Wednesday, March 27, 2013

Bluest Eye Written Task- Frist Draft


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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