The Kite Runner: A Narrative Analysis
TOWERS
I remember them running. Not me, though—I was walking. “Why are you running?” I asked them.
“Run!” They replied. I walked some more; I always was more of a walker than a runner, anyhow. Then they started screaming.
“Why are you screaming?” I asked.
“AHHH!” They screamed. Then I was swept up into the current by my father’s arms. He held me over his shoulder as he ran, and I saw what stood behind us: crumbling memories of my childhood, of stroller-chauffeured trips to downtown day care.
Then they started jumping.
“Why are you jumping?” I whispered.
I remember them running. Not me, though—I was walking. “Why are you running?” I asked them.
“Run!” They replied. I walked some more; I always was more of a walker than a runner, anyhow. Then they started screaming.
“Why are you screaming?” I asked.
“AHHH!” They screamed. Then I was swept up into the current by my father’s arms. He held me over his shoulder as he ran, and I saw what stood behind us: crumbling memories of my childhood, of stroller-chauffeured trips to downtown day care.
Then they started jumping.
“Why are you jumping?” I whispered.