The Land Between Dusk and Dawn

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
This is a process analysis essay I wrote for a 21st century writing class a couple weeks ago. I purposely tried not to make my main statement obvious within the reading, so (SPOILER ALERT) here's a basis: the process of being a misfit. Feel free to criticize :) Sorry for the spacing at the end, I was running out of room and it got funky on me. :P

Submitted: February 19, 2017

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Submitted: February 19, 2017



Living within a lie sat a child who desired nothing more than to collide with the crowd of people rushing the avenue. Everything that he held value to wasn't his own, but rather the desires of others. Astornomically, the dawn had progressed and dusk had settled, leaving the world illuminated in a vibrant, trancing, new light. As the chase between sun and moon progressed, so did the boy's journey to find himself inside a world full of fake identities and incomplete gestures. A day would arrive when the boy would come to the revelation that life was based on robotic figures with robotic perspectives; however, the child would be the one to ignite a wiflire: using extravagant visuals to form pictures in colors never discovered, and the sounds of nature to create music which displays a far more compelling story than lyrics ever could. Just like a meteorite plummeting towards its destination, the boy reached a place in great feat. The place came to be known as a desolate island many have never and would never discover. The scarce island is reffered to as settlement: where the child is transported when he has finally determined what kind of person he is keen to become. Inside of this ghost town, one finds himself - as well as other - being referred to as the misfits of their own kind of generation.

As one courses throughout various stages of life until reaching the end of the biography, he may sometimes lose track. When reading a book, one may look off in the distance as he begins to fantasize about what the literal meaning of life is, before being foreced into rereading the same chapter he had already diagnosed. Before the misfit is able to be comfortable in his own skin, he initiates the story off path... as an outsider. Even the most confident are not born with a sense of informality. The outsider strolls the halls with his head down, increasingly afraid of faltering overr his own feet and having people witness his failures, rather than straying into unknown territory. When that individual gains the courage to believe in himself is when the genuine transformation occurs, allowing them to begin to tilt their head slightly farther up from the surface of the Earth with each transgressing day. In a way, the outside is like a adolescent, he knows at one point he should become an adult but isn't exactly sure when the right time for maturing has arrived. When this exotic creature has accepted his own individuality, he then is given the opportunity to fully mold himself, along with others, into people who are at least tolerable with being themselves around others.

The misfit is more than an oddity, for he is also a rebel to society. In today's generation people seem to have the mindset which believes in only one correct way to process, speak, and perform. The rebel will not defend these social regulations that have the potential of holdling him back. As an inventor, this inspirational mind will uncover strategies to incinerate and mend the rules, forming misinterpreted creations. While one holds a pen to paper and begins to create a masterpiece, the rebel holds various utensils in one hand - putting them to use all at the same. It's almost as if all the pent up emotions have decided to go to war on a once blank canvas. Using the colors of the red-rose sunset, the eerie hum of the violin, and softly blown whispers of willows cemented into the soil, many voices are mended into a magnificently beautiful visual symphony by way of the boy's mind.

Astonishing aspects of an outsider, misfit, creator, musician, as well as inventor aren't purely based on the fact that their minds function in different ways, but because their hearts' posses a foreign genre of epics. A misfit doesn't think with the head more than the heart. Looking at the world, a transformed outsider will believe: I can feel everything that should be done in order to make this project more inspirational and less mechanical.

Laying back on a deathbed, the misfit takes a moment and ponders all the times he had lived in a metaphorical ghost town full of nothing but stone, the moments before he had drenched the world in music and creations that can be seen trodding on two legs or not at all. It's in this moment that the misfit comes to the conclusion that as his life has been shortening in the same way that this essay has, the man's heart that would never grow old still belonged in the middle of the story. He was planted to the land between dusk and dawn, where much was chaotic and settle at the same time, in ways that few could fathom.



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