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This is probably one of the most random things I've written. I wrote it during field experience after a poetry exercise where
one kid chose to read "There was an old woman who lived in a shoe."
"Analyzing "The Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe"
"There was an old woman who lived in a shoe..."
Why is this old woman living in a shoe? Is there no nice old age home she could inhabit with people her own age? And
what is up with this shoe? Is it a giant's shoe or is this woman some weird life form that she is small enough to live in
a normal sized shoe? Since when do shoes have windows and doors and a roof, complete with chimney?
"Who had
so many children she didn't know what to do..."
Where's her husband and where did all these kids come from? I guess
if she is an old woman, her husband could presumably be dead, or else he ran off with some young whippersnapper and is happily
living out the last days of his life with Anna Nicole Smith (Yeah, she married for love. And I'm the King of France.) But
that doesn't explain the multitude of children running around the random shoe-house. Maybe this is a kind old woman who adopts
tons of children to fill the hole left in her heart by her deadbeat husband who ran off with Anna Nicole Smith. But the end
of the poem clearly states that this old woman is not very kind since she starves and beats the children. So I think it is
safe to assume that she kidnapped all these children because their parents are very wealthy and the old woman thought she
could ransom them for a lot of money so she could move into a better house, possibly even a very roomy refridgerator box.
Obviously her ransom plans backfired and the parents were overjoyed to get rid of their bratty, spoiled children and refused
to pay the ransom. So now the old woman has all these kidnapped children that she does not know what to do with.
"She
gave them some broth, without any bread..."
She must'nt have enough money for bread since she probably spends all
her money on the broth for all the kidnapped children. Or maybe she eats all the bread herself because, as we figured out
before, this is not a kind old woman.
"And whipped them all soundly, and sent them to bed."
Now I am
picturing an old lady in a black leather dominatrix get-up brandishing a black leather whip...but we won't go into that imagery,
because it's just plain wrong, even for a psychotic old woman.
This old woman probably grew up in a family where the general
consensus was that beating was an acceptable way of discipline. And this old woman is obviously crazy if she is living in
a shoe and kidnapping spoiled children whose parents cannot be bothered with paying the ransom. Her shoe must be located in
a very remote, rural area if no one has yet noticed that this crazy old lady is living in a shoe and beating her kidnapped
children.
After reading this horrible and disturbing report of negligence and insanity, I recommend that the local law
enforcement go on a shoe-hunt and enforce the law, and possibly return all the children to their homes, unless their parents
opt to sell them as slave labor on the blackmarket. That can be arranged...
Here is a little random story I wrote during another boring day of field experience.
Torture
10/31/01
We burrow as far back as possible, trying in vain to save ourselves from the giant claws
that rip into our home, destroying our lives. The sharp claws grab at us, clutching us by the bunch and taking us from the
orphanage, to the death chamber. They not only eat us, they find it amusing to torture us in their sadistic ways.
I feel a claw brush my side, but it does not get a hold of me. But my good fortune is short-lived for another claw follows
the first and catches me firmly in its grasp. It takes me from my home, paying no attention to me squirming for my life.
I am dropped next to a pile of my fellow orphans who are frozen with terror. The ominous beings sit around us and begin
their torture ceremony.
We are lined up in rows as for a firing squad, stacked on top of each other like corpses in
a mass grave, or set in designs like pyramids. Too scared to attempt an escape, we watch the terrible beings as they bring
the deep vat of the white acid that melts our skin.
The glass vat is set down in front of us and we begin to shake
with fear. Those stacked in a tower shake so violently that they tumble out of formation and lay in a pile. The claws come
and restack the orphans and the selection begins.
The fattest orphans are taken to the torture vat first. We watch
in horror as our friends are taken by the claws one by one. The victims are lifted high into the air and slowly moved into
place above the white acid. We stare at the beings, transfixed by their faces of evil and their gnashing teeth that glint
when they communicate in their language that is unknown to us. Our eyes move back to our friends, hanging in the sky miles
above us. We see the sheer terror glazing their eyes as the claws begin to lower them down into the glass vat.
The
orphans are plunged into the white acid and they begin to scream. The sounds are horrible to hear, but we are not able to
block them out. They ring in our heads and nearly shatter our brains.
The claws lift the remnants of the victims out
of the vat. Our friends are no more, replaced by masses of dripping, soggy flesh. The beings lift the dying bodies higher
and higher toward their mouths full of jagged teeth. We stifle our own screams of horror as we watch the beings tear into
the flesh of the victims. We cannot pull our gaze away as the beings devour the orphans.
Again and again our friends
are tortured in the vat of white acid and eaten alive. Closer and closer the claws come toward me as my friends are taken
to their deaths.
Closer,
closer,
closer...
I try to take myself away from the terror. I
try to remember my family, but the vague images in my mind are fading. I try to hold on to them as I feel the claws move nearer.
I take myself farther away, waiting for the inevitable.
But it does not come.
I bring myself back to the massacre
but something has happened. The leader of the beings has appeared and is saying something to the torturers.
The survivors
watch as the vats of white acid are swallowed by the beings, who then leave abruptly. The leader comes toward us and picks
up the remaining orphans in its claws. We watch in wonder as the leader carries us back to our home and shoves us inside.
The orphans who were fortunate enough to have evaded capture crowd around us, amazed to see that we are still alive. We huddle
together in the back of the main room of the orphanage, happy to be alive, the thin walls of our home crinkling around us.
Here is a work in progress that I started during a rather boring day at field experience.
I hate it when they tuck me behind their ears. It's always dirty and their hair makes me sneeze. And I can never see what's
going on, which I hate because I tend to get paranoid. I know they're plotting and planning things when they banish me to
the nether realm behind their ears.
That's where I am now, lying stiffly and trying desperately to avoid the hair
that is slowly sliding toward me. I break out in hives when hair touches me; I think I am allergic. I make a mental note to
consult my doctor about allergy medication when I have a free moment.
Sticky Fingers grabs my body and now I am moving
through the air, away from the sneeze-inducing hair. I manage a quick glance of my surroundings and see the Bic twins working
across the room. They are too busy to notice me.
I am placed on a table, surrounded by a group of acquaintances. Red
gives me an angry look for interrupting the conversation she was having with Elmer. I return her friendly welcome with a 'Bite
me' look. I am about to ask Orange what she is so bubbly about today when Sticky Fingers snatches her away. I watch her giggle
as she begins her new job of drawing a large pumpkin.
I turn around and see Yellow, who is trying to discretely smoke
a joint. He stops when he sees me and gives me a smirk.
"It keeps me mellow. Without it I would probably go insane,"
Yellow says shyly.
I nod in understanding and am about to ask if I can have a drag when Green saunters by and I am
instantly distracted. I opt to follow her to the end of the table where she meets Blue, who is placidly sitting and enjoying
her surroundings.
"Ladies," I say suavely, "I see you have been waiting for me."
Green
and Blue laugh in their beautifully colored way and I am all ready to ask Green if she would like to join me for a moonlight
stroll this evening when I am abruptly pushed aside.
"Get outta my way," Indigo says indignantly. "Where's
Violet?" He glares at us and then stalks away in search of his girlfriend.
"I dont know why Violet stays
with him," Green says in her serene voice.
"She's too sweet and shy to be without him. Violet is the kind
of girl who thinks that she needs to be in a relationship all the time," Blue replies.
I would have put in my
two cents if Sticky Fingers hadn't grabbed me. I am sailing through the air again, off to another job location I assume. I
stop suddenly in mid-air and when I look around, I see it.
The dreaded torture machine.
I am jammed into the
torture chamber up to my waist.
My leg. They are going to take my leg.
They've caught on. They know I have
been planning an escape. Damn them! They may take my leg, but they'll never take MY FREEDOM!
The blades tear at my
flesh and I scream in agony. Sticky Fingers doesn't hear my pain-filled cries. Its mind is elsewhere.
When I am pulled
from the machine, I hesitantly look where my leg used to be. It has been replaced by a shorter version of itself. Green will
never go for me now. I'm half the man I used to be...
I am dropped unceremoniously onto another table. I find that
FaberCastell is working the same job.
He gives me a sympathetic look. "I heard you in the machine. I'm really
sorry, man."
I shrug. "The pain goes away after a while."
Our conversation is cut short when
Sticky Fingers takes FaberCastell away and puts him to work writing a short story. I sit alone on the table in my misery,
waiting for a job and daydreaming about Green.
Sticky Fingers comes back for me and I finally have a job, sketching
pictures of animals and trees. Sticky Fingers has no talent so I let myself go, drawing little details until the animals and
trees look ready to leap off the page. Sticky Fingers always takes credit for my wonderful artwork.
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