He was a quiet man, never bothered anyone and hated to be bothered. Walter kept to himself mostly, no one wanted to talk to him and he was never able to find reason for conversation. He was set in his ways, and didnt like change, in fact, he wouldnt stand for it. Walter had had the same daily routine for the better part of his life. He woke promptly at 6 a.m., used the wash room to brush his hair (what was left of it) and his teeth (what was left of them.) After doing this, he went to his closet and picked out his clothes, which always consisted of black pants and a blue dress shirt, like I said, Walter didnt like change. He was your average looking elderly man.
The only thing that stuck out was his height; he was a few inches over six feet tall. A once stern face was now covered with ancient wrinkles; he had thick brown glasses, the same prescription as when he was 12, always left a wide intent on his nose. His hair was now gray and barley covered his freckled scalp. A bald spot rested upon the top of his head, he never noticed it, and he didnt want to. After he would dress, he walked down the stairs ignoring the cracks and creaks with every bend of his knee. His first task of the morning was fetching the paper, walking down the porch steps and bending over to pick it up was now becoming a hardship he didnt want, or need. After retrieving the paper, he would sit alone at an old metal table, starring hard at the empty chair in front of him.
It wasnt always empty, Helen used to accompany him to breakfast everyday, but, she was gone now. He shook his head trying to clear his mind of his deceased wife; he slowly took a sip of coffee while pulling the rubber band off the newspaper. Every morning, Walter vowed to call the newspaper and tell them to stop wasting trees to print the measly paper which was now only filled with gossip stories about movie stars, no real news ever made the paper in the small town. Walter made these vows every morning, but, calling the morning paper wasnt a part of his daily routine, but making empty promises had somehow found its way into his schedule. Walter would put his dirty dishes in the sink; all the dishes were washed at the same time everyday, always after dinner. After he cleared the table, Walter slowly walked to the front hallway, which consisted of an old trunk and a dusty lamp.
The Essay on Beside Amy Didnt One Left
I strolled aimlessly along every sidewalk in town. Pondering my next move, my thoughts raced in my head like a train derailed. Amy had somehow forgotten me. In all my years I never believed this could happen. I swore I would be there for her, and she swore to never forget me. Earlier that day I paid a visit to her. I stood statute behind her as she gazed into the mirror. She looked pale and ...
He opened the closet door and pulled out his shabby coat. Here, he made another vow; he promised himself he would go to the shopping center to buy a warmer coat, but, going across town wasnt a trip he was willing to make; walking to the mini mart was hard enough, which is where he headed off to next. Buttoning his coat had become another grueling task which took his chubby arthritic fingers a long time to accomplish, after he buttoned the coat, he pulled on his gray cap and headed out the door. He was always cautious and would lock his front door, always placing the key in his right pocket, it used to go in the left, but, that one had a hole now. Walter proceeded down the porch steps and once he finally made it down all six steps, he turned to the right. It was winter now and becoming dangerous for Walter to take his daily walk to the small store, but, it was something he had to do.
He walked over the uneven gravel very cautiously, the wind was unkind to the old mans frail body, but, Walter walked on. Giving up wasnt part of his day. Three blocks later, Walter reached the store. He opened the creaky door and stepped inside. He always avoided making eye contact with Miss Hewy, a 78 year old woman who used to be one of Walters dearest friends, and who now worked part time at her husbands business. He proceeded to the first shelf where he picked up three cans of tuna fish, two for him, and one for the stray cats in the alley behind his house. He also picked up a small jar of mayonnaise and a pint of milk.
The Essay on Main Building School Walked Day
Creative Writing: The First Day By: Sarah Johns It was a bright sunny day, the sky was a soft shade of blue and there was a slight breeze in the air. I stepped out of my moms red shiny CRX as she said 'Good Luck' to me. I forced up a weak smile as I shoved the door, and it made a woos h noise as it closed. I took a deep breathe and started walking towards the man entrance. I thought to myself, ' ...
He purchased these same items everyday; he was a very simple man. He walked up to the cash register and laid his items down, looking down at his shoes while the old woman punched in numbers. Miss Hewy kept a tab of all of Walters spending, then mailed him a bill once a month, Walter liked this because he didnt feel obligated to strike up a conversation when exchanging cash. Miss Hewy bagged Walters groceries while he continued to look down at his feet, she slipped a package of hot chocolate into his grocery bag, a sneaky smile spread acrossed her face, she felt sorry for him, especially on such a cold day. Walter took his bag and headed outside. The walk home never took as long as the walk to the store, so it seemed anyway.
Its sort of like when youre a child and your on your way to visit your grandma, getting there takes forever, but, the drive home, seems to take no time at all. This is what it was like for Walter, he would never admit it, but, he liked the extra little things Miss Hewy would slip into his bag, he never actually drank the hot chocolate, but, he had a tin can full of the packets in his kitchen. Once he made his way back up the porch stairs, Walter unlocked his house and walked inside. Now came his second most favorite part of his day. He hung his coat and hat up in the dusty closest, put his groceries away, and sat down in his study in front of his old typewriter. The typewriter was his best friend and his worst enemy all in one. Walter had been a writer all his life.
He was actually well known for some of his novels. He seemed to have lost his talent; though he still tried , day in and day out. He was working on a story about a magical land where animals talked and creatures of habit loved company. The typewriter was his escape into better times, he felt young again whenever he was writing. He would spend a few hours every day punching one letter at a time, cursing his arthritic fingers as he went. When he felt as if he had accomplished something, he would stop and prepare his lunch.
The Essay on Walter Mitty Story Life Time
The Secret Life of Walter Mitty is a humorous short story that reveals the many fantasies of heroism Mr. Walter Mitty engages himself in to help him escape the daily pressures of life. The story begins with Mr. Mitty as the commander on a military plane ordering the crew to proceed through a dangerous storm, and reassuring the scared passengers that everything will be ok. Reality soon intrudes, ...
A tuna fish sandwich and a tall glass of milk. He placed his food on the metal table and sat down, once again glaring at the empty chairs around the table. To take his mind off his loneliness, he looked around his kitchen. It was an old fashioned kitchen, a huge rounded refrigerator, a gas oven, wooden cupboards, and an old radio, which took up most of the space on the counter. Walter looked at the clock 11:15; it was time for him to go on his second journey of ….
