First Scene for Personal Essay
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An Example of a First Scene
Posted below is the first scene of a student's personal essay about one of his identities. He includes all the required elements and avoids too much explanation. He does an excellent job of placing us in this scene and showing us an experience. Study this scene as you construct yours.
Hail Seitan: Adventures in Veganism
The mountains were large and dark. The day was cold and grey and still. It was nearly night time and bats flew from dark tree to dark tree. A thin claw of yellow moon stuck out from the forest. I was standing stupidly with my mouth agape on a small farm in backwoods Patagonia, steam coming out of my face. I was supposed to be cutting off a sheep's head. Or so I thought. I turned around, looking for validation.
"You want... to cut?" I said, making a slicing gesture in the air and pointing toward the woolen piñata dangling in front of me.
Don Gustavo nodded. "Yes," he said, rolling his eyes and drawing an index finger across his throat. "Cut. Cut her throat."
There was no mistaking his intent. The group of Mapuches behind him eagerly watched me. Don Gustavo gestured and two men in jean jackets stepped forward. One was holding a glass dish.
"Don't worry," smiled Don Gustavo. His gold tooth glinted in the firelight. "It is an honor to do this. It is for our feast. You are a lucky gringo."
In their defense I was just a stupid nineteen-year-old American. I was just in Chile to teach some English to school kids. Nobody mentioned animal sacrifice when I signed up for the program. Technically I knew where the “lamb” in lamb kebabs came from, but I mostly associated lamb with something clean and red and square you buy in a neat little shrink-wrapped Styrofoam dish at the supermarket.
The sheep hung in front of me was anything but clean. Its wool was matted with filth. It peed itself. It swung on a creaking rope like in the old Westerns where they string up bad guys. Yet strangely its eyes were calm---placid, even--- and it made no noise. Its calmness began to unnerve me. Here was an animal about to be slaughtered, yet it showed no signs of distress. Just another day in the life of a sheep: get strung up; have your jugular perforated by a knife. No biggie. Every time it breathed a little puff of steam escaped its nostrils.
One man in a jean jacket came and held the sheep's hind legs to keep it from flailing too much Another man came and grabbed the sheep behind its neck and placed the glass pan under the its head. I was to cut the throat. The glass pan would catch the blood. The blood would be taken to the women who would add olive oil, lemon juice and spices. Then the sheep would be skinned on the spot, butchered and barbecued on a fire. We'd eat the barbecued meat with the blood on the side as a bread dip. Then we'd drink red wine around the fire until it got cold and dark and the night dissolved into elaborate hand gestures and boozy hyperbole. I liked that part of the evening.
There was no way to put it off any longer. The two men had the sheep by the throat. I took the knife and stuck it in to the artery. The sheep tried to bleat. A gurgling sound came out and hot red life juice dripped down the blade. I froze. Blood pumped out rhythmically as the sheep’s heart still pulsed. I was ending the life of a living creature. I felt numb. How long I stood there, holding the knife I don’t know. I just remember that Don Gustavo came and placed his hands over mine. He pulled the blade across the sheep’s throat. There was a tearing sound. I felt sick. The gurgling slowed down to a trickle and then stopped. A final white puff of sheep’s breath escaped the severed artery and the beast‘s eyes rolled back. A man in a jean jacket placed the glass pan under the sheep and collected the blood.
