The Auction - Original Writing
The rain battered down upon the small, shivering figure that sat in
the corner of the bus shelter. It had been sat there for three hours
now and was starting to lose all hope. This dishevelled figure was of
course, me, and it was I that had been sitting in the tiny,
incorrectly named bus shelter, for in this particular place there was
no hope at all of indeed gaining shelter, waiting for the past three
hours for a bus that seemed as though it would never come.
It would be just my luck that on this particular day, when I had
already lost the keys for my mothers car and spilt my Muller light
yoghurt all over my best jeans, that I would have to wait in a remote
bus stop, waiting for a bus that seemed doomed not to come, to go to a
auction in a remote place that I had never been to before, that I
didn't particularly want to go to!
I mean when I said to my mother and father last year that I would like
a car for my eighteenth I had been thinking along the lines of a brand
new Porsche, or maybe a BMW, I would have even settled for a Mini. But
when, on my eighteenth birthday, nearly a week ago now, my mother had
given me an envelope with a cheque for £1500 and proclaimed that it
was time I took responsibility for my own things, I was completely
stumped. An Auction, I mean no offence to auction goers but it's never
really appealed to me. But my dear mother took the opportunity to take
the day off today to take me to Newgate for the auction.
That, however was before I lost the car keys and although I knew I
would get grief off my mother for losing them I wouldn't have to go to
the auction, right? Wrong, how convenient that Jeff from next door,
although he wouldn't be able take me there, he could drop me off at
Mooney, Jonathan. The Short Bus: A Journey beyond Normal. New York: H. Holt, 2007. Print.
cars. I am going to sample all the cars that are two years of age and
The bus continues along its route. After several more stops the bus is full. The driver notices that all the seats in the "Whites Only" section are now taken, and that more white people have just climbed aboard. He orders the people in Mrs. Parks's row to move to the back of the bus, where there are no open seats. No one budges at first. But when the driver barks at the bla...
As a result, the placement of the bus when parked created an optical illusion. This made it seem from Barbara’s point of view as if the bus was flush with the curb and she could safely disembark. This wasn’t the case though. The bus was in fact parked at an odd angle from the sidewalk. The sidewalk was in fact two to three feet away from the bus, even though it looked flush. Barbara happened to be the first passenger to exit the bus. As she was exiting, she stepped down assuming there was a sidewalk under foot. Due to the awkward placement of the bus, she stepped down into thin air. This caused her to fall between the bus and sidewalk. The passengers who followed her off the bus inadvertently stepped on her as she struggled to regain her balance. To make matters worse, the bus driver called out to Barbara , “You didn’t fall of my bus! You must be stupid!” Not only was the bus driver uncompassionate towards his passenger’s plight, he was also inexperienced as he had only been on the job for around 10 months and was talking on a cell phone and acting carelessly while
a journey by bus from the Valley of the Shadow of Death (Hell) to the Valley of the Shadow of Life
To begin , I am writing this for my beloved boyfriend, Ethan Daigle, on the matter of his recent purchase of a car, a Jeep Cherokee Sport 1992. For a bit over a year this High School student has been talking constantly about saving up for a nice old Cherokee to transport himself around to extracurricular activities such as Civil Air Patrol, Boy Scouts, and meeting with his band mates . With lots of dedication and research he finally found a man on "5miles" who was willing to negotiate monthly payments with him, sense he is only 17 years of age you can imagine how difficult it was to find someone to work with a teenager. After negotiating with this man, he finally got his Jeep Cherokee! Although, it was not the most spiffy looking car he was
I had so many conspiracies of riding the bus, I thought perverted people ride buses and they were going to bother me, I thought it was going to be confusing because I have to ride two buses to get to Valencia which were identified with numbers. For instance, I ride bus 44 and get off and ride bus 37 the rest of the way. Not only was I opened to a more open view on people riding buses but I was no longer classifying what kind of people ride buses. I never thought I was going to ever ride the Lynx bus. But now I look at it as a school bus but not with kids but with grown people who are trying to get to where they are going because they simply just might not have enough money to buy a car at the time. Also I know how it feels to ride a lynx bus, to explain I would be riding in the car with my parents and see people getting on the lynx bus and be like I know what it’s like to ride that bus. So me looking at them made me realize when I grow up, I want a car and keep that car because I do not like riding the bus with a whole bunch of people. At the same time I thanked my parents for introducing me to riding the lynx bus just in case in the future if there ever comes a time and I say again if there ever comes a time I need to ride a bus because I can’t afford a car I wouldn’t be scared and would know how to ride the city bus to where ever I needed to
Usually when someone hears the word “lottery” the first thing that comes to mind is a large sum of cash that people compete against highly impractical odds to win. Shirley Jackson’s story The Lottery might imply a similar conception based on the title alone, but the story is filled with unknowns never revealing exactly when and where the story takes place, or why the lottery exists; even what the lottery is isn’t revealed until the very end. Yet despite Jackson’s omission of details in The Lottery, she manages to create an overtone of mystery that compels the reader to grasp the world of the story rather than define it in terms of the physical world and form their own opinions.
The anticipation of this day had been building up for some time over that last few months, and now it was upon me at last. I didn’t feel the same excitement I had leading up to this moment, I even kind of grumbled to myself about how I wished the bus was bigger so that I would be more comfortable. We all had our assigned seats, but no one seemed to be where they were supposed to be. The anxiousness of getting to Colorado was causing a great deal of confusion, chaos, and stress. The noise of everyone carrying on and yelling could be compared to the way a screaming crowed sounds at an AC/DC concert.
A typical story is littered with details, explaining the history of the world the story takes place in, who the characters in the story are, all the while remaining correlated to the plot and subplots that drive the story forward. The story The Lottery by Shirley Jackson however does not follow these conditions, as the reader is left to interpret a majority of the story on their own as it progresses. Jackson is not the only writer to incorporate a style of selective exposition in their work; Raymond Carver is widely recognized for his rejection of explanation and the use of characters that do not always communicate with one another, both of which are elements which Jackson incorporates into her own story. Initially, a lack of exposition may seem detrimental to the story, but instead it plays to the “mysterious nature of story” according to Charles E. May in his essay ‘Do You See What I’m Saying?’: The Inadequacy of Explanation and the uses of Story in the Short Fiction of Raymond Carver. Therefore, by refusing to expound upon setting, characters, and plot allows the author to create mystery, and the reader to form their own interpretations of the story.
Rolls Royce and my BMW - no, now I want a Mercedes. This leaves people
Not only did I have to undergo the attention as the “new” kid, but I also had to brave the worst beast of all time...The Bus. Ahhh, The Bus. Created for the purpose of transporting children to and from school, it has evolved over time to become the monstrosity that it is today. This vehicle of crushed dreams was my vessel to the faraway place that would chew me up and spit me out. It pulled into my driveway with an ominous screech, black smoke billowing out which shifted to form the faces of all the poor, unfortunate souls
would be hurt and you would be pretty upset. But if you were able to see them
“Wake up, wake up!” as the shrill loud shouts echoed through my ears. My eyes, puffy and tired slowly opened, only to reveal a tall and blurry figure standing in front of me. It was the bus driver, telling me it was the last stop. I looked around nervously, no-one was there and everybody had left. I slowly made my way to the front of the bus, staggering across the aisle. As I stepped off, the door creaked then slammed behind me. The engine spluttered and the tyres screeched as the bus made its quick getaway leaving me helpless in the middle of nowhere.
As I was boarding the bus I looked up for a vacant seat. What I saw then