English Essay: Writing Task

For this homework, we are dealing with an extract of The secret Life of Walter Mitty, which is written by James Thurber.
James Thurber: James Grover Thurber was born in 1894 in Ohio, United States. He was an american author, but he was best known for his cartoons and short stories published in the New Yorker magazine. He was one of the most popular humorists of his time, and mostly wrote about the eccentricities of ordinary people. The story we are talking about here is considered one of his masterpieces.

The story is set in Conneticut, and deals with a man driving with his wife for their rgular weekly shopping. Seems quite average, right? Before writing this essay, i would like to introduce the readers into the paradox in which they get submerged when they carry on reading, line after line. Life places a great gap between wish and reality. The way he is in reality, really contrasts the way he is in the fantasy world. His abilities in the real world quickly transform into abilities in fantasy land. However, the audience sees things he doesnt, which brings a dramatic irony into the pictureLets see an example. In Walters first daydream he is a commander of a navy seaplane, who is trying to land it on ice to save the crew from death. However, Mitty always drives at moderate speed, below 55 km/h and he always listens to his wife, unlike the fact that he would not take suggestions from his crew. He goes from a brave, commander to just another person on this Earth. Im sure routine has a special capacitiy or some kind of powerful force which makes us submerge into our thoughts and visit other more exciting places and experiences, so we can feel some kind of relationshp with Mitty. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------6:00am. The sound of the alarm clock seemed to raise from underworld itself. That howling and perverse little machine stared at me mockingly, as i started to battle that strange back-pulling force that did not allow me to leave my warm and cosy bed.

Having conquered and defeated the force, i tapped arround the cold marble floor with my foot, trying to find those old slippers. In a zombie-like pace i worked my way through the hallway (which seemed like two miles for me, im sure someone sneaked in while i was sleeping to build it longer) and into the bathroom. I realized i was a human being at the moment where i poured cold water onto my sleepy face. It was freezing. I stood back with a leap, and went on to my next aim: Coffee. The half-warm capuccino gave me the energy shot i required in order to grab my bag, and set off to work.

I arrived at the bus stop. As I sat down, i realised we were a colective of individuals. Each one of us was in his own bubble, with his own thoughts and problems. We all entered the bus, like a group of sheeps and occupied our seats with resignation. A tedious smile from the front row, i wave back. Martha, my companion at work, nods with her head as she offers me a donut. Im not hungry. My head rests heavily on the cold window. I could feel the contrast of temperature with the outside. I saw the raindrops race down the glass as the wind blew them off. Change the sparkplug and take a closer look to the crankshaft! I shouted my crw of mechanics. My head shook as I watched the vapour that raised out from the inside of the hood of my shiny and agressive-looking Aston Martin 269-R . I had only ten minutes left before the start of the world championship grand prix in Maranello, Italy. I looked outside of my team box. The terraces and balconies where crowded. Thousands of spectators, sponsors and press gathared around the circuit. During the warm-up lap i had engine trouble, and now, my head-mechanic, with a sweaty and dirty face was trying to fix it before the race started. This race was very important, because i needed a first place in order to win the world championship. Things were difficult in this circuit and my opponents where good drivers.

As my car was finally ready, i set off towards the starting grid. Engines roared and green lights flashed. The flag started waving and i stepped on the throttle. I had a good start and it left me in third position. After ten laps i could overtake the second position. My fans roared, and i concentrated on my gratest opponent. Glen Richardson was fighting for the championship with me, and the claddification was very equal. This meant we depended on the result of this race. My engine was about to explode as i drove with full-power down the line. The tires squeeched and the smell of adrenaline and gasoline made my blood boil. We exchanged positions throughout all the race. It was thrilling. A battle to remember in the world of motor. All spectators roared and yelled with emotion as I passed him fifty meters before the finish line. The world stopped for a few seconds. I won. The world championship had a new winner: ME! As I stepped on the first step of the podium, I showered myself and my team with champaign, the flavour of victory, the flavour of succes. I could hear the spectators enthusiasm, and I could feel my father proudly tapping on my back as he hugged me with joy. My wife, Sally ran towards me with her beautiful blonde hair waving in the wind, and the press was crazy for an interview. I was a national sports hero, my dream became true. I felt someone tap my shoulder. Sir, this is the last bus stop. The driver looked at me. I had fallen asleep. I grabbed my bags and rubbed my eyes, as i stepped into a cab. He was driving way too fast, at least 60 km/h. I had to I tell the driver to slow down as I thouht about what happened to me on that bus. End of story.