Jan Wojcik Ms. Mazzurco European Literature Due: 10/24/14 So why death? Why not just continuity? Flickering fluorescent light. White walls. Laminated tiled flooring. Distant voices. Faded sound of phone calls. People in white coats walking from room to room. Gregory was sitting in a plastic chair. His face was in his hands, his hair falling into his eyes. Although one could not tell, his gaze was shifted slightly towards a gray metallic door with a small 23-B written on the very top of it. If you could see his eyes, you would notice that they were bloodshot and glassy. They looked like cherries lodged into a sphere of whipped cream. His back was bent like a bridge. He wore a deep navy blue hoodie and sweat pants the color of dirty snow. He looked like a statue to the people that walked by. He looked like a single frame from a movie: frozen in time. If he had kept sitting there like that, moss would start to grow on him, and he would be swallowed by vines. Finally, after what seemed like eons, the door to 23-B opened. The statue burst into life, stood up, and turned towards the man who exited. He was wearing a white coat, and was holding a clipboard, with a pen in his hand. His face was like that of a wall: flat, pale and unrevealing. He looked into the eyes of the young adult before him. Their exchange was completely non-verbal; there was no need to utter any words. The boy’s red, pleading eyes asked their question, and the doctor’s stern, dark eyes supplied the answer. And Gregory broke. The idea hit him like an express train, making his lungs a vacuum. He had the sensation that he would empty his stomach, but nothing ever came up. The muscles in his legs seemed to vanish, and his knees bent and hit the cold floor. His throat and mouth became very dry as though all of the water there had just vanished. Or maybe it had just gone to some place else like his eyes. He covered his face with his hands right as the first sob exited his mouth as a muffled gasp. However, the hands could not withstand the torrent of warm, salty tears. His body shook with each sob; every lurch was like another stab to his shattered soul. The dam that had been withholding the water from his eyes had broken, and it could not be stopped. Gregory’s mind was empty except for one thing. One simple message that he hadn’t heard but understood. One thing that made his body burn with sadness. Elijah is dead. A warm pillow. Some ruffled sheets. A ceiling and four plain walls. A nightstand. And then there was Gregory, amongst it all. His face was lodged into the pillow. His bed sheets lay out before him, a crumpled and unkempt chaos that laid still with Gregory. The walls were stripped bare of their clothing. The torn remains of the Star Wars: The Empire Strikes, The Periodic Table of Elements, and some Messi posters lay strewn across the floor, next to the fallen nightstand. This was the state of Gregory’s room including Gregory, for two whole days. Not once did he move from his bed. His room was an asylum of misery that was painted top to bottom with anger and chaos. Not once did Gregory leave to get something to eat or drink, or to wash up. The sound of his parents knocking on the door was met with hoarse screams of “Leave me alone”. He lay there, in a black ACDC shirt and jeans. He turned and faced the ceiling, his hair mashing against the damp pillow. His face looked worse than before. To put it plainly, he looked like utter hell. On the third day of solitude, Gregory walked out of his room, and sauntered over to the living room. His father was sitting there, watching TV with a sad look on his face. He noticed Gregory enter the room, stood up and walked towards him. He expected Gregory to start crying again, but instead, he just sat down next to his dad. A little surprised, Gregory’s father sat down next to him, but before he could say anything, Gregory asked a question. “Hey Dad. Why do people die?” At first he thought that Gregory was joking, but humor would certainly not bring his son out of his state. “Well son, it’s the nature of life. Entropy makes our bodies weak and everything has to die at som–“ “What I mean is that why do we have to die? Why can’t we all just live forever in peace and never experience death?” retorted Gregory. “Well the best way for you to understand this is take a journey. Go out, pack you backpack, bring some food and water, take a tent, go to the forest. Go on and lament your friend’s death in solitude and peace. You are old enough to do this on your own. Remember that old rugged dirt path that cut across the forest and kept zigzagging? Follow that road until you get to that big oak tree on top of the hill. The one that we always used to sit next to and look at the stars. The one where we had all of those good memories. That will give you your answer.” Said Gregory’s father. Gregory nodded and began to pack. He thanked his father for the guidance and left. Gregory had been camping for two days straight, each day spent walking, crying or looking at the trees. After what seemed like forever, Gregory had finally climbed to the top of hill where the oak tree stood. That oak tree had been around ever since Gregory’s grandfather had been a little boy. It looked invincible as it dominated the hill. However, Gregory was shocked to notice that the tree had fallen. From the looks of it, it was struck by lightning. Its bark was black like the night sky, and the rest of its body separated, lying on the forest floor like a sleeping giant. Gregory walked over, squatted down, and looked at the trunk. A white army of fungus had spread across the tree, slowly eating it into nothingness. However, something had caught his attention. There was a section of the trunk missing, and in its place was a small sapling. It barely stood 6 inches above the ground, but it was still there. Its three tiny branches were outstretched like hands trying to reach for the sun. And at that moment, the realization had struck Gregory. This was all a cycle. Gregory thought that the tree would never fall, but somehow, fate seemed to make it fall eventually. Same with his friend Elijah. He would die eventually, just like the tree. Gregory sighed, and stood up. He looked over into the horizon breathed in deeply. He thought of Elijah one last time, and then breathed out. And as the breath escaped his lips, so did the sorrow of losing his friend. One last tear rolled down Gregory’s cheek, and fell to the ground before Gregory left. Statement of Intent The section of Epic of Gilgamesh that I focus this narrative on is when Gilgamesh goes on his journey not only to lament Enkidu’s death, but more importantly to try and achieve immortality. This is a very integral part in the book, because here we get to see Gilgamesh develop as a person, not just see him as this amazing, strong ruler of his city that is undefeatable. The main theme in this section is sorrow and enlightenment. When Enkidu dies, Gilgamesh is completely heart broken, and I try to do that with Gregory as he waits in the hospital ward. Then when the news comes of his death, Gregory breaks into tears just like Gilgamesh. After Enkidu’s death, Gilgamesh doesn’t shave and laments his friend’s death. I tried emulating this part with Gregory when he is locked in his room and is refusing to wash up and is getting his angst out on the posters in his room. I do this also to emphasize the emotions that Gregory is feeling right now. Now the second theme is enlightenment. Gilgamesh realizes that death is inevitable after he tries to not sleep for extended periods of time. Gilgamesh is guided by a god, hence I made Gregory receive guidance from his father to parallel this. The god gives Gilgamesh an impossible task to achieve to symbolize the inevitability of death. I tried to take a different approach, with Gregory’s father making Gregory realize that death is just a cycle. It is a normal thing to happen, and that it must happen to everyone.

Jan Wojcik

Ms. Mazzurco

European Literature

Due: 10/24/14

So why death? Why not just continuity?

Flickering fluorescent light. White walls. Laminated tiled flooring. Distant voices. Faded sound of phone calls. People in white coats walking from room to room. Gregory was sitting in a plastic chair. His face was in his hands, his hair falling into his eyes. Although one could not tell, his gaze was shifted slightly towards a gray metallic door with a small 23-B written on the very top of it. If you could see his eyes, you would notice that they were bloodshot and glassy. They looked like cherries lodged into a sphere of whipped cream. His back was bent like a bridge. He wore a deep navy blue hoodie and sweat pants the color of dirty snow. He looked like a statue to the people that walked by. He looked like a single frame from a movie: frozen in time. If he had kept sitting there like that, moss would start to grow on him, and he would be swallowed by vines.

Finally, after what seemed like eons, the door to 23-B opened. The statue burst into life, stood up, and turned towards the man who exited. He was wearing a white coat, and was holding a clipboard, with a pen in his hand. His face was like that of a wall: flat, pale and unrevealing. He looked into the eyes of the young adult before him. Their exchange was completely non-verbal; there was no need to utter any words. The boy’s red, pleading eyes asked their question, and the doctor’s stern, dark eyes supplied the answer. And Gregory broke. The idea hit him like an express train, making his lungs a vacuum. He had the sensation that he would empty his stomach, but nothing ever came up. The muscles in his legs seemed to vanish, and his knees bent and hit the cold floor. His throat and mouth became very dry as though all of the water there had just vanished. Or maybe it had just gone to some place else like his eyes. He covered his face with his hands right as the first sob exited his mouth as a muffled gasp. However, the hands could not withstand the torrent of warm, salty tears. His body shook with each sob; every lurch was like another stab to his shattered soul. The dam that had been withholding the water from his eyes had broken, and it could not be stopped. Gregory’s mind was empty except for one thing. One simple message that he hadn’t heard but understood. One thing that made his body burn with sadness. Elijah is dead.

A warm pillow. Some ruffled sheets. A ceiling and four plain walls. A nightstand. And then there was Gregory, amongst it all. His face was lodged into the pillow. His bed sheets lay out before him, a crumpled and unkempt chaos that laid still with Gregory. The walls were stripped bare of their clothing. The torn remains of the Star Wars: The Empire Strikes, The Periodic Table of Elements, and some Messi posters lay strewn across the floor, next to the fallen nightstand. This was the state of Gregory’s room including Gregory, for two whole days. Not once did he move from his bed. His room was an asylum of misery that was painted top to bottom with anger and chaos. Not once did Gregory leave to get something to eat or drink, or to wash up. The sound of his parents knocking on the door was met with hoarse screams of “Leave me alone”. He lay there, in a black ACDC shirt and jeans. He turned and faced the ceiling, his hair mashing against the damp pillow. His face looked worse than before. To put it plainly, he looked like utter hell.

On the third day of solitude, Gregory walked out of his room, and sauntered over to the living room. His father was sitting there, watching TV with a sad look on his face. He noticed Gregory enter the room, stood up and walked towards him. He expected Gregory to start crying again, but instead, he just sat down next to his dad. A little surprised, Gregory’s father sat down next to him, but before he could say anything, Gregory asked a question.

“Hey Dad. Why do people die?”

At first he thought that Gregory was joking, but humor would certainly not bring his son out of his state.

“Well son, it’s the nature of life. Entropy makes our bodies weak and everything has to die at som–“

“What I mean is that why do we have to die? Why can’t we all just live forever in peace and never experience death?” retorted Gregory.

“Well the best way for you to understand this is take a journey. Go out, pack you backpack, bring some food and water, take a tent, go to the forest. Go on and lament your friend’s death in solitude and peace. You are old enough to do this on your own. Remember that old rugged dirt path that cut across the forest and kept zigzagging? Follow that road until you get to that big oak tree on top of the hill. The one that we always used to sit next to and look at the stars. The one where we had all of those good memories. That will give you your answer.” Said Gregory’s father.

Gregory nodded and began to pack. He thanked his father for the guidance and left.

Gregory had been camping for two days straight, each day spent walking, crying or looking at the trees. After what seemed like forever, Gregory had finally climbed to the top of hill where the oak tree stood. That oak tree had been around ever since Gregory’s grandfather had been a little boy. It looked invincible as it dominated the hill. However, Gregory was shocked to notice that the tree had fallen. From the looks of it, it was struck by lightning. Its bark was black like the night sky, and the rest of its body separated, lying on the forest floor like a sleeping giant. Gregory walked over, squatted down, and looked at the trunk. A white army of fungus had spread across the tree, slowly eating it into nothingness. However, something had caught his attention. There was a section of the trunk missing, and in its place was a small sapling. It barely stood 6 inches above the ground, but it was still there. Its three tiny branches were outstretched like hands trying to reach for the sun. And at that moment, the realization had struck Gregory. This was all a cycle. Gregory thought that the tree would never fall, but somehow, fate seemed to make it fall eventually. Same with his friend Elijah. He would die eventually, just like the tree. Gregory sighed, and stood up. He looked over into the horizon breathed in deeply. He thought of Elijah one last time, and then breathed out. And as the breath escaped his lips, so did the sorrow of losing his friend. One last tear rolled down Gregory’s cheek, and fell to the ground before Gregory left.

Statement of Intent

The section of Epic of Gilgamesh that I focus this narrative on is when Gilgamesh goes on his journey not only to lament Enkidu’s death, but more importantly to try and achieve immortality. This is a very integral part in the book, because here we get to see Gilgamesh develop as a person, not just see him as this amazing, strong ruler of his city that is undefeatable. The main theme in this section is sorrow and enlightenment. When Enkidu dies, Gilgamesh is completely heart broken, and I try to do that with Gregory as he waits in the hospital ward. Then when the news comes of his death, Gregory breaks into tears just like Gilgamesh. After Enkidu’s death, Gilgamesh doesn’t shave and laments his friend’s death. I tried emulating this part with Gregory when he is locked in his room and is refusing to wash up and is getting his angst out on the posters in his room. I do this also to emphasize the emotions that Gregory is feeling right now.

Now the second theme is enlightenment. Gilgamesh realizes that death is inevitable after he tries to not sleep for extended periods of time. Gilgamesh is guided by a god, hence I made Gregory receive guidance from his father to parallel this. The god gives Gilgamesh an impossible task to achieve to symbolize the inevitability of death. I tried to take a different approach, with Gregory’s father making Gregory realize that death is just a cycle. It is a normal thing to happen, and that it must happen to everyone.