Discussion Board Two Your Own Best Line
Part One
Description of a person
It was a ghastly grin, yellow and rotten
with moldy breath exhaling from the same opening that emitted a gutteral,
phlegmy cough.
Dialogue
'Don't be telling no lies,' Ma said.
'I'm not lyin' Ma!
'I said, don't be tellin' no lies, or I'll
whip you.'
'I swear, ' I sputtered, my tear streaked
cheeks red with rage.
Setting
Linda lay on her side, very still, hardly
breathing as she heard Hector's footsteps near the bed.
Child narrator
I came home from Mrs. Stapleton's second
grade class that day, gripping my side and pale, pain shooting through my back
and stomach.
Point of view
It was pointless talking to him, he never
listened to single thing Linda said and treated her like she didn't exist, like her words didn't exist, like she was nothing to
him.
Part Two
It was pointless talking to him, he never
listened to single thing Linda said and treated her like she didn't exist, like her words didn't exist, like she was nothing to
him. Hector was always enraged when he walked through the door and tonight was
no different. He found fault with her
the moment she appeared. She knew it was
a mistake as soon as she set foot in the hallway. Her heart sank as she
felt his glare. She kept her head low and looked at the
ground, silently, as if she could make herself invisible. Now it would take him
a few minutes to think of some cutting word to throw out at her, some mistake,
some blunder, possibly made up, but, none the less, something he would say that
she had done. Something ghastly that he
could attribute to her. Maybe just something embarrassing, that was the tactic
he had taken recently. He would say
something that was nearly true but give the ending a little twist, a non-truth,
that would make it sound like Linda was incompetent or unintelligent. He would make it sound like she had done some
gesture unknown to her that was solely directed at damaging him or
inconvenience him. Linda could not
answer or defend herself from these verbal attacks, the last time she had tried
to point out the fallacy to him, he grew increasingly hostile and his fury fed
itself. They were in the car when it
happened and his voice echoed in the tight restraint of their SUV that had
become a prison at that moment. She
could not escape or retort, she had to listen and had learned to keep her eyes
straight ahead of her so as not to provoke a continuation of his wrath. She thought about opening the car door when
the car slowed in the curves of the mountain roads. What would it feel like to
throw herself out of the car as it slowed? Would the pain be worse than being trapped and insulted as he
gripped the wheel, spit flying from his lips as he cursed and swore that she
had better learn. As he told Linda that she
deserved nothing that he gave her but did, in fact, deserve the way he treated
her? The last comment sounded strangely
like a confession, was he admitting that he treated her harshly? That he was
less than kind to her? He had never admitted that before and the thought
distracted Linda from the appalling scene of him raging and red in the face, saliva
spewing as he ranted. She began to think
of something, anything that was appealing to her. This was the magic she kept inside her. The ability to think of something else when
all was at it's worst. The ability to
believe that there was a life that waited for her outside that prison. She thought of a place where she would be safe, where he
would never find her once she had gone.
An apartment in another city, or state, or country. She began to decorate the space she imagined
with furniture that came from her dreams; a swing, her grandmother's writing
desk, a soft white bed all to herself.
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