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.
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)