This weeks blog post has two parts. First, I will be rewriting a scene of action from The Yellow Wall-Paper (Charlotte Perkins Stetson). The second part will be a scene from my past when someone close to me made a decision that had a negative impact on my life.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Never once have I felt an emotion so deep, so bold, so evil, just from the looks of a color. This place has some sort of something extra to it. My husband, John, constantly nails into my head that we're only staying here temporarily. "Three more weeks darling. You must rest and ignore your thoughts" he says. He always promises he knows what’s best for me. Because he is a doctor apparently he must know what I'm feeling, and how to cure it. It sounds logical, even thought I do not fully believe he can see how bad I’m hurting inside. So I nod politely, holding back the words I wish to say, and do what my husband says. I lay still in the creaky old bed. This wallpaper. It's almost as if it is something like a novel. So much to tell, so mysterious, yet intriguing. I can't fathom being suffocated any longer. The dingy yellow walls are beginning to close in on me. My eyes hurt from staring, yet I can not stop. Oh how much I hate this wallpaper. Day in and day out, I read the walls looking for an answer to my sadness. I promise you, the paper is turning me inside out. All I want is to be free. Free from the yellow cloud that I can’t escape from. The bars on the windows make me feel trapped, and being trapped is part of my comfort zone, yet for some reason I feel I must escape to find my happiness again. I spend two sleepless nights staring endlessly. From wall, to wall, to window, back to wall. It is finally our last night at this home from hell. John is staying out tonight for work. For the amount of time I’ve spent thinking and analyzing and rationalizing the past 3 weeks, I use this time to do the opposite. I simply walk over to the window and wrap my dry, cracked fingers around the cold metal bars. I softly push on them and oh! Oh my. The bars, they came off. Just like that. I quietly swing my legs through the window and off I go. I am free again, and happy. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ As I sat in math class during my freshman year of highschool, in my own little world, I felt my stomach twisting and wrapping itself up into one of those ridiculous pretzel yoga positions. I felt like my brain had lost it's operator, like that one episode of Spongebob where all his thoughts and memories were exploding all over the place. I was trying so hard to imagine all the possible places my mom could've been that morning. It was just so unlike her. She drove me to school every morning. ZZZZ ZZZ. I felt my phone buzz in the back pocket of the sweatpants I had on the night before, because of how hectic my morning was I just ran out the door for school without changing. I excused myself from the classroom and shuffled into the hallway to check my text message. It was from my dad. “Your mom was in a motorcycle accident late last night. I don’t know if she is going to be okay.” I felt the olive color of my skin flush to white from head to toe. My stomach released from that tight yoga position and exploded throughout my entire body. My throat closed up and I could feel my eyes leaking uncontrollably. As I navigated through the humid, grey concrete hallways, all I was focused on was catching my breath. I made it to my car and attempted to gather myself before driving to the hospital. All I could think about was the argument her and I had the night before which ended in me slamming my door in her face. I replayed everything in my head. It is completely mind-blowing to me how that morning, the second I opened my eyes, I immediately had a funny feeling in my stomach. I had no clue why, but I did. Come to find out my mom had went out for a drink after our argument the previous night. She got on a motorcycle with some drunk dude bribing her with cheesesteaks in the city. Little did she know he would hit a vehicle head on, causing her to fly off the back. He ditched the Ben Franklin Parkway because some how he was not injured at all, leaving her there to be rescued by the ambulance. I truly believe she has a guardian angel watching over her.
1 Comment
Sabatino
10/8/2018 03:55:17 pm
I visited your blog to read blog post #6, and I wound up rereading this post again. How did you feel about the feedback you received in class after you shared this work with us? What specific revisions--details, sensory descriptions--might you add to deepen this narrative?
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