feel was the cold wind hitting my face and leafs attacking my fresh new j’s. Looking ahead of my was the fourth and certainly not the last house of mine.

I grew up in a world full of fairy tales and Disney characters. My parents who were trying to find a way to distract my 5 years old mind turn on the tv, and there I was admittedly taken on a journey to a magical place where I was safe in the knowledge that every ending is “happy-ever-after.”(this is an extended metaphor where I compare Disney to the real world I used this to show the reader how I thought the world was as happy and perfect as Disney and television makes them out to be). I soon came to the realization that the world is not so happy after all.

I spent the rest of the summer underneath an ocean of melancholy. Taking to sleeping during the long, burning days, I spent my nights in a wallow of self-despair. My father grew worried, and I will be forever thankful of him for offering to drive me places, just to get out of the house. Nevertheless, I lost contact with most of my friends. I stopped attending any social gatherings.

The last thing I wanted to do was start over, nevertheless I didn’t have a choice. I knew if I moved again, there was a chance I wouldn’t make it. Not long after, I found out my friend had died. Her brother murdered the rest of his family along with her. She made my move easier when I was there. I would miss her, but she made me realize how truly messed up the world can be. I missed home, so much that if I couldn’t be there, then I didn’t want to be in the world at all. As much as I wanted to, I couldn’t go back home, that chapter has closed, and it was time to open a new one. It was pivotal that I burn down the stage, throw away the costume, and figure out who I am. The pain will always be there, but I am stronger for

I scramble to get papers written, lessons planned, books read, meetings attended, people pleased. I cannot remember the feeling that once accompanied the sight. I struggle everyday to remember You and Your glories, but "the world is too much with me.". I wonder how I can find the girl who once basked in the warmth on Your sun, took time to hold hands and hug; the girl who knew why she was living and for what.

I remember the day just like it was yesterday, the pale color and coldness of her skin. The sky was clear blue, soft, with a touch of red, and the trees seemed stiff in their bright green shade. The wind was blowing with its humid dry air. And All I could do was stand silently in disbelief, caught up in my own thoughts and calm as I ever been. Wondering what I could have done differently to change the course of time, life had taken us upon. Since that very day a chunk of my heart was ripped away, and broken into pieces… “Oh how I miss her so much.”

After walking for days Dorothy and I got to see the wizard , the place was huge and it has like 20 doors but after the 6th door we found the wizard . Even though there was more doors i didn’t get to go see them. After the wizard asked us why we are here , i asked him a question and it was if i could have my heart back so i can love this girl . The girl was named Munchkin girl , she was beautiful as ever as she can be. The Munchkin girl lived with the wicked witch . The wicked witch wanted her and i not to get married even though I loved her . Soon as the wicked witch knew we were getting married she put a spell on me and when i was chopping wood , I cut off my arm and the tinsmith made me a new one and i got a arm back.

Julia and I would wake up to the sound of the joyful alarm clock that played a soft and delicate whisper like it would when the clouds blew on the Earth’s face. We would get dressed and walk over to the balcony to open the blinds so we could let rays from the sun bring daylight into our hotel room. We would start to walk down the long, dark, and quiet hallway.

And I was there, too, hoping to find you and say to you, Come back, come back, there's only one street, one door, we didn't mean it, we didn't know, whatever was wrong will be different. Several times I decided you were dead, even wished you were dead, but then another postcard would come, with another message to ponder. And I've always read them, even when my husband said not to, even if they've driven me to tears or rage or a blankness when I've no longer cared if you were dead or anyone were dead, including myself. I've been faithful, too, you see. I've always looked up where you were in the atlas, and put your postcards in the box. Sixtythree postcards, four hundred—odd lines of scrawl: our life together. Why are you standing there like that? my daughter asks me. I must have been away somewhere, I say. But I'm back. Yes. You see, Mother, I always come back. That's the distance that separates us. But on summer evenings, when the windows are open to the dusk, I sometimes smell cities … wheat fields … oceans—strange smells from far away—all the places you've been to that I never will. I smell them as if they weren't pictures on a postcard, but real, as close as my outstretched hand. And sometimes in the middle of the night, I'll sit bolt upright, my husband instantly awake and frightened, asking, What is it? What is it?

“Tell me who it is and I will send them to hell for you,” I whispered against his neck.

What a beautiful autumn day it is today. A nice ,breezy, cool day with a robin’s egg blue sky. The view of all the aged leaves scattered across the ground, and the tree still holding onto some that aren't ready to fall yet. That certain smell of the crisp fresh air with the golden and rust colored leaves scattered around me reminds me of when I would take long walks with a girl named Mary, who I used to be in love with. Mary and I would take walks through the parks for as long as we could, just talking. Until one day over a minor disagreement she decided to move on; I became lonely and heartless.

We would walk through the city every night. It would not be an 80 degree night, no, more like a 68 degree night, where all you need is warm sweater to shelter your kidneys. No wind, no rain, just the empty air. You and I and the empty air. As much as we adored hanging out during the shinning days, we always favored the night. The night had more intimate and exclusive qualities. The night has a misty glow that makes the world shine in a way that the sun fails to achieve. The night conceals itself behind an unlit cloak and requires effort to unravel the true beauty underneath. That’s how it feels existing around you. It’s similar to having an exhausting day and all that is anticipated is the night. You can stroll to relaxation and contentment. You are my night. When we are together, I suppose, it is only for the moon to see.

Sometimes people ask what you would do if it was your last day on earth. Some might say something daring like, swimming with sharks or skydiving. Others just wished for something simple, maybe just to hang out with their friends one last time. I pondered what my answer could be, tomorrow wasn't my last day on Earth, there was no all important matter. I was just leaving, temporarily, or that's how I thought about it. A knock interrupted my train of thoughts, it crashed with halt as my mother entered my room. “Are you finished packing yet,” she asked, glimpsing at the walls of my room, once decorated with awards and photos of friends and family, now completely vacant. “Almost, just have a couple other things left,” I lied, glancing at the half filled suitcase behind my ancient dresser. “I’m sorry about this, about everything,” she whispered, her voice filled with guilt and remorse. “It’s not your fault, none of this is,” I replied. She smiled weakly before exiting the room. I, once again, was unaccompanied by anything besides my thoughts, this was it, tomorrow would be my last day here, in the U.S, the place I called home; how was I supposed to abandon everything I’ve ever known? Pushing that miserable thought aside, I focused on an important one; what should I do tomorrow? I’d considered visiting my friends, but quickly eliminated that idea from my brain, seeing as it might be more depressing than enjoyable. For the first time, I desired adventure, something daring and bold.

Sunny patches of sunlight touched my face. I felt warm and sheltered. Snug as a bug in a rug. I thought. No one could ruin this moment. Across the room, I heard a noise. Knock knock. I slowly rose from my comfy bed and opened the door. There dressed in the usual white dress and flats was a fairy. Her wings gleamed with the sun. “Good morning Charm.” Her voice was friendly and sweet. “Time to wake up. You know what day it is.” I gathered my thoughts before speaking, “Yes I didn’t forget. Thank you for reminding me.” She smiled big before flying away. Sigh, I guess no more sleeping.

Two hours escaped without notice, however it felt like centuries for the girl. She never fell into sleep again. The first weak rays of light penetrate the dark sky signaling the approach of dawn. The sun had just broken the horizon and then peeked over. The dark sky was now tainted with a mixture of yellow and orange. As the sun gradually ascended, the room was lit up, bring a sense of life. Although, the girl was not in the sunshine, the warm light of nature's own coloring lit up her eyes and gave a bright flush to her cheeks, and deep red to her lips. The sunshine was a make-up artist who helped the girl look much