Reconstruction of a Memory- Cat Long

Here I am, all dressed in an uncomfortable black outfit. The weather is fitting for the day. It’s raining, really heavily might I add. My father with a slightly stone cold face. Trying to pretend like he isn’t hurting right now. The surrounding people dressed in black, holding umbrellas and tissues. The man standing next to Dimitri is giving a speech, his words, along with the sobs of others began to grow fuzzy. He’s a cruel, cruel man. My cruel brother. Leaving me all alone.

Outside, I was forced outside. His shouts could be heard by the neighbors. Tears rolling down my face, as I crouched to the ground, hands covering my ears. My eyes were tightly shut. A curdling scream released. In the distance I could see my father frantically trying to call someone. Help.

“Bastard! This is your fault!” His voice was filled with hatred. It wasn’t… It wasn’t my fault! I had nothing to do with this! I need to help him… I was like trying to reach out, yet he wouldn’t grab my hand. I can’t hold onto him any longer. The window now shattered out of rage. My heart was beating fast, my breathing was labored. My eyes forced open, taking one good look at Dimitri. My eyes locked with his, never leaving the brown eyes that once shined. Dimitri wouldn’t listen, he kept screaming. Placing all blame on us. Guilt… It was eating at my stomach. I knew, I knew I shouldn’t be guilty. Yet, with him screaming at me. Taunting me. I couldn’t help it. Time went slower than normal. The screams stopped. My body shot up. Dimitri could no longer be seen from the window and I didn’t hear footsteps on the stairs. Dimitri… The only person I cared about. Feet running as fast as possible to the door. Not caring if I stepped on glass and bleed.

“Dimitri! Dimitri! Open the door! Please! Please, let me know you’re okay!” I dryly shouted, pounding on the door. Fresh tears running down my face once more. No answer.

Audio (I had 3 different ones)

I Dreamed a Dance- Next to Normal:

Light in the Dark- Next to Normal:

She Used to Be Mine- Waitress:

Author's Note

So I chose to do a mix of both Kesey and Atwood. Atwood used actions to convey the emotions and hopelessness of Offred. Kesey’s way of writing memories for Chief Bromden was very vague or super detailed. Confusing and needed to be put together by little parts. I took a bit of information from one of the papers read during class during one of the workshops. It was mentioned that the writing should flow and words should have some form of meaning, even the beautiful ones. The hopeless feeling made known by actions and not so much by saying it up front.