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Toni Morrison's Elle: A Narrative Fiction

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Delicate footsteps over a plush carpet of a champagne hue came to a stop at its rounded end, and they shifted slightly to their left. The room was silent, save for the sound of a gentle wind weaving in and out of the excess of blooming trees of vibrant chlorophyll green, and a lone bird calling out in the late afternoon. The footsteps, belonging to an aged woman with fair, glowing skin and cinnamon colored hair, adorned in pleated pants and a lazy white unbuttoned blouse, were unnoticeable to the other woman who stood hunched over a kitchen island, a steaming mug in her left hand, a pastry of some sort in the other. The Irish woman stared at the woman intently scanning the contents of a laptop in front of her, its fluorescent glow illuminating …show more content…

“Jo,” Elle’s eyes were unfocused on Jo. Her stare seemed to penetrate farther beyond the open window in the kitchen, where pastel lemon curtains drifted horizontally in the spring breeze. “Are you okay?” Jo stood several feet diagonally from Elle, the pastry rested still in her right hand. The mug behind them, abandoned on the counter, still let out a foggy steam that travelled to the glass ceiling and dispersed promptly. “Why wouldn’t I be okay?” dazed green eyes suddenly snapped and shifted quickly to meet with Jo’s own that were laced with an obvious amount of concern. Jo smiled sweetly, albeit cautiously, and pulled at the collar of her sweatshirt before replying. “I don’t mean that,” Elle shifted her weight onto her left hip while tucking long strands of hair behind her ears. “I just mean, well.” Jo paused again, a cautious grin on her face. “I don’t know how long you’ve been standing there...do you need something?” There was a lasting silence between the two as Elle turned her head away from Jo and closed her eyes. She let out a sigh. Her jaw was noticeably clenched. “I do...need …show more content…

I don’t believe I had processed it all; Elle’s deliberately spiteful words, my walking out--the tension had been palpable, what else could have been done? I reassured myself as I walked along a dirt path along the thick of the forest that my decision, while impulsive, was the right thing to do. We both needed to breathe, take a moment before we would say something that would cause irreversible damage. Travelling along the path brought me no comfort--I was left wandering the well-trodden area with tears blurring my vision, frustration building and subsiding, then building once more within me. Normally the quiet, soothing aura of nature would relieve any anxious nerves I had. Today, it only unsettled me more. However, it wasn’t the fault of nature itself--I don’t believe anything could bring me back to my gentle-hearted disposition, at least for quite a

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