I wrote another essay. It's only 433 words, and it's a lot more philosophical than the other one I posted. All comments are welcome!
Storytellers
I sit alone on the faded green, weather-stained bench, my legs folded, my backpack resting on the plastic beside me. The brick school building behind me buzzes with incessant teenage laughter as the sun plays hide-and-seek with the charcoal clouds. I pick at the brittle cover of my book as people pass me by. I am not out there on my own because I am dissociable - in fact, I flourish when I am among people, eager to launch a discussion or contribute to a seemingly difficult issue. Sometimes, however, I yearn for a sanctuary, a place to let my thoughts an imagination flow freely, a place where I do not feel obliged to work.
As I watch men and women pass me by, setting of towards their destinations, or just mindlessly wandering across the gray pavement, I lower my book and begin unravelling, or rather weaving threads of my imagination together to fabricate their stories - stories that last for as long as the people concerning them remain in my eyesight. My mind constructs entire novels around them: a worn-out looking man carrying a beaten-up briefcase changes into a defeated businessman, desperately trying to pay the rent, support his ill father and -
Drop. An ice-cold spat of water hits my cheek, rests on my cheekbone for a moment before tracing its wet way down my cheek, and I'm back on the green bench, book in one hand and. As the drops increase in number and volume, quietly dripping on my pink raincoat, I am reminded that what I see is fictional; there is no reality nor truth in what I conceive.
The chatter in the construction behind me reaches a higher pitch - break-time. My imagination, now matter how incomplete or fleeting, sweeps me back to observing the innocent people that pass me by. I want to see a mother, awakening from her coma after seven years, a father, being consoled by his little boy after he lost his job, a family, mourning over their deceased grandfather. Someday, I want to know all their stories - from the shiny cover to the irreversible 'The End' printed in cursive across the final page.
That is what I want, that is who I am: a storyteller. I am reflected in the people I see and the stories that lie behind them, knowing that, whoever they are, they are going somewhere. But for now, I'm content with following their blurred shapes through the opaque rain curtain, sitting on the green, plastic bench, a tattered book in my hand, and letting the stories come along with each passing person.
hi,
i think its unsociable not dissociable and i dont think u should hyphenate between pitch and break-time. the double hyphen isnt too pleasing to see so i think you can maybe say it reaches a higher pitch and signals break-time.
i think it would flow more if you put "drop" as a single paragraph as it will give more of a dramatic effect.
work (at the end of the last paragraph) doesnt seem to go with the flow of the story because you havent mentioned anything of the sort before and the essay doesnt portrat you as someone that is bogged down by work
you wrote setting of instead of setting OFF
the first sentence of the second paragraph is too long, maybe you could try and break it down, make it less complex or something
but i looooove ur essay! ur a really talented writer tbh. your descriptions are very nice and you draw the reader in to the story
please could you read mine as well? im new! just joined and posted tonight! thanks
This is a really good essay! Great description and imagery! As for the title, you could probably come up with something a little more creative. If you stick with storytellers, "The storyteller" or "storyteller" might be better.
stories that last for as long as the people concerning them remain in my eyesight.
Could you replace "the people concerning them" with "my new characters" or something along those lines? If not, just delete "concerning them."
This essay is in the top two I have read on here. Good luck!
