Just a mile outside the city limits of Council,
Oklahoma, a man in dirty jeans and a soiled gray sweatshirt stood above
Interstate 40 on the Route 81 overpass. It was an early November morning, the
sun just becoming visible in the East, and he rubbed his hands together in an
attempt to alleviate the chill in his bones. Eighteen wheelers were starting to
fly by in both directions. Trucks headed east went on into Oklahoma City, from
there who knows. They could meet up with I-35 and travel south to Dallas or
Houston. North to Kansas City, Omaha or maybe all the way to the Twin Cities.
Possibly keep driving east over to Memphis or Nashville. Might take I-44 and go
straight on to St. Louis. Be there by mid-afternoon.
He
decided he'd follow the westbound road. There just seemed to be fewer options
that way. Trucks heading west had to go all the way to Amarillo for a decent
stop. He'd gone that far west with his family once. It was years before at the
age of thirteen when an uncle was married in Dumas, Texas. That had been nice.
He remembered how when they reached Amarillo they went north up into the
panhandle. Even though there weren't any mountains, he could still feel them
climbing into higher altitude, but when they rolled into Dumas it was just as
flat as western Oklahoma. "High plains," his father said from the
front seat. He hadn't thought of there being a higher kind of flat.
Walking
with his head down along the interstate, his heartbeat rose whenever he caught
sight of a plastic bottle, only to be let down when it didn't contain urine. He
knew truck drivers used meth to stay awake on cross country drives. Knew that
many of them would rather piss in a bottle and throw it out the window than
lose fifteen minutes with a truck stop. Recycled meth wasn't as pure a dose,
but a batch of good urine still got him five hours once.
He
found himself picking at the scab on his left hand as he continued walking. A
nervous tic that had gotten out of control. He shoved his hands into his
pockets, but kept thinking about the sores on his body, causing him to bring a
hand up to his face and run it over the rough patches on his forehead. He
wondered what he looked like. Probably homeless, and at that point, he supposed
he kind of was. His girlfriend left the week before, less than a day after they
shut off the electricity. Shut the water off a few days after that.
She
had gone to stay with her folks in Hobart, which had its conditions. One, that
she couldn't see him anymore – her parents never had liked the fact she was
eight years younger than him. And two, that her father the cop would administer
a drug test every two weeks. She was a fool. So were her parents. He knew it
would end badly.
With
his headache becoming more acute, he contemplated crossing the interstate to
search the other side. He thought about the dynamics of driving – how the
driver was on the left side. Would they really lean across the passenger seat
to toss out a bottle of piss? The stretch of grass separating eastbound and
westbound was more likely.
He
was wondering if a highway patrolman would stop him for walking in the median
when he caught sight of a plastic bottle lying in the grass. The unmistakable
golden color was nearly concealed by the lifeless grass surrounding it. He slid
down to his knees and picked up the bottle. It wasn't warm. He wondered if that
mattered. With thoughts of separation and reconstitution he shook the bottle up
like juice. He twisted the cap off and brought the bottle to his nose, wishing
there was some way to know if it contained meth. He didn't think there was.
PLOT OF “GRADATION” SHORT STORY
Plot
is the careful arrangement by an author of incidents in a narrative to achieve
a desired effect. The result of the writer’s deliberate (order + connection =
plot)
United plot:
ü Exposition :
The start of the story
ü Rising Action :
The series of conflict that crisis
ü Climax :
the turning point either mentally or in action
ü Falling Action :
All of the action which follow the climax
ü Resolution :
The conclusion, the trying together of all of the threads
I.
Exposition
“Just a
mile outside the city limits of Council, Oklahoma, a man in dirty jeans and a
soiled gray sweatshirt stood above Interstate 40 on the Route 81 overpass. It
was an early November morning, the sun just becoming visible in the East, and
he rubbed his hands together in an attempt to alleviate the chill in his
bones.”
II.
Rising
Action
“Walking
with his head down along the interstate, his heartbeat rose whenever he caught
sight of a plastic bottle, only to be let down when it didn't contain urine. He
knew truck drivers used meth to stay awake on cross country drives. Knew that
many of them would rather piss in a bottle and throw it out the window than
lose fifteen minutes with a truck stop.”
III.
Climax
“He found himself picking at the scab on his left hand
as he continued walking. A nervous tic that had gotten out of control. He
shoved his hands into his pockets, but kept thinking about the sores on his
body, causing him to bring a hand up to his face and run it over the rough
patches on his forehead. He wondered what he looked like. Probably homeless,
and at that point, he supposed he kind of was. His girlfriend left the week
before, less than a day after they shut off the electricity. Shut the water off
a few days after that.”
IV.
Falling
Action
“With his headache becoming more acute, he
contemplated crossing the interstate to search the other side. He thought about
the dynamics of driving – how the driver was on the left side. Would they
really lean across the passenger seat to toss out a bottle of piss? The stretch
of grass separating eastbound and westbound was more likely.”
V.
Resolution
“The unmistakable golden color was nearly concealed by
the lifeless grass surrounding it. He slid down to his knees and picked up the
bottle. It wasn't warm. He wondered if that mattered. With thoughts of
separation and reconstitution he shook the bottle up like juice. He twisted the
cap off and brought the bottle to his nose, wishing there was some way to know
if it contained meth. He didn't think there was. “
The laws of Plot:
ü Plausibility
ü Foreshadowing
ü Unity
ü Suspense
ü Surprise
This story is plausibility,
we can imagine this story if there is someone who addicted the drugs and to be in
a same place or in other place that have similarity. This event probably will
be happened.
The reader can guess or foreshadowing
the plot this story that telling about “GRADATION”. What happened after every
event that present into it.
In this story the author also telling
unity, the evidence is if we read this story, we ease to
understanding the meaning of this story.
In this short story is nothing suspense,
but it is not a problem because not all of story that have suspense. The author
told this story without other thing and just focus in one object.
We know when he found the bottle
“The unmistakable golden color was nearly concealed by the lifeless grass surrounding
it. He slid down to his knees and picked up the bottle”. This event showed us
incase in this story there is surprise.
Basic
Conflicts:
ü Person Vs Person
ü Person Vs Self
ü Person Vs Society
ü Person Vs Nature
ü Person Vs Fate
In this story the basic conflict
that use is Person Vs Person. Because he has problem with his self that
addicted to drugs. He cannot his bad habit and go on to consume it without
thinking the bad effect from it.
Plot can be
told in:
ü Chronological Order
ü Flash Back
ü In Medires
In this story, the author the plot
can be told in Chronological Order.
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