Our Screaming Secrets

Author’s note: I wanted to do something a little different than a paragraph for the last response on Jekyll and Hyde, as we have now finished the novella, so I’m going to do a poem/combination of words to create something unique in describing the evil inside the human race.

Our defiant nature marks us
Bull’s-eye
Our fury fumes within us
Steaming
Our pride rages beyond us
Heartless

We walk on our earth like it’s coal
Black
We forget the importance of life like it’s oxygen
Dead
We wear our hearts on our sleeves like it’s cyclical
Forbidden

Our anger overtakes our minds
Hatred
Our insanity clouds our judgment
Terror
Our cold spirits proclaim our malevolence
Shattering

The Space Between Connection

Author’s note: While reading through the chapters “The Last Night” and “Dr. Lanyon’s narrative” my eyes were opened to the biblical motifs and illusions so I decided that I’d spend this writing response emphasizing the way these correlations add to the duality and evil of this novella.

Deserted. Seclusion. Isolation. What better words to describe the life of Jesus? While His feet walked the Earth, he was alone and rebuked. The motif of seclusion was repeated many times throughout this novella, I believe, because Hyde/Jekyll felt the same way. “They” tried to achieve the highest honor in man’s eyes yet they were left as the outcast just as Jesus was. Just as an outcast is separated from the world, so is Heaven and Hell. Stevenson talked about “communication separately” and a “spacious cellar.”  This separation and space showed the lapse between good and evil; Heaven and Hell. Evil is just a distortion of good and biblically this is sin. That sin could be lying, blasphemy, lust, greed, pride, the list could go on forever but Stevenson stopped that list at distortion – lies and blasphemies. Jesus was accused of both and it was this that got Him killed; like the heart, soul, and mind of Hyde. Ultimately, the author used these biblical separations, although connections too, to emphasize the separation between good and evil and to for the illusion of how far Hyde was from good.

A Peek Through the Clouds

Author's note: I had a hard time figuring out what to write for this writing response so I began looking through my codes and noticed all the times I coded something about the fog/weather/sky. Hence, this became my writing topic for the day.

Particularly in chapter 4, I noticed the mention of “fog” which got me thinking on what the purpose of this could be. Fog has the ability to cloud judgment; to disguise knowledge and cause mystery. Not only did I see this as a description of the mind but also as a foreshadowing of the plot to come. Specifically, “the fog would be quite broken up” allowed me to understand that soon, a new opportunity or doorway would open but “with its muddy ways” and “swirling wreaths” I could come to the idea that the effect and idea of the unknown would soon fill the thoughts of the characters. Not only did the repetition of fog bring me to these conclusions, but the motif of doorways and windows, did as well. As the “touch of that terror” began to set in this chapter, “the fog lifted a little” and the doorways were cracked open and it was through these beautifully crafted motifs that I found the plot weaved in and throughout the top coat that the average would just glace at and admire.

Jekyll and Hyde

Author’s Note: Our Honors English class is reading Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde and while reading and analyzing the first few chapters I began to realize how much it seemed the author wanted to get across the face of evil. How evil acts, looks, lies and deceives us and allows us to take a second look to the wickedness we’re born into.

Something that I've noticed Stevenson doing throughout these first three chapters, is incorporate the motif of coldness, seclusion and darkness. It was through these themes that I realized the face of evil and how it is hidden, cold-blooded, and mysterious. At the bottom of page 39, it speaks of a “black winter morning” which I took as a secluded cold time of year, when the grass and plants go dormant and the blackness being the dark shadows that fill the course of the day never seeming to catch a glimpse of sunlight.  There’s no warmth spoken here because evil itself has no affection, tenderness to its core and a black winter describing the morning is a harsh reality to our dreams. Again on page 41, the cold-hearted spirit of malevolence and sin a “black, sneering coolness…like Satan” caught my eye. It just so clearly depicts the way that Satan’s lies sneer at us like hungry lions in the shadows and their cold souls won’t rest until they’ve bitten into ours capturing our spirits and turning our hearts.  These are only but a few of the occurrences that these motif(s) were mentioned but it is such a heavy background to lay behind this story that they way they are peppered throughout, heeds great effect on the reader, and to me.

The Withering Flower

She can remember the days when daddy would crack jokes, spend time, make memories. He was the one she went to for help and advice. It wasn’t merely a false hope when she was a little girl – and his promises felt real. But these promises were only made up of his stubborn lies. In his lies, these promises have loved – have protected – have guided her.  Spending time with him wasn’t a burden, but more of a blessing to count. That empty place in this little girl’s heart was filled with this hero. Their relationship grew like a flower in the peak of spring but as years passed, petals fell and withered away with the wind.

            The hero that she set up in her mind and the opinions she had of him quickly changed –and not for the better. She began wondering when the next argument would arise.  He used to be the one she clung to, hanging on his every word; now, that was the complete opposite of her feelings now. Nothing she did was right; adequate; good enough for him. She began to wonder if she would ever be good enough for her daddy.

Tension between them built up like gasoline just waiting for a match. Beginning her teen years now – and with summer break right around the corner – her dad decided to take a road trip. Just the two of them. She wondered if anything could go right. Her old hero; turning down her dreams, becoming selfish, disapproving of everything she did - stuck with him, nowhere to hide?

The uncomfortable silence in the car seemed to grow louder and louder as each moment dragged on and she began to feel like there was no escape from the looming tension in the air. Each word spoken sounded like metal being ripped in half. The few words spoke, rolled off the tongue with piercing anger and a desperate calling for peace. Too much had happened, though. Too many put-downs and ridiculing, sarcastic comments had been exchanged for peace to lie between them. Miles and miles still to travel in their journey, with nothing but a dead end ahead.

DARKNESS.

She screamed. Agony enveloped her body as she attempted to move. She could feel the fear amidst the smoke. She could taste the blood running down her face. She could hear the ringing sound of the sirens raged through her ears. Yelling from far off replaced the silence and in an instant, men surrounded her. As she was lifted, the cold, brisk air pierced through her clothing. She began to shake violently now – more men rushed to her side. Through the corner of her eye she could see her old hero lay motionless. A man beat on his chest like a drum and the echo of each strike sounded like the pound of a heartbeat. 

Though her mind drifted off into unconscious paradise, she could taste the salt from her tears bringing her back to reality. She delighted, she trembled, she crumbled when she recognized the broken body.  Emptiness flooded her soul. She felt day by day, more scared, more withdrawn, more guilty for the outcome of daddy. 

Neither the guilt of her conscious, nor the grief that overwhelmed her heart could ever be replaced by the old memories she could still remember. Her daddy might have been more stubborn than an angry bull, but he possessed the forgiveness and grace of a father. Not only the atrocious memory that lie deep within her soul, but also the anger – diminished as compassion swept over her and she realized that it took more effort to hate than to love.


Authors Note: This story was based off of emotions I know and have experienced. In many parts, it relates to my personal life which was one of the great struggles in writing this piece. To start, I wasn't sure if I really wanted to open up but once I began to write, I realized that this story was a great place to kind of spill myself into. By the end, I hope that you understand a little more about me and also that you may see that in great struggle, there is still a plan for you and in that, you can have hope.