Light Hidden in Darkness

This is a story of the perspective of Aminata Diallo’s daughter, May, in the novel of “The Book of Negroes”. Aminata is an African woman who, at a young age, had been abducted by men from her small village called Bayo. She is later at a plantation by the owner of a man named Applebee. Chekura is the love of Aminata’s life and she is soon holds her own son.  As she nurses her son for a year, he is taken away from her by Applebee and sold to another plantation. She is not only furious with Applebee, but she also loses her will to do any of the work on the plantation. As a result, she is sold off to a Jewish Plantation owner, Solomon Lindo. As an owner of the plantation, he believes that slaves should be called servants. He also teaches Aminata how to read. Aminata moves to Nova Scotia and Chekura meets her again. She gives birth to her daughter, May. May is taken away by her employers, Mr. and Mrs. Witherspoon in the midst of the riots that had been occuring in Nova Scotia. 

Swiftness appears in the thickness of the dark green grass. My head darts to the other direction like something I have never encountered before. I pretend, like everything else, that it is just a figment of my imagination. I hear the calls of my mother. Her words crying out in desperation. I never got to see the sadness in her eyes. I was taken away too quickly by the people I knew I loved the least. I was always left in the blackness of my own little room. With nothing but the feeling of my hard, brick like bed and a tiny desk for my school work. The only light that spread through the room was my lamp that sat at the corner of my desk. I despised every moment of the long, excruciating hours. Tears would drip out of my eyes with the desperation of wanting to experience what the other kids were doing outside. I could see the light in their eyes and the laughter that floated throughout the air.  I longed for the opportunity just to see the bright sun and the warm evening breeze. I longed to touch the daisies blooming from the cracked earth swaying in the air. I longed for the smell of food being sold on the street in the afternoon and to hear the buzz of the mosquitoes and bees in the sweltering, hot atmosphere. All this was impossible. The people who took me away did not only take away my beloved mother, but my freedom. The freedom that I was supposed to have for so many years. I was too little to understand that I was being taken away. I was too little to understand that I will never see her again. When ever I had asked where my mother was or who she is, they became more infuriated. I remembered the boldness of my mother plastered onto the smile of her face. The only thing that kept me sane within the small box of my isolated room was my books in the corner. It was the only reminder that came from my mother who had taught me to read at a young age. It is uncommon for women of my color to read books, if a white man had seen anyone of my type reading, they would have been seriously beaten or killed. As time went on into my teenage years, I came to later understand that she read her books in secret.

In the long, restless years of isolation, I try to connect myself to the other half that has always been gone. My eyes glance over to someone that may be my mother, but as I look at their eyes, I do not see myself Disappointment is painted all over my face. I later come to accept that I will never see her again. My mind stops remembering how the beauty of my mother used to look like.

Eventually, a few months later I would come to remember her face again as I see her in a newspaper. The black and white image shows every small detail of what I craved to learn more of. Her wide smile was so similar to mine, it felt like an unimaginable dream waiting to be erased, but I couldn’t let that happen.

On my way home from school, I never went back to the life that had previously caused my self-destruction. I was on my way to look for her.

Featured image link:

https://www.pexels.com/photo/turned-on-grey-table-lamp-1643280/

 

 

 

The Only Key

The day had come.

The day she had received a key to her new home. It had been placed into her hands. The rigid, jagged teeth made marks onto her soft palms. She could feel how cold it had been and her teeth clenched. She slid the key into her pocket and made her way down the thin path leading to the front door.

The interior of the house was old, but that was all she could afford. Picture frames had loosely hung onto the walls. As she patted down the couches dust flew and she could see the small particles from the slit of light coming from behind the draped window. She turned on the light switch and in the far corner the lamp flickered.

It was weak.

She went to see if it had anything to do with the power down below in the basement.

She made her way down. Sliding her hand down the railing and at the bottom of the stairs she had accumulated a ball of dust. She wiped it down on her pants. She had planned to change her pants after she found the source of power to turn on the light around the house.

Suddenly, the weak lights had turned dimmer and dimmer. As she walked in circles around the shivering basement, there was a sudden darkness.

She could feel the burn of her foot from the friction against the hard rug. If she had known where she was walking none of it would have ceased to happen. As she walked forward with her hands away from her to look for the light source, they toppled over things that were presumably books laying on coffee tables and the remote resting on the arm of the couch. It had been a frightening thought. Where the house was filled with darkness. Where she had thought that no one else was in it but her. The light was out, the weather was cold and daunting with its grey cloud and its dark soul, and little did she know that someone else would be upstairs, while she was down below in the cold basement.

It hadn’t been the power box in the basement. It had been a figure who was controlling the lighting of the house. She hadn’t known this.

When she heard sounds above, she shrugged it off and assumed it was the weak house groaning from its floorboards and the hollow sinks where the faucet dripped and splattered uncontrollably.

Meanwhile, the unknown figure from upstairs made its way down the basement as well.

This time she heard it and she knew what she heard. Footsteps came running down and sprinted towards her, despite the figure not able to see. Lucky for her she dodged, fell, and lay panting on the cool basement floor.

This time it came quietly towards her. Making it hard for her to hear it come closer. Instead she heard the shuffling of its feet against the hard carpet had burned her feet with. It whimpered, unbalanced itself and fell alongside the girl before she could get away.

She thought this would be it. Nothing would be after to chase her and her fear would vanish.

But it wasn’t.

The figure couldn’t get up. She got up carefully but quickly and strategically traced her steps back to the basement staircase. She followed the dusty handrail back up until she reached the door full of light. The girl went towards the front door, grabbed her shoes as fast as possible, and left the key behind. As she closed the door behind her, she looked back.

Just once.

She never bothered to wonder what that figure was, but the key was left behind.

No one could be bought back in as that had been the only key that led to that very house that she almost might have gotten killed if she hadn’t ran out.

Featured Image Source:

https://keithdotson.com/blogs/news/black-and-white-photographs-of-old-doors-and-antique-keys

 

Wonders Beyond the Basement- May Poem with Explanation/Explication

But the basement scared her at night.

As a foot is placed on the steps it creaks

In which she looks up to see if eyes lay on her

But all she sees is darkness

A hand grips the railing

Holding on tighter and tighter

Till her hands turn white.

The railing slippery as she slides her hand down further

With the sweat gathering in her palms

From the warm air in her body, against the cool breeze that blows against her.

 

Nights were even chillier than the morning

Where the sky is clear and below it there lies

The silhouette of things, bare trees

The remaining leaves are burnt to crisps.

Grey owls hoot in a sinister way.

Frogs croak and lurch their tongues far to get the next swarming fly.

It is silent among the hilltop with the peaked houses

Within one of the houses

Down below in the basement

Is the terrified girl

She had successfully made it down the stairs

And is now looking out the window

With the sky that is clear with no moon and no stars

The black, thin trees

And the grey owl among other things.

 

The girl takes up the courage

To walk slowly back on the wooden steps

Clutching the railing

Where she eventually lays in bed

In which thoughts crowd her small brain.

 

She tries to let go

And she does

To where she falls asleep.


This poem was inspired by a writer’s seminar author, Marge Piercy. I liked the emulation that I had responded from a piece of her poem. What I did was take a few lines from my writing and explained it further by either describing a scene such as the empty sky in the moonlight or the basement. I also decided to describe what was happening such as when the frog was lurching at flies or the hooting owl. Another area where I got my inspiration from was when in class we were told to describe three places such as the basement, an attic, and windows. I decided to describe the basement and windows in which the girl observes everything from. The reason I included the line, “In which they crowd her small brain,”was because the character is still trying to process the reality of night compared to the morning. In  this line I wrote about the night compared to the morning and they are drastically different in my poem’s setting. The girl eventually decides to let go of her thoughts as she falls asleep because sleep overpowers her thoughts and she soon forgets about what happens that night.

 

Image source:

http://rebloggy.com/post/scary-photography-creepy-stairs-yikes/26053864460


 

A Shattered Heart-Free Choice

My heart breaks into a million, tiny pieces.

I breathe in. I breathe out.

It’s like a few of those tiny pieces are picked up and fixed back within where my heart once stood.

But when I  think about it again…

I breathe in. I breathe out.

And a cycle continues.

I tell myself to stop thinking of the dreadful things that had happened.

But my brain tells itself something different.

It tells itself to run through that cycle all over again.

I can not take it any longer.

The first tear falls slowly.

I tell myself to stop. This is unlike me.

But then the next follows.

Small episodes of unbearable memories flash in my head.

It pangs with pain with all the stress of thinking.

To the day that I dread. The day that I could have stopped everything from happening.

I knew she was sick. Sweat had been trickling down from her forehead down to her neck. Her skin was pale almost as if she were to be invisible and run away from whatever illness she had been dealing with. You could see the thin veins popping out from the top of her hands. Her blue eyes had spread with fear and the blank impression on her face said it all.

But I did not think much of it.

It had only looked like a cold that would soon be passed and forgotten.

But it never did.

Each day passed by. She became weaker and weaker to the point where she couldn’t stand up. Energy was washed away from her mouth. Words stopped flying out of her mouth. I never heard my name from her again.

I never saw her sit up, or walk again. Her body was still. Her eyes were always fixed to the television with varying colors flashing against her pale skin.

My selfishness got the best of me. I left for the long hours of work just to make money for myself.

Never even bothering to check if she would ever be okay.

I could have used that money for a doctor.

Every time I think of something I could have done to make everything better my head throbs with guilt and pain.

Now she’s gone. All I think of is how it’s my fault.

After this memory to clear my worries temporarily before I recall another of her, all I can do is breathe in and out.

I wish I could ask for forgiveness.

All is done. All is too late.

I take another breath.

https://www.pinterest.ca/pin/432416001701764554/

 

Horrifying Darkness-Free Choice

It is unusual for it to be dark in the middle of the day like a full moon in a clear night sky. The leaves are grey and black and can be easily crumpled within your hands. The neighborhood looks like a black and white movie seen on television. Houses are painted in mysterious colors of dark grey, black, and white. The sun is nowhere to be seen and the clouds along the horizon are the same color as the sky which makes it difficult to see.  Making me to squint. There is no one to be seen. No children running or riding their bikes, or adults and elders on their porches relaxing or reading a book. No sounds are being made like the birds chirping gracefully swooping in the sky or not a slight bit of wind that is blowing against me, giving me shivers down the back of my spine. To shut down the thoughts of something suspicious I play exciting music from my earplugs. My chest pumps hard along with the beat of the music as my feet pedal up and down on the bike that I’m on, one of the only things that is still bright, shiny, and red. I hopped off my bike and continued to walk.

It’s cold outside. Winter is quickly approaching, but before it does a variety of the dark colored leaves swirl in the shivering autumn air like mini tornadoes. I walk aimlessly around the neighborhood along the paved sidewalk. Occasional cars slowly driving past me, dark and haunting. I tug on the collar of my jacket to cover my cold neck. One foot after the other unsure of the direction that they are leading me. It takes some time but I eventually approach a beautiful open gate with a wet sidewalk from the rain that had dripped on it the previous day and crunched leaves on the left side of it surprisingly dried. I walk further. The sky is becoming darker and the post lights are beginning to brightly shine against the rough, green bushes and dirty, moss walls. Above the moss walls are bunched up tall, skinny trees with mostly the leaves and branches covering the dark sky. I continue to dig deeper to find something fascinating for me to observe on this street but I find nothing. I’m nearly about to lose hope.

That thought is lost as soon as I walk a few steps further…

In front of me there is darkness. The trees and shrubs are gone, the sidewalk is no longer seen, and the sky is invisible. I tell myself not to feel too curious despite all the loud echos, the warm wind instead of the cold, and the sound of footsteps walking away from me towards further into the distance, I ignore myself and walk into it.

Piano Boredom- Personal Narrative

My eleven year old self after school drove along the backseat with my brother and sister, my mom sitting in the passenger seat, and my dad driving. I was going to attend my first piano tutorial to see if I was going to pursue it as lessons in the future. As I gazed out the car’s window passed the small houses that all looked very similar, I could see the variety of colours seen in the warm, summer sky. Colours of purple, pink, and orange spread along the vast area of it with crystal clear clouds to contrast the warm feelings of summer. The drive along the way was smooth and quick as it had only taken about five minutes to get to the tutorials from my house, we drove through the parking lot and parked in front of a light brown building . My young self looked a long way up the tall building observing the white letters, Sonata School of Music, attached below the windows that were spread in a straight line.

 

I pulled open the glass door and went through an alley of stairs, the lights were dark and flickering. I already began feeling butterflies fluttering in my empty stomach, and nausea quickly began to form. In my head I began to form many questions such as: “What if I embarrass myself in front of all these people trying for tutorials with me?” and “What if I do something extremely wrong or stupid?”. I tried my best to throw away those thoughts because I thought I was being sill. As we went up the gloomy staircase it quickly turned into a glowing and cheerful hallway, a sigh of relief washed over me. The windows that I had seen from the outside had lit up the open doors that led to the different rooms of varying music from drums to guitars. Posters of encouragement were taped along the bright yellow walls and the parents of other children standing and leaning against it. Both my brother and sister went in first to the piano room with buzzing children and cheerful teachers. I waited anxiously for my siblings to finish their tutorial that had lasted for approximately fifteen minutes, performing their skills really well despite their lack of knowledge in playing the piano. The butterflies in my stomach had flown away and I had forgotten all my fears in coming here.

 

When my turn approached to play the piano I felt confident with myself when observing the techniques and skills used by my siblings. I came into the brightly lit room with pianos in a set of two rows perfectly aligned. Piano music books were propped neatly on top of the stands and the name Yamaha was engraved in gold. I sat down on the black, cushioned, long chair closest to the door of the room that I had entered in. children of various sizes and parents began to gradually fill the room. My chest kept continuously, pounding harder and harder for the anticipation to play and show off skills that I thought I new based on what I saw from my siblings. Since this was just a tutorial and I was young, parents were supposed to help you navigate the keys and help with instructions if we needed help. That confidence washed away and I now began to feel the pressure of doing well because I really wanted to learn and master a new instrument. The instructor came into the front of the room and told us what keys to play along with the song that was selected for us to play with the piano. I felt a mix of emotion because I immediately became confused as I fixed my attention to the keys. They looked all the same but only one could be the right one for us to play. As I had my mother help me that confusion had turned into frustration, I did not want help because I wanted to show that I was good at something that I had never tried. I frequently insisted to her that it was not the right key because she had never played the piano either and I thought she was wrong but the instructor from the front of the room had said she was right. I was really disappointed since I thought I knew what I was doing but instead I became really impatient.

 

Everything we were taught, I was not in love with. I was continuously bored and was daydreaming a lot of things especially like what I could be doing rather than sitting in that room. I could be sleeping, eating, or playing outside in the breezy summer air. My eyes kept wandering to different objects around the room that were not relevant to the setting of the piano room like passed the outside of the doors to the clear windows, a reminder of all the things that I could be doing outside like riding my bike and playing with my friends. Although the tutorials were only about approximately twenty minutes for my age group playing the piano, it felt like an hour and eventually the clock ticked to the end of the time of the tutorials and it was finally done.

 

Leaving the room I had thoughts of never pursuing piano as a skill not because I did not show much interest in it, but because I thought I was going to be good at  it which was a mistake. I went through the brightly lit hallway, down the dim stairway, and opened the glass door towards the parking lot. The sky had turned navy blue, and stars high above. The moon was from clear sight with all the clouds from during the day that had vanished. From afar I could see the silhouettes of the evergreen trees and the rocky terrain with it. I were disappointed but I knew what I wanted and it was not piano. At that time I did not have a specific talent that defined who I was.

 

Not even a week of this day happening, I was observing the intricate shapes and designs my friend had been drawing. She had been creating drawings of people and with their own hints of personalities, with different styles of clothing, hair, and faces. That was when I knew there was more to art than just making flat faces with no dimension, but 3 dimensional heads and the body looking like a realistic figure. I thought this was a way to find a new sense of creativity other than learning the piano. To this day I realize that wanting to learn one passion that did not go as planned will sometimes turn into a better one that may still affect you today and possibly in the future. This is exactly what had happened to me.

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