Epilogue To The Hawthorne

Hawthorne walked the path, slow and steady, treading his way up the hill. As he walked, he pondered upon his whole day, from the startling events of the morning, to the unusualness of the uneventful evening. He had been staying at an old castle turned resort in the english countryside, owned by a rich American family. It had been bustling with the guess for many days. It was beautiful, with both a morning room, and a dinner room. Hawthorne recalled meeting her in the morning room, as well as though it had occurred merely seconds back, with her face glowing, as the only important one in the clustered room of people. Her face was the most beautiful he had ever seen, with her beautiful dark brown hair swept to the side, her eyes as green as the …show more content…
He had seemed to be barely get out of the room, only occasionally leaving to get himself some fresh air. He then walked out of the room, and walked along the bricked path to the series of bedrooms where vacationers spent their nights. He opened one of the doors, and closed it behind him, and then sat on the bed, staring at the creme colored wall. His face seemed like the highlight of the plain room, with his brown messy hair, his dark mysterious eyes, and his elongated nose. He wore a plain navy blue polo, which was well ironed, but it's collar was discolored at the edges. He was a very handsome man, not only because of his features, but because of the anxious and lonely look on his face that was there nearly all his life. He had always been alone, with no family ever since his mother left, and his father disappeared. He lost his friends, whom he remembered with warmth and love. He had to leave his family’s huge mansion which he remembered as a palace, with all the luxuries in the world, and had been plunged into poverty, all alone. He remembered the years of hard work and misery which had led to his current position. He was in a fairly good post, working as a government official in the British government. Despite having enough in his pocket, he usually wore his father’s clothes for special occasions. Although he barely remembered many moments about his father, he knew that he loved him dearly. He opened the closet, and took out his best tuxedo, with a red tie, both of which were very neat, but seemed to be even older than he was since they belonged to his father. He took out a pair of dark leather shoes, which complemented his eyes perfectly. He sat in his room for the next hour, writing, tearing and rewriting a letter, until he finally found one acceptable, signed his name- Hawthorne