Dream Express-College Admissions Essay Essay, Research Paper DREAM EXPRESS What a day! I entered myself into a whole new world full of different people. Tall, short, large, and skinny, but what did it matter they were all older and senior to me. Just three months ago I was king of the mountain at my junior high school, now I was bottom of the pack once again.
Dream Express-College Admissions Essay Essay, Research Paper
What a day! I entered myself into a whole new world full of different people. Tall, short, large, and skinny, but what did it matter they were all older and senior to me. Just three months ago I was king of the mountain at my junior high school, now I was bottom of the pack once again. Entering though one solid oak door and learning my new environment. But this is not important; what is important is in the events that were about to unfold. That night I finished some book covering and folder organizing and crept into bed. A blanket of cotton covered my body, all warm and cozy I dozed off into dreamland (at least what was supposed to be dreamland). Chug…chug…chug…chug, what was this noise? A blanket of smoke now covered my body instead of the warm cotton I felt just before. I stood on my bed to see above this line of smoke and found myself looking at a star lit sky. Pieces of long steal beams lined one after the other in a maze of directions, each with a locomotive on them, heading into the cold night.
“Somebody, anybody, get over here and help,” a voice from below shouted.
Frightened, I stepped onto a cold steal rung and down the next until warmth began to flow up my legs. Finally, stepping onto a hard steal floor I saw a man in the shadow of a fire hitting one switch and running to pull a silver lever; he looked frantic.
“Could I help you sir,” I asked.
Jumping back from the surprise of my presence, he pointed to a metal wall covered in switches.
“Just switch one when I tell you, then pull this lever,” he said.
It seemed simple enough, I thought.
“Don’t you care to know?” I tried to ask.
“No! Never mind that now, we have a job to do,” he interrupted.
Scared and in a dream like daze, I continued that night with this weird task. A wisp of air from the attached cars was all I heard each time a switch was thrown. Hours later, the man pulled a long lever from the floor and the train came to a halt.
“Ah, we’re here. I’ll see ya tomorrow,” he said as he jumped from the train.
“But, wait,” I yelled, “where are we?”
It was too late though; he had disappeared into the steam of the brakes. I jumped from the cold steal expecting to land in the dirt that laid next to the rails, but instead found myself lying under the warm cotton covers from earlier that night. I could have sworn this to be a dream, but my coal covered feet at the end of my bed said not. The cold smell of coal smoke covered my clothes and I had a frightening realization that this experience was not a dream. If I remembered right, “See ya tomorrow?” was what he had said. Great, I thought to myself, another night of work to which I saw no purpose. All I remember from that night is a forged steal sign with the words Dream Express written in it’s frame.
Stepping on the cold tile floor ten minutes later reminded me of the steal I had stood on earlier. My morning ritual began once again before leaving for school. Ding, ding, I heard as I ran for my first class. A cold, stiff seat right in the back of the room just for me, “how nice,” I thought. Despite the fact I was uncomfortable, I laid my head on the desk and dozed off. When I awoke to a teacher’s yelling, I realized what my efforts that cold, star lit night were for. I created these dreamlands, which I had dreamt my whole life, with each pull of those switches. I found it hard enough to believe that was where I spent my time the night before. How would an angry, stressed teacher even begin to understand my reasons for sleeping during class?
As I trudged home from school and my warm cotton sheets, I found myself looking at a star lit sky once again, that next night. And once again I slept my school day away, dropping my grades each day, more and more. This continued for three years, each night, until just last September when I saw not just the one man standing there, but the man and a young boy about the age I was when I first started this journey. I found my work on this cold locomotive to be done. I still don’t know why I didn’t jump from that steaming train three years ago, but my work on the Dream Express does explain a few other things in those three long years. One thing especially is my poor academic record, but able to show my full potential now is an
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