We will cherish the priceless moments of our childhood for the rest of our lives, for the innocence of childhood is one of the few things in life that we can never get back. Once one gains the experience of a mature, adult life, there is no returning to that innocent state. In the novel All Quiet on the Western Front written by Erich Maria Remarque, the author depicts a sense of a loss of innocence for the young soldiers at war, and enlightens the reader on the essence of the horrible experience of war erasing their last chance at childhood.
As the soldiers in the novel, such as the man narrating the story, Paul Bäumer, battle in war, they cannot live the naïve lives they once lived, but instead must cope with fighting in the midst of World War One. Paul recognizes, “Our early life is cut off from the moment we came here, and that without our lifting a hand” (19). The soldiers have an inability to embrace innocence, consequently forcing them to leap into the brutal experience of war whether they are ready or not. As a method of distraction from the surrounding chaos at war, the soldiers envision their mothering figures from back at home who nurtured them and protected them from harm. Momentarily, Paul pictures, “Thoughts of girls, of flowery meadows, of white clouds suddenly come into my head” (33). Evident romantic symbolism such as the white clouds, the flowery meadows, and the mothering women provide proof of thoughts of escapism. Mothers are the essential foundation for a suitable upbringing and necessary for one’s childhood. Without mothers, nurturing becomes lost. The war effectively concludes their childhood, and erases the remaining traces of innocence.
Tuesday, March 6, 2012
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
The Demon Beneath My Skin
Author’s Note: The ending of the book Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde poses a very interesting realization that Dr. Jekyll all along used a drug to change back and forth from Jekyll to Hyde. What Jekyll thought was a nice “escape” from reality to get a taste of evil caused him to want it more and more. Eventually, he had to take so much to get the full effect that one day, he transformed without the assistance of the drug. The control was no longer in his hands. Hyde had become such a large part of who Jekyll was that he eventually had to use he drug to turn back into Jekyll rather than turn into Hyde. I got inspiration for this piece when the text said, “I still hated and feared the thought of the brute that slept within me…” (121). The terror I have of demons and the thought of one living inside of me gives me the chills, so I wanted to create a sort of diary entry/ thought process of a woman possessed.
Dear Diary,
Never before have I been filled with such evil. I’ve been deceived by something so powerful that there’s nothing I can do to purge it. It has irrevocably penetrated the walls of my body and eternally entered my soul. I have no one to turn to, for it lives inside of me now. He tempted me into his ways, threatened me to do his dark deeds, but if I chose not to obey, I await grave consequences. I was enveloped into his curse, but now I cannot fathom how to escape his torturous grasp.
The fear of this demon is indescribable; I can find no words to convey my terror. He thrives off of my fright, and has developed into a parasitical evil attached to my soul. The wrong I do is of no prompting of my own, but rather forced onto me from my master. I know people would think I’m crazy if he allowed me to tell. No one would believe me. I confide in you, diary, and you only to keep my secret. It is a relief to write my raw feelings for I can tell no one
My body has been taken over, and I sense I don’t have much time remaining. I wished to tell someone before I am taken, however; I can only confess this in writing. In the event of my disappearance, know I have probably suffered a horrible fate, and these writings will be all that is left behind, the only clue to my misfortune, the disastrous downfall, and what may be the death of me.
Dear Diary,
Never before have I been filled with such evil. I’ve been deceived by something so powerful that there’s nothing I can do to purge it. It has irrevocably penetrated the walls of my body and eternally entered my soul. I have no one to turn to, for it lives inside of me now. He tempted me into his ways, threatened me to do his dark deeds, but if I chose not to obey, I await grave consequences. I was enveloped into his curse, but now I cannot fathom how to escape his torturous grasp.
The fear of this demon is indescribable; I can find no words to convey my terror. He thrives off of my fright, and has developed into a parasitical evil attached to my soul. The wrong I do is of no prompting of my own, but rather forced onto me from my master. I know people would think I’m crazy if he allowed me to tell. No one would believe me. I confide in you, diary, and you only to keep my secret. It is a relief to write my raw feelings for I can tell no one
My body has been taken over, and I sense I don’t have much time remaining. I wished to tell someone before I am taken, however; I can only confess this in writing. In the event of my disappearance, know I have probably suffered a horrible fate, and these writings will be all that is left behind, the only clue to my misfortune, the disastrous downfall, and what may be the death of me.
Thursday, February 16, 2012
Lost Key to Heaven
Author’s Note: In the novel Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, the motif of doors pops up constantly. The concept of them being locked made me wonder if the purpose was so nobody would go in, or so nothing would come out. The story also talks about always holding the key to the doorway, and I thought, “What would happen if someone lost the key?” which prompted me to write this piece. With many biblical references as well, I wanted to write a piece about someone who once held the key to the Kingdom of Heaven, and when they discovered they have lost it, it may be too late…
It is gone, what I once held
So close to my chest,
Like the body and blood,
It was ever so blessed.
My hopes and wishes
Came from this all along,
Its look undeniable,
With the slim golden prong.
It modeled perfection,
Had never been flawed,
For me it unveiled
The Kingdom of God.
Unbearably awaiting
The infamy of Hell,
Hunting for the key,
A heartbreaking spell.
Where could it be?
I scoured the floor,
I searched high, I looked low,
Checking every pore.
Foolishly misplacing
The entrance to Heaven,
Kept me awake
Until it was seven,
Lacking in sleep,
My mood down and depressed,
Seeking the key,
Set me up for a quest.
Retracing my steps,
I discovered my flaw.
He seized it from me
As I neglected his law.
Against God, I had sinned,
And how to avail?
Lacking the answers,
I was destined to fail.
Sealing the doorway
I could not unlock
My fear for the afterlife
Like a ticking clock.
It is gone, what I once held
So close to my chest,
Like the body and blood,
It was ever so blessed.
My hopes and wishes
Came from this all along,
Its look undeniable,
With the slim golden prong.
It modeled perfection,
Had never been flawed,
For me it unveiled
The Kingdom of God.
Unbearably awaiting
The infamy of Hell,
Hunting for the key,
A heartbreaking spell.
Where could it be?
I scoured the floor,
I searched high, I looked low,
Checking every pore.
Foolishly misplacing
The entrance to Heaven,
Kept me awake
Until it was seven,
Lacking in sleep,
My mood down and depressed,
Seeking the key,
Set me up for a quest.
Retracing my steps,
I discovered my flaw.
He seized it from me
As I neglected his law.
Against God, I had sinned,
And how to avail?
Lacking the answers,
I was destined to fail.
Sealing the doorway
I could not unlock
My fear for the afterlife
Like a ticking clock.
Sunday, February 12, 2012
The Fog
Author’s Note: The concept of fog creating ambiguity in the novel Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde arises time after time throughout the text. For this piece, I wanted to poetically take this idea and rather than apply it simply to Jekyll and Hyde, relate it to someone feeling bogged down by depression, someone who can’t make the fog, the ammbiguity, the depression go away. GOAL WORDS - Gaunt, shuddered, tenor, callous
A blanket of clouds
Obstructing my vision,
Obstructing my ability
To let my thoughts roam
Like tiny electrical currents,
Forbade my mind
From thinking clearly.
But on this day,
An aspect of my life
Shuddered a low tenor
In the strings of my heart,
Varying from my usual mood.
The typical fog
I would see in the morning
Lingered on,
And on,
And on,
Lasting through the day,
Through the night,
Through the week,
Through the month.
And the fog never departed.
For some time,
All remained unclear,
I could make sense of nothing.
The ambiguity
Of the haunting fog
Congested my thoughts,
Bogging me down,
Lower than ever before.
By what it longed for most—
Love—
In this case,
Had its disadvantages,
Wringing my out happiness,
Leaving my gaunt soul
Buried deep in the thick fog.
And it never calloused,
Never adapted to the hurt,
Never adjusted to the pain,
There was no escaping it.
A blanket of clouds
Obstructing my vision,
Obstructing my ability
To let my thoughts roam
Like tiny electrical currents,
Forbade my mind
From thinking clearly.
But on this day,
An aspect of my life
Shuddered a low tenor
In the strings of my heart,
Varying from my usual mood.
The typical fog
I would see in the morning
Lingered on,
And on,
And on,
Lasting through the day,
Through the night,
Through the week,
Through the month.
And the fog never departed.
For some time,
All remained unclear,
I could make sense of nothing.
The ambiguity
Of the haunting fog
Congested my thoughts,
Bogging me down,
Lower than ever before.
By what it longed for most—
Love—
In this case,
Had its disadvantages,
Wringing my out happiness,
Leaving my gaunt soul
Buried deep in the thick fog.
And it never calloused,
Never adapted to the hurt,
Never adjusted to the pain,
There was no escaping it.
Thursday, February 2, 2012
Evil Has Its Way of Crawling Out From Hiding
Author’s Note: In Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, the reality that within a man, there is an inner beast, an unavoidable evil, is very prevalent. This a creative story using the idea of the duality of man of how one’s internal thought process undergoes changes from the goodhearted side to the inevitable, evil. I decided since the last story I wrote was very personal to try to think outside of the box this time and write something that’s not relatable to me to challenge myself as a writer. The story is about a girl who is a wealthy but down to earth Junior in high school who has to move when her parents get laid off to a new, corrupting town. She’s the last person you’d expect to have an evil side…
I can’t get enough of the warm feeling I experience when I bring joy to people who have lost hope. The priceless looks on their faces when they first saw the accumulation of food I put a great effort to collect, sent a wave of delight through my veins. My heart pounding, each pulse exuding the love I already felt for the hungry people in my presence. I could feel the love journey from their hearts to mine, the appreciation of my efforts, stopping at every door in the four largest nearby neighborhoods in the 12° weather. The seemingly endless amount of bags of food containing their first true meals in nearly a week caused their eyes to light up. The feeling was just as touching as the last two times I did this in the summer and fall months. Nothing could change the warmth in my heart. Nothing.
As I left the homeless shelter, I moved the rosary hanging on my rearview mirror to the passenger seat on my right to ensure I had a clear view out the windshield. The seven minute ride back to my house, a routinely drive, went as expected, until I arrived at my house. What was my dad doing out front taking down the Christmas lights for? It was only the fourteenth of December… I walked inside to see a lot of things boxed up, my mother’s gloominess written across her face. It was then that my mother looked up from the box she was taping shut and said, “Your dad lost his job. I’m sorry sweetie, but we can’t afford this house while he’s unemployed.” I stared at her as the uncomfortable silence grew louder. She continued, “We’re moving to a smaller house in a city only about two hours east of here.” Again, I just gazed at her from across the room. Without a word, I ran to my room, hurdled over the heap of laundry scattering the floor, and let the pillow swallow my tears.
* * *
Walking through the front doors of my new school was a nightmare; the halls, the students, the staff, all completely foreign to me. Finding myself in the cafeteria during lunchtime, not a single person asked me to sit by them. Not one. Spotting a table with an open seat, I sat down as a sea of strangers glared my direction. As awkward as the stares were, I ate my food trying not to let my irritation with these girl shine through. Then one girl who was tall, who was a little on the lanky side for someone of her height, who had dark brown hair—not naturally the rich brunette color covering the majority of head with distinguished natural roots beginning to emerge— and who had skin at a noticeably unnaturally tanned complexion compared to the average skin tone for these winter months, finally acknowledged verbally that I was there. From her assumptions, she asked if I was new to the school, asked my name, and asked if I had any classes with her. The conversation blossomed from here. Finding out her name was Rachel and that she had three classes with me, I realized I had finally made a friend.
We became close over the next couple weeks, and eventually started hanging out. It was nice to have at least one friend to make things at my new school a little easier, however; whenever I expressed interest in a sport or club, she advised me not to take it reiterating that something that takes up that much time would take over my life. The cross necklace my mom gave to me when I was eight on my First Communion was always a topic she liked to pick at when I was around, so I gradually wore it less and less until I eventually stopped wearing it at all. She was the only friend I had made so far, and I didn’t want something stupid like a necklace to wreck my first friendship.
From what I was picking up on from the gossip in the halls, people didn’t seem to think very highly of her. But she seemed so nice; I couldn’t imagine why people kept calling her a jerk, a brat, a boyfriend stealer, a whore; until I overheard some horrible things about her one day. A girl was crying saying how Rachel had hooked up with her boyfriend over the weekend just to break them up. Another girl one day slammed her locker and said how Rachel was so drunk at a party and how two guys took advantage of her, yet she never even knew. A reoccurring theme with awful stories like this popped up nearly every day in the halls. What I couldn’t figure out was why she would hide these rumors, if they were really true, from me.
I became prone to hearing her name in the halls and terrible things said about her that soon, the words didn’t even faze me. After all, I’ve heard worse.
As the snow melted from the ground and the sun was reached a higher point in the sky day by day, the spring months seemed to open up my mind to try new things, to be a whole new person, to change as the seasons do. Rachel told me she was going to a party assuming I would make some other plans like usual, but this time I told her I didn’t want to be left behind. What harm was there in going along? Who’s to say I’d join in on the fun?
* * *
That whole night fogged my memory. What went on at the party? That I don’t know. I asked Rachel if we had fun and she just gave me this deceiving little smirk. The evil twinkle in her eye sent my insides tingling. The thirst I had for the same twinkle in my own eye lured me in to her ways. The taste of rebellion was sweeter than I anticipated. I craved more.
It wasn’t long before these parties were a common occurrence. I fell out of the habit of routinely going to Church every Sunday, and replacing it with a night with Rachel nearly every weekend. I found myself not knowing what happened when we went out, yet the haze and confusion was all part of the fun.
My mother asked me one weekend if I’d want to go around to collect food items for the poor like I had a few months prior, but I declined. Something like that gave me no fulfillment these days. I could list hundreds of things I’d rather do than waste my weekend giving food to the homeless. Anything was better than that. Anything.
I can’t get enough of the warm feeling I experience when I bring joy to people who have lost hope. The priceless looks on their faces when they first saw the accumulation of food I put a great effort to collect, sent a wave of delight through my veins. My heart pounding, each pulse exuding the love I already felt for the hungry people in my presence. I could feel the love journey from their hearts to mine, the appreciation of my efforts, stopping at every door in the four largest nearby neighborhoods in the 12° weather. The seemingly endless amount of bags of food containing their first true meals in nearly a week caused their eyes to light up. The feeling was just as touching as the last two times I did this in the summer and fall months. Nothing could change the warmth in my heart. Nothing.
As I left the homeless shelter, I moved the rosary hanging on my rearview mirror to the passenger seat on my right to ensure I had a clear view out the windshield. The seven minute ride back to my house, a routinely drive, went as expected, until I arrived at my house. What was my dad doing out front taking down the Christmas lights for? It was only the fourteenth of December… I walked inside to see a lot of things boxed up, my mother’s gloominess written across her face. It was then that my mother looked up from the box she was taping shut and said, “Your dad lost his job. I’m sorry sweetie, but we can’t afford this house while he’s unemployed.” I stared at her as the uncomfortable silence grew louder. She continued, “We’re moving to a smaller house in a city only about two hours east of here.” Again, I just gazed at her from across the room. Without a word, I ran to my room, hurdled over the heap of laundry scattering the floor, and let the pillow swallow my tears.
Walking through the front doors of my new school was a nightmare; the halls, the students, the staff, all completely foreign to me. Finding myself in the cafeteria during lunchtime, not a single person asked me to sit by them. Not one. Spotting a table with an open seat, I sat down as a sea of strangers glared my direction. As awkward as the stares were, I ate my food trying not to let my irritation with these girl shine through. Then one girl who was tall, who was a little on the lanky side for someone of her height, who had dark brown hair—not naturally the rich brunette color covering the majority of head with distinguished natural roots beginning to emerge— and who had skin at a noticeably unnaturally tanned complexion compared to the average skin tone for these winter months, finally acknowledged verbally that I was there. From her assumptions, she asked if I was new to the school, asked my name, and asked if I had any classes with her. The conversation blossomed from here. Finding out her name was Rachel and that she had three classes with me, I realized I had finally made a friend.
We became close over the next couple weeks, and eventually started hanging out. It was nice to have at least one friend to make things at my new school a little easier, however; whenever I expressed interest in a sport or club, she advised me not to take it reiterating that something that takes up that much time would take over my life. The cross necklace my mom gave to me when I was eight on my First Communion was always a topic she liked to pick at when I was around, so I gradually wore it less and less until I eventually stopped wearing it at all. She was the only friend I had made so far, and I didn’t want something stupid like a necklace to wreck my first friendship.
From what I was picking up on from the gossip in the halls, people didn’t seem to think very highly of her. But she seemed so nice; I couldn’t imagine why people kept calling her a jerk, a brat, a boyfriend stealer, a whore; until I overheard some horrible things about her one day. A girl was crying saying how Rachel had hooked up with her boyfriend over the weekend just to break them up. Another girl one day slammed her locker and said how Rachel was so drunk at a party and how two guys took advantage of her, yet she never even knew. A reoccurring theme with awful stories like this popped up nearly every day in the halls. What I couldn’t figure out was why she would hide these rumors, if they were really true, from me.
I became prone to hearing her name in the halls and terrible things said about her that soon, the words didn’t even faze me. After all, I’ve heard worse.
As the snow melted from the ground and the sun was reached a higher point in the sky day by day, the spring months seemed to open up my mind to try new things, to be a whole new person, to change as the seasons do. Rachel told me she was going to a party assuming I would make some other plans like usual, but this time I told her I didn’t want to be left behind. What harm was there in going along? Who’s to say I’d join in on the fun?
That whole night fogged my memory. What went on at the party? That I don’t know. I asked Rachel if we had fun and she just gave me this deceiving little smirk. The evil twinkle in her eye sent my insides tingling. The thirst I had for the same twinkle in my own eye lured me in to her ways. The taste of rebellion was sweeter than I anticipated. I craved more.
It wasn’t long before these parties were a common occurrence. I fell out of the habit of routinely going to Church every Sunday, and replacing it with a night with Rachel nearly every weekend. I found myself not knowing what happened when we went out, yet the haze and confusion was all part of the fun.
My mother asked me one weekend if I’d want to go around to collect food items for the poor like I had a few months prior, but I declined. Something like that gave me no fulfillment these days. I could list hundreds of things I’d rather do than waste my weekend giving food to the homeless. Anything was better than that. Anything.
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
The Deceptions of a False Fairytale
** Author's Note: This short story is a personal story from a previous relationship I had that I put into words to share with everyone. Within the text, there are several mimicry quotes from the short story "The Black Cat" by Edgar Allen Poe where I used the same syntax structure but changed the words. Names were changed in the story, and although the story is not word for word what I experienced, it gives everyone a feel for what I went through. Hope you enjoy:) **
From a young age, she believed in fairytales, that she would one day meet her prince charming, fall in love, and live happily ever after. A hopeless romantic she was, with a heart longing for a man to make it whole. When she finally thought she got it right and discovered the man of her dreams, the man she fell so hard for corrupted her heart. The craving to maintain her relationship drove her to become psychotic, deranged, and brokenhearted. Clutching tissues to wipe tears from her tattered heart, she wept, praying to God to soothe her pain…
From the moment she caught a glimpse of this man; she couldn’t help but be drawn to his daunting beauty. Riley Makiah was his name. Every time he strolled past, her body tingled with excitement and sent her heart racing. The way each strand of brunette hair laid perfectly on his head, the way his eyes twinkled when the light hit them just right, the way his voice hummed like an angel speaking the beautiful words of God, all lured her into his unsafe love trap. Mesmerized by his magnificent external beauty, she became merely oblivious to his merciless methods of mangling her heart.
She felt deprived of love her whole life, believing no man would ever take a liking to her. Even when men gave her the attention she longed for, it seemed unsatisfactory. Finding herself drawn to another man, never could she relinquish her heart as long as the lingering desire for Riley remained. Each night before she fell asleep, she would lie awake in her bed and pray he would one day return the love she treasured for him.
Supposing her prayers had not been answered, she prepared herself to let go of her dream. After a year of waiting for Riley, she lost hope. One day another man walked into her life who liked her as much as she liked him. In no way was he perfect, but he allowed her to get a little taste of love. Though it seemed to go well, she never stopped thinking about Riley and what they could be.
One foggy October night, her phone rang. On the other end of the call was her friend who knew Riley quite well and needed to deliver an important message; it was an invitation from Riley to go to dinner the following evening.
Her world stopped. Time stood still. Of all people, why would he choose her? Was she dreaming? Had her prayers finally been answered? The anxious girl envisioned every potential possibility of the night to come. She imagined a romantic evening with Riley, his brown eyes looking into hers, for him to fall in love with her the moment their eyes meet, to get married one day and have a family. All the possibilities flooding her mind spun her into insanity.
Without a hint of hesitation, she accepted.
She could not resist the temptation of his enchanting affection. An experienced hunter was on the prowl, and he found the perfect vulnerable prey. Defenseless against his spell, she fell into his trap. Little did she know she would end up losing herself, desperate for the love of one who did not care for losing her.
The following night she spent hours preparing for her dinner with Riley. As she painted each nail with precision, as she applied her makeup with meticulous care, as she did her hair without a strand out of place, she thought all the while about Riley, hoping he would find beauty in her. After she carefully choosing the flawless outfit, the perfect shoes, the matching jewelry, and purse to tie the look together, he rolled up to her house ready to take her out.
The night out on the town with her dream man was more than she had could have ever imagined. Each bite she fed him of the warm chicken he had bought for her brought joy to her soul. Each time he laughed or smiled or looked at her brought out an indescribable sensation. Each moment of that night, through her eyes, went in slow motion. She never wanted the night to end. When he took her home, the way he taunted her with his gaze into her eyes left her wanting more than an embrace. Nonetheless, she strode inside with internal happiness radiating from her body.
From the way the night played out, she decided she wanted more than a dinner with him, she wanted a real relationship. Love struck by Riley, she could see no future with anyone else. The other man was forgotten. As she slept that night with her mind wandering, she dreamed and fantasized about Riley loving her as if every star in the sky spelled out his name. Her illusions of love filled her with an artificial pleasure.
The passion for Riley only intensified from there. What had started as a harmless crush had amplified to a dangerous obsession. With Riley she spent most of her time, and never was so happy as when cuddling and caressing him.1 The more time the two spent together, the more she became attached. As they cudded in the comfort of her basement, she lay swaddled in his arms. When she thought the moment couldn’t get any better, he rotated her body to face his, cradled her tightly, and leaned his head in to meet her lips. Time stood still. They were the only two on earth. His hands crept up and down her body, weaving her into his enchantment. Until tonight, she had not known what it might feel to truly be one with another. His irresistible charm exuded through his fingertips.
As he released her from his captivating embrace, she couldn’t help but smile. The only thoughts that crossed her mind were about Riley and how to entrance him as he entranced her. Fumes of love congested the air.
Crazed by the lust he acted out that night, his deceiving actions kept his intentions hidden. Riley did not love her. He didn’t even like her. Through his eyes, she was just the next girl on his list, and before she knew it he’d be on to the next one.
Her passion for Riley Makiah peaked, but he had already had his fun. Riley told her not to mention what happened between them to anyone, and though it seemed to her at first somewhat curious, she did as he said. She obeyed without a trace of suspicion. The secrecy of their relationship was of no object to her, so infatuated she was with him.
Then the ignoring began. He not only neglected, but ill-used her.2 Her body for his purposes took the role of an object of pleasure; rather than considering her as a human of worth as she wished he would; he took her heart and played with it like a toy. Though he consistently declined her offers to spend time together, she remained optimistic. Tentative arrangements got her hopes up, only to be torn back down again. Riley’s constant rejection left her disappointed, alone, and broken hearted. Time and time again, he disregarded her feelings until the time came to tell her the truth.
Unable to face reality, she overlooked his words as if they remained unspoken. She pretended he never said anything at all. Persistent thoughts that he would change his mind, decide he wanted a relationship, and adjust his outlook for her kept her attached.
For months, she still considered him more than a friend, however he saw things quite differently. Again he revealed his honesty to her; even with his bluntness she chose not to accept the truth. Not until the third time Riley exposed his feelings did the impact penetrate the walls of her heart. The whispers at last sunk in.
Her gut plummeted into the depths of her soul. His weakening words left her crippled with unhappiness. Tears flooded her eyes, choked her throat, and cratered her soul. The chambers of her heart were in pieces. Her whole heart was failing.3 The infatuation that she developed for Riley entangled her into a deep depression. Clutching tissues to wipe tears from her tattered heart, she wept, praying to God to soothe her pain.
Mimicry quotes from “The Black Cat” by Edgar Allen Poe:
1. “With these I spent most of my time, and never was so happy as when feeding and caressing them” (85).
2. “I not only neglected, but ill-used them” (86).
3. “The curtains of my bed were in flames. The whole house was blazing” (87).
From a young age, she believed in fairytales, that she would one day meet her prince charming, fall in love, and live happily ever after. A hopeless romantic she was, with a heart longing for a man to make it whole. When she finally thought she got it right and discovered the man of her dreams, the man she fell so hard for corrupted her heart. The craving to maintain her relationship drove her to become psychotic, deranged, and brokenhearted. Clutching tissues to wipe tears from her tattered heart, she wept, praying to God to soothe her pain…
From the moment she caught a glimpse of this man; she couldn’t help but be drawn to his daunting beauty. Riley Makiah was his name. Every time he strolled past, her body tingled with excitement and sent her heart racing. The way each strand of brunette hair laid perfectly on his head, the way his eyes twinkled when the light hit them just right, the way his voice hummed like an angel speaking the beautiful words of God, all lured her into his unsafe love trap. Mesmerized by his magnificent external beauty, she became merely oblivious to his merciless methods of mangling her heart.
She felt deprived of love her whole life, believing no man would ever take a liking to her. Even when men gave her the attention she longed for, it seemed unsatisfactory. Finding herself drawn to another man, never could she relinquish her heart as long as the lingering desire for Riley remained. Each night before she fell asleep, she would lie awake in her bed and pray he would one day return the love she treasured for him.
Supposing her prayers had not been answered, she prepared herself to let go of her dream. After a year of waiting for Riley, she lost hope. One day another man walked into her life who liked her as much as she liked him. In no way was he perfect, but he allowed her to get a little taste of love. Though it seemed to go well, she never stopped thinking about Riley and what they could be.
One foggy October night, her phone rang. On the other end of the call was her friend who knew Riley quite well and needed to deliver an important message; it was an invitation from Riley to go to dinner the following evening.
Her world stopped. Time stood still. Of all people, why would he choose her? Was she dreaming? Had her prayers finally been answered? The anxious girl envisioned every potential possibility of the night to come. She imagined a romantic evening with Riley, his brown eyes looking into hers, for him to fall in love with her the moment their eyes meet, to get married one day and have a family. All the possibilities flooding her mind spun her into insanity.
Without a hint of hesitation, she accepted.
She could not resist the temptation of his enchanting affection. An experienced hunter was on the prowl, and he found the perfect vulnerable prey. Defenseless against his spell, she fell into his trap. Little did she know she would end up losing herself, desperate for the love of one who did not care for losing her.
The following night she spent hours preparing for her dinner with Riley. As she painted each nail with precision, as she applied her makeup with meticulous care, as she did her hair without a strand out of place, she thought all the while about Riley, hoping he would find beauty in her. After she carefully choosing the flawless outfit, the perfect shoes, the matching jewelry, and purse to tie the look together, he rolled up to her house ready to take her out.
The night out on the town with her dream man was more than she had could have ever imagined. Each bite she fed him of the warm chicken he had bought for her brought joy to her soul. Each time he laughed or smiled or looked at her brought out an indescribable sensation. Each moment of that night, through her eyes, went in slow motion. She never wanted the night to end. When he took her home, the way he taunted her with his gaze into her eyes left her wanting more than an embrace. Nonetheless, she strode inside with internal happiness radiating from her body.
From the way the night played out, she decided she wanted more than a dinner with him, she wanted a real relationship. Love struck by Riley, she could see no future with anyone else. The other man was forgotten. As she slept that night with her mind wandering, she dreamed and fantasized about Riley loving her as if every star in the sky spelled out his name. Her illusions of love filled her with an artificial pleasure.
The passion for Riley only intensified from there. What had started as a harmless crush had amplified to a dangerous obsession. With Riley she spent most of her time, and never was so happy as when cuddling and caressing him.1 The more time the two spent together, the more she became attached. As they cudded in the comfort of her basement, she lay swaddled in his arms. When she thought the moment couldn’t get any better, he rotated her body to face his, cradled her tightly, and leaned his head in to meet her lips. Time stood still. They were the only two on earth. His hands crept up and down her body, weaving her into his enchantment. Until tonight, she had not known what it might feel to truly be one with another. His irresistible charm exuded through his fingertips.
As he released her from his captivating embrace, she couldn’t help but smile. The only thoughts that crossed her mind were about Riley and how to entrance him as he entranced her. Fumes of love congested the air.
Crazed by the lust he acted out that night, his deceiving actions kept his intentions hidden. Riley did not love her. He didn’t even like her. Through his eyes, she was just the next girl on his list, and before she knew it he’d be on to the next one.
Her passion for Riley Makiah peaked, but he had already had his fun. Riley told her not to mention what happened between them to anyone, and though it seemed to her at first somewhat curious, she did as he said. She obeyed without a trace of suspicion. The secrecy of their relationship was of no object to her, so infatuated she was with him.
Then the ignoring began. He not only neglected, but ill-used her.2 Her body for his purposes took the role of an object of pleasure; rather than considering her as a human of worth as she wished he would; he took her heart and played with it like a toy. Though he consistently declined her offers to spend time together, she remained optimistic. Tentative arrangements got her hopes up, only to be torn back down again. Riley’s constant rejection left her disappointed, alone, and broken hearted. Time and time again, he disregarded her feelings until the time came to tell her the truth.
Unable to face reality, she overlooked his words as if they remained unspoken. She pretended he never said anything at all. Persistent thoughts that he would change his mind, decide he wanted a relationship, and adjust his outlook for her kept her attached.
For months, she still considered him more than a friend, however he saw things quite differently. Again he revealed his honesty to her; even with his bluntness she chose not to accept the truth. Not until the third time Riley exposed his feelings did the impact penetrate the walls of her heart. The whispers at last sunk in.
Her gut plummeted into the depths of her soul. His weakening words left her crippled with unhappiness. Tears flooded her eyes, choked her throat, and cratered her soul. The chambers of her heart were in pieces. Her whole heart was failing.3 The infatuation that she developed for Riley entangled her into a deep depression. Clutching tissues to wipe tears from her tattered heart, she wept, praying to God to soothe her pain.
Mimicry quotes from “The Black Cat” by Edgar Allen Poe:
1. “With these I spent most of my time, and never was so happy as when feeding and caressing them” (85).
2. “I not only neglected, but ill-used them” (86).
3. “The curtains of my bed were in flames. The whole house was blazing” (87).
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
Life As a Chair
The day a woman bought me at the store, I was the happiest chair on earth. Life as a chair was great. I obtained the most beautiful cushion — one with big, pink and yellow roses — which lie on top of me. The house I lived in had wallpaper complementing my colors perfectly with other chairs at the table that looked just like me. They were really nice. Children in this house were little and easy to hold up. Luckily, I had had the youngest little boy who felt about 30 pounds! At that point in my life, I felt invincible! One day, about 14 years later, things went downhill. The woman who purchased me did some redecorating and took off my cushion. It made me feel all naked and insecure! The youngest child had been so spoiled by his rich mother that she fed him much more than he needed to be. He went from 30 pounds to 300 pounds! Then one day, he plopped right onto me and broke all my legs. The large man started crying. I was the one with the broken legs, so why was he crying about it? The mom picked up every piece of me and put me into the smelly garbage. I had gone from the top of the world to the bottom.
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