Chapter 1: A Fictional Narrative

Father’s eyes remained fixed on his daughter’s tear trails and bloody bubbling nose. His gaze grew pained and glassy. I know that man. He shook his head of grey hair and came to. The man crouched and calmly stroked Sybil’s brunette curls. How he missed her frizzy halo during dark dawns when she woke.

“Earlier today, we learned that an attempt was made on your cousin’s life,” her father said to her. “Your mother has so much grief for your cousin, because of the actions that he has made since the past two years – deeds worthy of being told to all

She slumped to the floor of the the cottage”. This was really big for her because she just got freed from enslavement, then she learns that she will be reminded of that everyday of her life by this slavery child.

Days she’s determined to make everything work — to balance both her worlds, pushing through her normal life and making time for everything, everyone, for things that will make them happy. Their questions became more, and this made her pull herself back slightly, further from them and more to him. She’s trying, though. Still, they slander what she has with him with their words, and unknowingly who she is, the parts they haven’t got to know yet. It’s wounding. She tried sneaking up to her room at the crack of dawn to avoid when drenched in mud, her clothes torn to shreds, blood dripping. They had seen it and retreated from her quietly, getting in the car for school.

Twelve year old Sonja Haack is out wandering the streets of London at a very late hour. The wind blowing her long blonde hair. Her blue eyes glimmering in the light of the moon.She is running through the deep, dark woods with Luna the 1 year old dachshund.When Luna and Sonja get back to their little house she calls out to her mum in an indoor voice, just loud enough to hear from the top floor,;

Lauren showed concern for her mother knowing that they had just moved to a new area in their town and her mom does have her “old” friends to talk to anymore. Lauren is a good student, but often has to be refocused while in class. When asked if there was something going on at home? Lauren would just look away and cry.

World’s held their breath as one single tear rolled down the cheek of a broken queen. Not a sound was uttered as the breath was released and Penelope wiped her cheeks clean of any sign that she had been mourning as she slid out from between the blankets. She crept through her house, though it could have been a stranger’s without her lord to make it a home. As she stepped onto the soft grass a warm wind whispered in her ears.

While the two women search the attic, a quilt starts up Naomi’s curiosity. This quilt compelled her to seek an answer to a mature question that would define her life forever; Why did my mother not return? She pleaded with Obasan for an answer; Obasan would not budge. I would have rejection and a parent’s rejection can fuel a child’s life, whether positive or negative. In my life I never had to worry about the love of my mother, it was my father’s that made me wonder. After the age of six, I grew up with my mother, sister and my grandfather, loved by all, except my father. At first I thought, I just needed to work harder so he would be proud when he, one day sees me on TV. Grade seven came and my father died so I was left with curiosity. I did not know why he left, I did not know what a father was, I just did not know. “Please tell me about” ( Joy K, Obasan, 31) my father, I would say, hoping to hear he was a hero or something that would make me believe he was capable of loving me just circumstances made it impossible. Like Naomi I got hugs and all the wrong kinds of comfort. “Where is she now? My arms are suffused with urge to hold, but a hug would startle

Many years of stress had replaced numerous strands of brown with grey. The corners of her mouth were drawn up slightly with love and acceptance. It was the smile of a mother. No amount of grief could touch the love that resided there. The grin never faltered while she held Scotty. I could see her love for him in her face as if it were the definition of love itself. I could see something else there too but I would not pin point it till I was much older. It was strength, the strength came from the necessity of her smile. It

In addition, she shares her experiences and encounters at the house, which easily persuades the reader into believing it would be a benefit to help. Often, one is distracted with their own struggles and troubles, but in Day’s essay, she certainly helps one defeat their

She had been blessed with long, silky, blonde hair and cobalt blue eyes. I loved her eyes. They were the same color as our father’s, and with him gone, I often felt as though Kayla was my only way to hold on the a small glimpse of him I still had in my life. Our father had died when Kayla had only just turned four, so she didn’t have the memories of him that I did, and I knew she envied me for it. She was too sweet to ever treat someone with animosity, even if they deserved it, as I felt I probably often did. I was the fiery sister, the one with stubbornness leaking from every pore. I was the one who held grudges, and made sarcastic comments. She, in turn, was quick to forgive and offer favors. I envied her, this. I simply hadn't the patience to deal with all the backbiting falsies of the world. As I stood there, thinking these thoughts, she drew away from the door of her room, coming instead, to the door of mine. She leaned quietly against the door frame, simply watching me as I reached for my boots. She was a quiet one, my sister, always observing, taking the measure of everyone she crossed. I wondered what she was thinking now, with her watchful eyes gazing at me with thoughtfulness. Finally, after a moment or two she spoke. “ Are you ok, T? I heard your argument with mom.” I quickly looked up at her from where I sat on the bed, pulling on my brown and turquoise boots. Mom and I had been arguing about Kayla’s medicine. I hadn't known she could hear us, talking in low, fierce voices in the

Her mother just stared blankly at the floor when she started to tear up. “Lights out”, she replied as tears started to flow down her cheeks like a waterfall. “Mum, I’m really sorry...I..I..didn’t mean it”, said Rydie. In silence, she walked back to her room while her mother sobbed quietly in the shadows of the

The bond between a mother and child is often spoken of as being unlike any other. Yet there are always exceptions to the rule where this connection isn 't as impenetrable as one might assume. This book is an example of this bond gradually becoming weaker over time. It shows how it affects the child, Bone, and leaves her vulnerable to the abuse of her step-father. Bone’s mother, Anney, had fallen in love with a man who abused her which at first, she’s unaware but eventually comes to realize but still chooses to stay with him. Throughout the book there are instances of Anney’s negligence in recognizing her daughter’s abuse and being of aid to her but wasn 't. In having to deal with her

My eyes drifted around the room before settling on the tea, now lukewarm in my hands. Maudie’s nonchalant face came to mind, and her firm, strong voice commanding Jean Louise and I back into the kitchen played in my head. The sudden news of Tom’s death had upset her, but she revealed nothing as such. She said to Jean Louise to stop her shaking and instructed me to control myself. Maudie maintained her composure, and assisted in upholding mine. I wondered how she had done it, but nevertheless I was grateful.

Claudia expresses again and again how marginalized she and her sister perceived themselves to be, "Adults do not talk to us - they give us directions" (10). When Claudia thinks back to a childhood illness she suffered, she remembers her mother's irritation at finding her sick in bed. Claudia questions the reliability of her perceptions of pain and confusion, "But was it really like that? As painful as I remember? Only mildly. Love...eased up into that cracked window" (12). Claudia's mother's irritation is tempered with compassion; she coats Claudia's phlegmy chest with salve and "hands repinned the flannel, readjusted the