Thursday, January 2, 2020

Where The Girl On The Sea Are Short Story - 951 Words

WHERE THE WILD THINGS ARE I perched myself upon a weathered rock. My footprints left tattoos in the sand. The wind was etherized in the sky. The sun smoldered in silence. Centered in a quiet oasis, the blue beast howled. It stretched out before me like the land was coated in oil paints: cerulean and cyan, electric and Egyptian, teal and turquoise. The moment that I stood before this righteous beast was captured and bottled up in my beloved father’s camera. This flimsy piece of paper is a portal. It is a portal to a girl who left her worries at the shore, on that smooth and cold rock. Who left the marks of her bare feet across the velvety sands. Who embraced the ocean like it was a bed of sapphire, silk sheets. Who let the frigid†¦show more content†¦Under stacks of photographs of my birth, my sisters birth, and my father’s birth, an image of a little girl, perched on a smooth and cold rock, lay. It was out of place among our birth photos and I pulled it out to put it among the vacation pictures. A hazy smile tugged at my lips. I remembered her. A wild girl from the sea, with stormy eyes and seaweed hair. I remembered her untamed rage and her indestructible heart. My insides squirmed at the memory, at the girl whose bones snapped and whose blood boiled and whose skin tore. They squirmed at the thought of who I’d become, a blue light locked under a bell jar. My squirming turned to fidgeting and kicking and screaming and roaring and tearing and red radical rage. I burned with my regret as fuel. I tore up the fragile skin that held me captive. My mother and father have sat me down and told me that I was born to put on latex gloves and operate on the sick, or stand before a judge and make defend the innocent, or swear to protect the citizens of my city with a gold lacquered badge and gun. As I held that photograph in my polished fingers, I realized that my fate was not where I had guessed. That I was not to live a tranquil life among the people who raised me. I realized that I was meant to be before beasts with bare feet and wide eyes. That my place was not in offices and cubicles, nor was it among the stars. My fate was entwined in the vines of the jungle, in the fur of tigers, in the clawsShow MoreRelatedThe Struggle of the People of Haiti in Edwidge Danticats Novel Krik? Krak!1204 Words   |  5 PagesDanticat, born in Haiti, grew up hearing stories about her homelands past. She learned about the hardships and struggles her elders went through in Haiti. Danticat composed nine short stories that reveal the unmasking truth of what it was like in the previous generations to keep the history of her home country alive. Within the characters in these stories, she describes the inequality, cruelty, and pain that the people went through. 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