Turned this in yesterday for my AP Lit essay. General idea is that you can;t write a story, just a dark-romantic setting, aiming for an effect. What would you guys rate this, A-F? Also, who can analyze it the best? xD
The moon aglow, I walk with noisy stride, disrupting the quasi silence of the sparsely populated deck. The air is filled with none but my stride and silent company, who were reminiscing not so fond of memories -the faded seafood smell from dinner, triggering the last meal with his precious pappy, and the smell of a Cuban cigar swirling around her daddyâs head- and these remembrances, these not so fond of memories, polluted the air of the deck, thickening the serene atmosphere around me. I kept my head down, hacking and hassling my way through the thick air, down the endless deck to the stern, away from the thickening smog, where I then raised my head to gaze upon heavenâs window. The reposing blue surrounds me, stretching beyond the limits of the human eye, casting a blanket of comfort around this vessel of voyage through the oil-tainted gulf, escaping the blazing heat of the southern coast into heavenâs window. As the moon casted a glow onto me, I began to warm ever so slightly. As the moon casted a glow onto me, I grew fully accustom to the conditions of this freedom vessel and take it as my own. As the moon casted a glow on me, the smog soon began to thin. The blanket then began securing its hold on the vesselâs silent company, pulling it into heavenâs window. The vessel lays its inhabitants down to sleep, and I begin to drift into heavenâs window, leaving behind the smog clouding the deck. As the last bit of smog began to drift away, I saw, in my eye, a crack. A crack I saw present in the window of heaven, a microscopic disruption in the seemingly flawless window. My eyes adjust to this anomaly, and I observe a stick floating through the comforting blanket of the gulf, a beautiful ripple on heavenâs serene window. Without warning, the stick was thrust under the surface by an invisible force. Heavenâs window could not tolerate this beautiful flaw upon its surface. I turned around to witness the plastic peeling off of the deck, the growling company revelating their internal smog, the rotten smell of leftover fish, the wretched taste of the smog began swirling around the deck in a flustering frenzy, blocking the glow of the moon and consuming the entire deck and its inhabitants. Suddenly, the chaos froze and dissipated. The blanket covered up the peeling plastic of the deck; the light smog whooshed away the rotten smell and took off with great speed. The moon gleaming its familiar gleam like a skyward candle; the deckâs serenity returned once more. Off the port side of the boat resided two entwined sticks, floating about heavenâs window, side by side. Impure as the sticks lie on the surface of heavenâs window, they remained afloat, hand in hand, during the purge of impurity. There is no freedom, only refuge.
