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Reader, I begin my tale of woe and despair whilst sitting on the streets of London, watching the commuters pass by. The day is cold, darkened by a drizzling yellow fog and the sky grey like milky porridge. I dig around in my pocket for a minute before dragging out a cigar and lighter, taking a deep drag and inhaling the warm smoke. My existence has been a tormented one, filled with despair and sorrow, and in my last days of sanity, I hope to share it with you, Reader. Sighing, I lay back against the building wall and with eyelids heavy, I doze off. I believe it began on a dreary November afternoon with myself, a boy of about fourteen… I stared out of the window at the desolate, brooding skies, following the rivulets of rain as they streamed …show more content…

However, the image of Jane’s pale face would not be erased from my memory. I wish she was ugly like me, for I was a fat, pudgy boy who engorged himself on food, luxuries that I was entitled to. My figure is short and stout, with features too big and prominent on my face and body. My physician says that I am of poor health, but he himself was a skinny man who always brought news of woe. Maybe if I listened to him back then, my health would not be as poorly as it is now. In contrast, although Jane was a pale girl, she emitted a healthy glow that gave her a beauty quite like no other. People always said Georgiana was beautiful, but it disgusts me to say that Jane is something entirely different. I take pleasure in hitting and tormenting her; making her submissive to me as a slave is to master. Mother doesn’t mind that I hit her, for she hates Jane as well. That rat orphan was despised by …show more content…

My spittle sprayed against the glass. “Rat, Rat, Rat,” yelled I. Turning swiftly away from the window, I stomped into the nursery. “Where are you, Joan!” I called. All was silent. I turned from the room and marched down one of the halls to her favourite hiding place; the drawing room. The little leech liked to indulge herself in reading my books. “Come out, come out, Jane Eyre!” I cried. My sisters withdrew from their rooms then, having heard my tirade, and not wanting to miss out on a scene. We entered the drawing room, and alas the rat was not there. I continued into the breakfast room, leaving my sisters to gossip idiotically in low, most irritating tones. The breakfast room was also free of her vile presence, and thus I let out another shriek; “Boh! Madame Mope!” but all I heard in response were my sisters tittering. “Where the dickens is she? Lizzy? Georgy! Tell mamma she is run out into the rain- bad animal!” I called, hoping they would now leave to find mamma and tell her of Jane Eyre’s mischief. I was certain The Rat was inside, but I wanted my sisters to take their gossip elsewhere. It was well that they did not run off, however, for Eliza poked her head through the doorway and said at once, “She is in the window-seat, to be sure”. And having been found out, my cousin Jane Eyre presently emerged from behind the expensive red moreen curtains and said in her insolent manner, “What do you

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