Love Medicine 1982 Nector Kashpaw As I look in the starry night of the sky, I realized nothing stays forever. Memories are hard to recall these days, and time passes by way too quickly. Tears roll down my eyes under the glow of the moonlit forest. I started yelling at the top of my lungs. I don’t know if it was out of frustration or pain. Whatever it was for, I know that everyone else around me is terrified for me. Especially Marie. ~~~~~~~~ She’s arguing again with Lipsha. It’s about using his touch. He’s a smart kid, but it’s not easy to cure what I have with a single touch. He finally touches my head to look for something. Should I let him know what I’m thinking or not? With the look on his face, you could tell that he knew I clouded my thoughts. I guess I should lift the smoke just a little bit. Marie should be in for a shock. “Let’s pitch whoopee,” he said as he read my thoughts. And just like that, Marie towered over me with a glare that stabbed through diamonds. “And you got no more whoopee to pitch anymore anyhow!” she yelled. What a scary, but beautiful woman. There’s so much spirit within her. Was this the reason why I married her? Why is she crying? I didn’t leave again, didn’t I? Did I say something wrong? Well, it won’t do her any good if I’m sad too. Could a smile work? ~~~~~~~~ “HAIL MARIE FULL OF GRACE!” I belched at the top of my lungs. Marie, forgive me for all the things that I’ve done and all that I failed to do. I hope these words can reach you now. I got out of the church and Lipsha asked me, “How come? How come you yelled?” “God won’t hear you otherwise,” I said. The same goes with my wife. No matter how much I plead for mercy, she gives me the cold shoulder. I mean it’s a little unfair to punish me ... ... middle of paper ... ... you didn’t never touch your salad yet. See that heart? I’m feeding you it because the doctor said your blood needs building up.” She said innocently. I picked at the heart and it looked like it just beat. She kept pestering me to eat it, but I refuse. It really got me when she put salt the over it though. “All right, skinny white girl!” I said, popping into my mouth. I swished it side to side and spit it out. The next thing I knew, Marie shoved it back in and made me swallow it. Whoa, I can’t breathe anymore. It’s stuck. Marie is looking over me right know with fear in her eyes. She doesn’t know what to do anymore. I messed up again. I think I should let myself go. She can’t waste her time with me anymore. I wish I didn’t call her a skinny white girl as the last sentence she’ll ever hear. Marie, I’m sorry for all of the things that I’ve done. I will always love you.
The night was tempestuous and my emotions were subtle, like the flame upon a torch. They blew out at the same time that my sense of tranquility dispersed, as if the winds had simply come and gone. The shrill scream of a young girl ricocheted off the walls and for a few brief seconds, it was the only sound that I could hear. It was then that the waves of turmoil commenced to crash upon me. It seemed as though every last one of my senses were succumbed to disperse from my reach completely. As everything blurred, I could just barely make out the slam of a door from somewhere alongside me and soon, the only thing that was left in its place was an ominous silence.
She picked a seat in the way back, away from all the people. She silently stared out the window making a quiet list inside her head of all the things she had forgotten and all the people she remembered. Tears silently slid down her face as she remembered her aunt crying and cousins afraid of the dark in their house. She couldn’t do it anymore. It was the best for everyone she thought. Deep down though she knew how hard it would be for everyone to find out she was leaving. From her family’s tears, to the lady in the grocery store who was always so kind and remembered her name. She also knew how
“I was so so sorry, deep in my heart I was sorry, but all your “sorrys” are gone when a person dies. She was gone. Gone. That’s why you have to say all your “sorrys” and “I love yous” while a person is living, because tomorrow isn’t promised.”
Before I got to him, Priscilla got me in total necklock and I was struggling to break free. My neck was popping so much I thought it was breaking. And then the next thing I know, Priscilla pushes me in her own locker like a stuffed animal. And closes it. “Help! Help!” I yell inside the locker.
I walked into the room on New Year’s Day and felt a sudden twinge of fear. My eyes already hurt from the tears I had shed and those tears would not stop even then the last viewing before we had to leave. She lay quietly on the bed with her face as void of emotion as a sheet of paper without the writing. Slowly, I approached the cold lifeless form that was once my mother and gave her a goodbye kiss.
“This isn't fair,” I sniveled, “I don't understand. I can't lose her. I don't know what I'm going to do if I lose her.” Thursday, December 11th, 2014, the only source of warmth within my body came from the pillows and blankets that surrounded me. Tears streamed down my face, creating puddles on my pillows as I gradually felt my body start to tingle. Having lost control of my body, I was completely consumed by shock. Family and friends were trying to be comforting, but I hadn't interpreted words for hours. A distant ringing clogged my ears while my brain was conscious of only one thing, Morgan. In this split second my life changed.
As she was pressing her daughter’s hair she watched as the pot bubbled up with a funky smell. She couldn’t wait to let her daughter taste what it was, and swore that they were delicious! She grabbed a fork and wrestled with what looked liked rubber skin from a hippo, and pulled a piece of meat from out the middle of it and Gera liked to fell out. Gera told her mother never mind but her mother insisted. As she went toward the fork with her mouth open, eyes closed, and her nose plugged Gera spit it out before it could touch her tongue. Mother just laughed. Gera didn’t know if mother was so happy that she didn’t have to share or if she thought it was truly
...a ran to Marie as if she were. Marie had a family of her own, two kids and a husband, however she was working as a prostitute to earn enough money to buy them a condo. Marie is an unconventional mother, but Tia sees that she is doing everything she can to help out her family; falling exactly into the motherly role. After thinking she is raped by Dezi, Tia immediately runs to find Marie. Marie checked Tia out to confirm or deny the rape and gave her the advice to run away; to run back home.
She talks about how she lost some many babies in her stomach that her husband started to wonder if she was killing them on purpose. Finally, she finds what she thinks is her final chance to have a child, “I thought she was a gift from Heaven when I saw her on the dusty curb, wrapped in a small pink blanket, a few inches away from a sewer as open as a hungry child’s yawn.” (79) After losing baby after baby Marie’s hope is finally restored by finding a child in the street. Although this baby is found to be dead later, the idea of having a kid brings joy to her tragic situation. She is uplifted and overjoyed after feeling remorse from her miscarriages. Once Marie realises the baby is dead she decides to bury it. The pool man catches her, accuses her of witchcraft and alerts the police. While waiting to be arrested Marie is not indulging the thought of being locked away, instead she is imagining something better, “We made a pretty picture standing there. Rose, me, him. Between the pool and the gardenias, waiting for the law.” (96) Marie will most likely be in confinement for the rest of her life for a false accusation but rather than dwelling on it, she pictures this happy family in front of her. Although this situation suggests she’s hitting rock bottom, hope and beauty is still
Gordon Bennett has created numerous artworks commenting on social issues about aboriginal & indigenous heritage. His artworks often consist of mixed media of acrylic & oil, or sketching. Outsider is an artwork Bennett has created in 1988. His painting comments on the indigenous culture getting their revenge which they never got.
Everything started a few years ago. It was a warm and beautiful night in Africa; the dark blue sky was full of stars… and those were the last things I remember before I woke up in a cold and wet floor. I do not know where I was, or why I my hands were tight behind my back.
Betty was asleep on the sofa waiting for me. I bent over, kissed her forehead, and whispered goodbye. I felt my heart swell as I gazed at her. Today was Valentine’s Day. Earlier, I had bought her white lilies. I picked one up and tucked it into my sleeve. I felt guilt blossom in me. She didn’t deserve this. She begged me to stop the fighting, but I didn’t listen. “I’m sorry, Betty; I should’ve listened.”
“I know I’m the reason for her death. Those hunters were after me, not her. It’s this goddamn curse. If I hadn’t known, if I hadn’t screamed and realised. I- I wouldn’t have rushed all the way to that house to make sure she was okay. They tracked me. She had nothing to do with it. If I wasn’t there she still would be. And now I can’t even make sure that she’s alright. Because the bloody divine forces won’t let me. Why?”
In this essay will be talking about and comparing between the traditional painting Starry night by Vincent Van Gogh and the digital movie poster for Midnight in Paris designed by the company Cardinal Communications USA. Starry Night is an artwork that was painted in 1889 in an asylum at Saint-Remy-de-Provience, France while the Midnight in Paris poster is digitally made somewhere in the USA by someone in that company sometime in 2010. While both these artworks are very different, they have some similarities.
I wrapped the glass bowl of watermelon tightly in saran wrap—as tightly as a 5 year old is can. I admired my hand work, having seen my mother do this a thousand times to a thousand bowls. I can’t for the life of me recall if she was in the room then. I just knew she was when I would come rushing back in a few minutes later. She'd be staring at me through the doorway pretty soon in shock, as blood began to stain my clothes. I didn't know that then though. So with the bowl in tow I stepped into the garage destination set in my mind. The car. I can't quite recall what I had planned for the watermelon, And looking back it wasn’t anything important so I really didn’t need to happen. As I made my way toward the car my feet hit some invisible—a mystery something—I tripped. Maybe my own shoelace? Perhaps even an unfortunate ladybug—I didn't know. Even now—years later— I don’t know. The next thing I did know was that shards of bowl lay around me—like fallen petals—from a glass flower. Chunks of watermelon and blood was splattered around, like some sort of twisted Jackson Pollock painting. All I could think was—I’ve just ruined the