Essay about How I Met Rip Van Winkle
As I was walking out of class on a rainy Thursday afternoon, I stumbled upon a man. This man was dressed quite peculiarly, as if he time traveled here from 200 years ago. He was lying against a curb with a rusted, old gun beside him. He suddenly began to stir, and slowly, the man awoke.
“Are you okay?” I asked. “What is your name?” I asked again. The man sluggishly and deliriously nodded his head in my direction, and began to mumble out a few words.
“Rip... Van... Winkle.” He finally spits out. As he regained consciousness (Washington Irving 's Rip Van Winkle: Summary and Analysis), you could see panic arise in his face. “What year is it? Where am I?” were a few of the jumbled up and panic stricken words I could make out.
“Well, you are in Salem, Oregon, Rip. It is 2016.” As soon as the words left my tongue, Rip’s face turned as stark white as printer paper. “2016?” He began to question. “Yes, 2016, Rip.” I reinstated.
“I… I can’t believe it. I have been asleep for 200 years.” Rip mumbled. Astonished, I did not know how to respond. He must be on drugs, I thought to myself. That was the only logical explanation. “I remember helping a man carry his keg, and he let me have a few sips…