Narrative In Writing

In English we began the Narrative Unit with the creation of many characters. With the inspiration of photographs we were told to create detailed descriptions of the characters we saw in the photographs. We then wrote short stories in the which the characters we imagined held pivotal roles. These stories were then turned into animations for Web students, narrative films for the Film Students, and occasionally photo narratives and illustrations in Design.

17th and Lawson

Lydia stood barefoot on the roof of the Dreyfuss Accounting Firm headquarters in North Manhattan, she figured it was as good a time as ever to take off those horrible shoes. On most days the building wasn't exactly a pleasant sight, but on this particular day it was quite menacing. This brings me to my theory of the decade: environments can tell when someone is going to die, and like any human would, they act accordingly. They become sullen, dark places that have a knack for making everyone in them quite depressed. You'd think I would have tested this theory by now in one way or another considering my age, but suffice it to say I'm quite busy. Anyway back to our darling Lydia.

In the brief moments that I get to observe people before they die, I become quite atuned to their thoughts. For instance at this moment Lydia is wondering whether or not her cat will miss her. Often times these situations offer very little distraction, and this case is not an exception. There is no wafting breeze tickling the back of Lydia's neck, no rays of sunlight bouncing about on the metal grate to her right, no rising aroma of hotdogs and falafel from the street vendors far below, no view of a million office lights, mimicking the stars in the very early morning; her favorite time of day. Just silence and monotone.

I can control this.

Oh, I love this part! This adds a touch of drama to the whole horrible event. It's amazing how intriguing a person's thoughts can be just before they die.

I don't have control over anything in my life. Except this. She is sobbing now.

Aw, these are the ones I don't enjoy quite as much. Some people have had some horrible thing happen to them, and they can't live with that, so they off themselves, but other than that their lives have been decent, or at least close to it, so it's understandable, but these ones really get to me. The ones who have lived in agony their entire lives and now theyre finally doing something about it, it's comforting to now the freedom that they will soon enjoy, but life on Earth is so much more interesting, it's sad when life is lost here.

Ah the cliff hanger. This is the part that keeps me in shape. Whenever I'm taking a jumper I always stand behind them, that way when they fall I have to get over to the other side to watch them as fast as they can. Now my doctor says I shouldnt be doing so much ballistic excercise and that cardio might be better suited for me, but I think I'm better suited to make that decision.

Step...

Aww, crap she's farther away than I thought, just a second. Ok...that was difficult... but ultimately...necessary. This is my favorite part, I just get to sit back, relax, and enjoy the show.

As Lydia fell she turned toward the windows of her building, which, if you don't know, is a suprisingly difficult feat. Slowly more and more faces began to gather at the windows, all with looks of shock on their poor, monotonous faces. Mouths gaping, eyes wide, tacetly aghast. Not a sound could be heard. Just silence and monotone.

She passed the thirty-seventh floor and saw her brother-in-law, who works in upper management, staring out his office window. Briefly, their eyes met. He had the same look of silent shock on his face as all the others, but with a tad more sadness. You see, he loved her because she was family, but he had never really liked her because at the annual Thanksgiving dinner in 1997 she gave him dark meat instead of white, and the man was one to hold a grudge. She passed several other windows on her way down and grew bored of the shocking indifference to her death.

Maybe this was the right choice...

Then she passed the thirteenth floor, her floor, and she saw something that startled her.

She had met Stephen Walters five years ago, when they had both started working at the firm. Every morning he had to pass her cubicle to get to his and every morning when he passed they would exchange greetings and grins. Occasionally he would give her a donut and chat for awhile until he had to go back to work, but that only happened every few months. In that time they had grown fond of each other, but to her knowledge they were nothing more than associates who enjoyed each other's company. Until she saw his face in the window, that is.

His expression startled her. It was the same expression seen when a parent loses a child, when a husband loses his wife, when a child loses a best friend. The expression of losing someone you love.

At first she was confused. They barely talked; how could he have feelings for her? Then in her analysis she realized the comfort she felt when she was around him, the way that all her problems seemed to not exist when she talked to him, and it certainly seemed like the donuts he gave her were unmatched in taste and that warm fuzzy feeling you get when you eat a donut.

Fourteen feet, 7 inches, and 3 centimeters above asphalt that inhabited the intersection of 17th and Lawson in North Manhattan, Lydia found her reason to live.

As I slowly pulled her slightly compressed soul from her fingertips and stuck it in my bowler hat a tiny tear, or at least thats what I think it was, rolled down my boney cheek. I wasn't aware that I could cry, it didn't really strike me as anything monumental at the time. I just thought, "Hmm, that's new."