"A creative response based on a poem written about World War 1" Waiting For Dark (a short story based on the poem 'Disabled' by Wilfred Owen)

The old man was as still as a statue as we wandered closer to him through the park. The sun, almost set everywhere the hills, was a blazing in the west, the last shafts of golden at peace(predicate) evanescing into the night. But the old man had his suffer false, hunched into the darkness. He sat in a decrepit wheelchair that sagged and creaked. He reeked of antimicrobial and sickness. He sat completely still, not moving his head, or his arms, or?His legs! For he had none; a grotesque dead body of what used to be a man. I motto his hold and a shadow of a face, both achromatic, and fade into the darkness. He looked up longingly toward a ragtag collection of youths creation shepherded away by a flustered mother. dirty-faced boys, track across the grass. Their youthful voices rang across the park, a sunny summertime symphony. The old man?s breaths were long and piece of cake give c be eggshells underfoot. I thought I comprehend him choke endure a sob as we turned alon g the course of study and left him in obscurity. The twain are gone? Yes? They should intimidate their prying eyes away. What do I have to absorb them? Young, romantic fools. I scattered my youth long ago. I sighed and slumped back into my chair. I ran my strive along the arm of my chair.

teetotal and cracked as a riverbed. My soul. The last of the sunlight disappeared over the hills. The dark came at last, swallowing the park. It was acquiring chilly. I had been here for hours to ? venerate the sunshine?. It was getting late. ?Where are they?? I thought aloud. why have they not arrive to get me!I shifted in my seat, rubbing my now muffle behind. I w! inced as my back cracked and sent a shot... If you want to get a full essay, order it on our website: OrderCustomPaper.com

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