The Broken Clock - modernized

<The Broken Clock>

The chandelier was hanging in the ceiling. It provided yellow light all over the hotel lobby, where no one seemed to be present. Even the front desk had its lights all turned off.

Two people appeared in the hallway: a boy and a girl.

Without any conversation going on, they silently arrived in the lobby. Only the incessant sound of clock was heard.

Sitting on the sofa right under the chandelier, they knew that they were the only people in the lobby. Though this made them feel awkward, they did not want any others to come either.

The boy was in an auburn hair, with some waxing from the morning. A plain white polo shirt and a pair of green shorts represented a normal teenage look. His feet were shivering unintentionally in a pair of black flip-flops. His blue eyes with blonde eyelashes were gazing in the air. His mouth attempted to blurt out some words, but failed.

Right next to the boy, the girl was stiffened in a relatively stable posture. Her shiny blonde hair was incongruous with her oriental outlook, but was still attractive with the pink flowery dress. Though her hands moved a little bit towards her blushed cheeks, it was only a flinching. All the muscles and nerves seemed to be frozen.

“Ugh. This place is quite cold, I guess?” said the girl.

She stared at her hands.

“Oh. It is? Yes.. quite,” murmured the boy.

“I think it’s cold. Maybe it’s not. I don’t know. I mean, it’s not cold, but I’m cold. No. That’s not what I mean. It’s just,” muttered the girl, looking confused.

Suddenly, the boy’s left hand, with a rosary ring illuminating on his fourth finger, was brought on the top of the girl’s right hand. Her hand was cold; his hand was warm enough. The two hands paused for a few minutes. Then, the girl leaned her head on the boy’s shoulder. Smell of flagrance spread all over the lobby.

“Are you still cold?” asked the male.

“No,” answered the female. She tried to continue, but it took her a few more seconds.

After pausing for a while, she opened her mouth, saying “I feel like dreaming now.”

“I think… I… kind of….like you, a bit more than a best friend,” continued the female, with her dark eyes still staring nowhere.

It was when the male’s face turned all red. He pretended to stay bland, but could not resist replying.

“I hope the time stop at this moment,” whispered the male.

Her face flushed once again.

He stared at the clock for a moment, and punched it. The clock stopped. With their hands still holding one another, the couple looked at each other and smiled.

Even at that moment, the colossal chandelier was still hanging in the ceiling.

How the Time Was Stopped - descriptive

<How the Time Was Stopped>

The Swarovski crystal chandelier was as enormous and antediluvian as the sloop used for the filming of the movie Titanic over thirty years ago. With thousands of transparent crystal pieces dangling in the hold of an elongated chain, the Chandelier allowed the whole lobby to be enchanted with dim yellowish light. The glamorous atmosphere could intrigue anyone on Earth to fall in love, only if there were some people present in the lobby. Even the front desk was so dark that no one could ever suspect any existence of human being ready in his or her duty to answer all the ridiculous phone calls for reservations and room services.

Directly under the flamboyant chandelier, there was a chaste sofa in beige that seemed cozy enough to captivate anyone to sit and stay for a myriad number of hours. Turned yellow due to the amber aurora of the chandelier, the couch could adumbrate its obsolete authenticity. On its silky surface, there sat a boy and a girl; can it be any more obvious. The bizarre mood was harmonious with the dim light, and the adolescents were congenial with one another. Nevertheless, inevitable but intolerable awkwardness swept the atmosphere between them. No conversation. Only the clock on the wall was making a noisy sound.

The boy was in an auburn wind-blown hair style, with a slight vestige of waxing from the morning. A plain white polo shirt with a mark of The American Eagle and a pair of green Skylight Mountain Shorts from Abercrombie and Fitch exhibited the coolness he possessed. His rough feet were shivering unintentionally in black flip-flops, as a reflection of the clumsy mood. Covered with blonde eyelashes, his deep blue eyes were gazing in the air. His mouth attempted desperately to blurt out some words, but failed impetuously. He was apprehensive whether the girl could catch his facial muscles trembling minutely.

Right next to the boy, the girl was wondering if the boy could acknowledge her abnormally fast heart beats disguised in a relatively stable posture. Her shiny blonde hair was incongruous with her oriental outlook, but was still attractive with the pink flowery dress. Though she endeavored incessantly to conceal her blushed cheeks, her shy hands remained firm on her laps. She could not let go of her frozen hands from grasping her dress as tightly as an infant clasping a new toy. All the muscles and nerves seemed to be petrified. She had never felt like this before: peaceful and astounded at the same moment.

Suddenly, the boy’s basked left hand, with a rosary ring illuminating on his fourth finger, was brought on the top of the girl’s right hand. Her hand was frigid due to the anxiety she had gone through, but it was soon managed to be warm by the intense heat from the boy’s hand. The two hands paused for a few precious minutes. It was as if the hands were meant to be one in the first place. Then, the girl gravitated toward the boy, approving her head to be leaned on his trustworthy shoulder. Heavenly, ambrosial fragrance diffused from her silky hair to his peripheral nerves. At that very moment, the boy could not cope with his quivering arms, legs, and every single part of his body.

After perching in that teenage-romantic pause for a while, the girl eventually opened her cherry-red lips, saying “I feel like dreaming now.” With her dark eyes still staring nowhere, she continued, “I think… I… kind of….like you, a bit more than a best friend.” It was when the boy’s heart beat faster than ever. He pretended to stay bland, but could not resist replying. In his mellifluous voice, he whispered in her tiny ear, “I hope the time stop at this moment.” Her face flushed like a well-ripe apple.

He stared at the noisome clock for a moment, and punched it as hardly as he could. The clock stopped moving its hands. From that very second, the time did cease for the two, who now converted into a couple. They could only feel each other, and the whole world was replete with one another’s scent. Even at that moment, the colossal chandelier was still hanging in the ceiling.

[Mr. Menard] Sarah Cole: a type of love story

             For a long time in the history of literature, authors were hardly ever interested in writing stories about the scars of their own selves. In contrary to that, one big similarity shared by the authors in the confessional period was that they were admitting “brokenness” in their writings. They wrote stories regardless of the glance of the society. Although the stories written in that period are based on admitting what the authors have done, they don’t end at that point. The authors further underscore the meanings of what they have done so. In the short story called “Sarah Cole: A type of love story” by Russell Banks and the one called “The Most Beautiful Woman in Town” by Bukowski, the authors not only confess their privates, but also imply deeper meanings of their actions.

             In “Sarah Cole: A type of love story,” Ron, the main character of the story, is an attractive guy who has only gone through people who superficially liked him because he was handsome. He meets a girl named Sarah, who is almost on the other side of himself. Sarah is not good looking; she is very ugly. Unlike what Ron has expected, she starts up the conversation first, looking full of confidence. Though she is confident, contrary to what people usually expect from ugly people, her confidence is actually a fake representative of her fragile self. She acts confidently because she is the least confident woman. She cannot get any lower than that. Her broken heart is what actually exists under the cover of confidence. As time passes, the narrator realizes that Sarah is not so much different from other “ugly girls” inside; he finds that she wants to boast about her handsome boyfriend to others. In the story, the disappointed narrator confesses that he acts cruel to her, to kill the “vapid” relationship on purpose.

              In “The Most Beautiful Woman in Town,” the narrator is an ugly man. On the other hand, Cass, another main character, is physically attractive, very much. Grown up in a not so happy family background, she has grown scar from the beginning. Also, with her relatively long experience with men, she has been hurt because of those who considered her as an object, a sex machine, and nothing more than that. As a denial of the objectification done by the men around her, she prefers ugly men. She thinks ugly people have more personality than physically attractive men. The narrator is “chosen” for this reason. While Cass is going out with the narrator, she frequently tries to destroy her beauty, as a test to confirm whether he still likes her without the beauty. She relies on the man for his seeming to be different. However, the narrator, though seeming to be a different man, likes her for both her body and herself. Throughout the story he confesses that he eventually gives up protecting her, causing the death of Cass.

             Through the voices of the narrators, both authors confess what they have done to their “loves”. One of them describes his realization of how it was all “a type of love story” he had, meaning it was typical. The other admits his similarity with other “woman-objectifying” men, who did not have much strength to save his love forever. The essence of the stories is not only on the authors telling the true stories of their lives, but also on what these stories actually represent in reality. The two stories reveal that there is no pure love existing in the world. They show the process of how Sarah and the narrator from the story by Bukowski turn out to be no different than ordinary people who love for their benefits and pursue materialistic values, though both of them do not seem to be so. Thus, the confessions of the two narrators not only tell their truths, but the truths of the whole society.

            Both Russel Banks of “Sarah Cole: A type of love story” and Charles Bukowski of “The Most Beautiful Woman in Town” confess their “real” selves, revealing the things they have done, which might have been considered inappropriate to be the topic of writing long time ago. Through the confession of their stories, they also accentuate the confound revelation of the world and how the relationships between people work.

Comments
Yoonju Chung: Interesting to point out that confidence was a means of concealing her real identity of the least confident woman. I thought she was genuine and her genuity was the reason why Ron fell in love with Sarah, unlike other girls who were superficially attracted by his "beauty" (like Cass in "The Most Beautiful Woman In Town" by Charlees Bukowski) Although i thought differently, I think you make a point! Also, I like your introduction connecting confessional period authors' characteristics with this story. I would be better if you further elaborated on why he had to act the way he did to Sarah and made your thesis more concrete.