Rationale
Through my written
task I try to evoke the same poetic writing style as Tony Morrison herself. I
aim on using unique symbolism, diction, as we all particular sentence structure
to help make my written task resemble a chapter in the novel, as if it were
taken directly from the novel itself.
Moreover I try to retain her very dismal like plot that really pinpoints
the reality of the novel and truly eliminates a bright and shiny atmosphere. In
addition in the essence of my written task I begin my chapter by using the same
type of heading that is found throughout the novel to give way towards what the
chapter is trying to portray. I also unfold my chapter with a 3rd
person omniscient perspective to really portray the thoughts of Pecola in
respect to her emotions and aspirations, and therefore allowing me to express
major themes in the novel as well as my own; thus allowing for my chapter to
differ from Morrsion’s original novel in a unique and creative way.
HEREISTHECLASSROOMFULLOFBRIGHTCHILDREN
JANESITSINTHEFRONTHEREISTHETEACHERNICEA
NDCHEERFULTEACHERWHATWILLYOUTEACHJANE
Tiny footsteps can be
heard walking from one side of the room to another. It was silent. The
footsteps were eventually drowned out by the shouts of two adults; a man and a
woman, adapted to such primitive nature. The tiny footsteps had found an escape
from the ruckus. With a decrease of elevation and the simple turn of a golden wheel,
the tiny footsteps had seized its opportunity into a much larger world. This
new world was white, blank, and clear. However it could fool outsides and
outcasts, and could be terrifying to those who walk with tiny footsteps. Yet it
was beautiful in nature and similar to the moments after in utero.
Pecola trotted along
the snow. The crunch of her boots was dismal and though it was silent their
sound was insignificant to the larger would around her. The gentle white fluff
all around her was delicate, and it reminded her of herself. Gentle, kind,
soft, small, often manipulabe. However the snow obtained a characteristic much
more unique than Pecola and to her the pure white entity was intriguing. A
sudden stop in her tracks, Pecola stared at the snow. She turned and mesmerized
she stood. She had the urge to jump in a roll around in the snow; she wanted to
rub it all over her body and yet a familiarity had struck her, and past
experiences did her no good to her aspirations. Once awakened, Pecola continued
to school.
Arriving Pecola could
see the other children. They were like birds frolicking, yet she was
flightless. This little bird shrouded herself with her clipped wings and
watched. Pecola made sure to stay away from the boys of the school, most of
them were ill mannered, rough, and loud. They were hyenas, snickering away,
ready to pounce on even the smallest and shriveled piece of meat. Familiarity struck
itself again like the cutting of skin and the oozing of blood down the body.
Like a child’s first fall, it was a scar that kept its name and memory.
Like a herd, the
children stampeded into the school at the sound of the bell. Pecola followed,
still flightless, but alive. Pecola sat down; she stationed herself in a seat
in the middle of the class. She had made eye contact with Claudia and Frieda,
they greeted her, and she stared. In the distance a pair of footsteps could be
heard. Click. Clack. These footsteps were sharp, and loud. They echoed in the
hall like an empty cave. Out from the cave sprang something beautiful, a woman,
a tall and slender woman who had long blonde hair and ravishing blue eyes. She
was pure and white like the snow.
The children snapped
with attention as her entrance sparked power and wonder. Her voice was
demanding and stood out above all the children. It was an invisible force that
held the children down and lashed them to their seats. Pecola stared with interest; images of
Shirley Temple raced through her mind. She knew that such a woman was successful,
that her sight had seen marvelous things. Such characteristics would allow
Pecola to break out of her shell, her confinement would break, no longer a
strong sturdy chain but a small string stretched out to its limits ready to
burst. She would be a note on the piece of life, neither diminished nor
augmented, but clear and repetitive.
“Everyone take out
your textbooks. We will be working on your time tables today. Do as I say, now!”
Pecola felt a sudden
tap. It was a boy, as strange as it was to Pecola she discontinued her eye
contact. Tapped again Pecola decided to play along but didn’t keep her hopes
up.
“Hey black e mo, can
you give this note to the girl next to you?”
Ashamed, Pecola
nodded and grabbed the note. She looked to her right, another white girl, perky
and elegant. In the midst of passing the note, there was roar.
“Pecola! Are you
passing notes in my class?”
Pecola didn’t
respond.
“Young lady answer me!”
Pecola simply
nodded.
“Well isn’t like a
little negro girl to be passing notes and misbehaving in class.”
The other children
snickered and bickered about.
Pecola was in the
spot light, a situation she was not yet ready for.
“Well then young
lady since you’d rather be passing notes in class; I guess I’ll be having you
for detention.”
Pecola accepted her
fate; just about then the bell had rang for lunch. The horde of children rushed
to eat; some scurried to have lunch in the warm sanctuaries they called home. Pecola
however stayed, and though she was
in trouble she would have not been in a rush to go home.
“Well young lady
what do you have to say for yourself?”
Pecola stared and
didn’t respond.
“Well?” said the
teacher.
“It wasn’t my
noted” replied Pecola with a low tone voice.
“Well I guess any negro
girl would lie to get out of trouble.” Such power befuddled Pecola’s fear. She
was scared, yet attentive to such a woman.
“If you’re not
going to answer me then I’ll have to beat it out of you.” Such words phased through
Pecola. Familiarity had sprang again out of Pandora’s box and raced through Pecola’s
mentality and anatomy.
A black empty entity
seared itself onto Pecola. New scars piled onto old ones. Refreshed and
thickend, stained markings that shine in watchful eyes, yet have no meaning to
other faces. A burden bared by the rebel in false revolt. Yet faithful to
copasetic change to her rotting view of life physically and mentally.
Pecola, familiar yet
again to such abominable treatment walked home for a late lunch. She stared at the snow again, and this
time she had jumped around in it, hoping for light, hoping for aspiration.
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