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| Education for Leisure | |
| By Ms_Me | ||||||||||||
| 23 October 2006 | ||||||||||||
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Eeeerm........this is my draft for some english work i have to do to transform the poem "Education for Leisure" into a different text but i have 'writers block' or something so any help you can give would be appreciated?  EDUCATION FOR LEISURE The door’s open. The door’s open? How did the door open? The door’s never open. It’s always closed. Closed, creating the solid fourth wall, locking me in my cell. Now there are only three walls, three walls and an open door. I’m free? I’m FREE!! Can I leave? SHOULD I leave? What do you think? Are you sure? You’re right, but for so long I’ve been locked away, free to do as I please, be as I please, except go through that door. Maybe I should close it. Maybe it wasn’t closed so that I couldn’t get out; maybe it was closed so that no one could get in. I don’t know. This isn’t good; I always know the answer to these things. This is my world; I play God here, within these 4 walls; within MY four walls. Three walls now, it seems like another world. I liked my world. I liked being God, this world is sure to have its own God. All thoughts stopped as he turned towards the missing fourth wall. The door was no longer standing alone; it was accompanied, but by whom? His eyes had to get used to the new light coming in before he could focus when he realised it was accompanied by a frail old woman whose piercing eyes met his own. Together they froze. He ignored her presence, and boldly looked past her towards the door handle where her wrinkled hand was resting. He watched as slowly the grip tightened against the cool handle and pulled. He held his breath as he watched the door closing, the wall rebuilding. A heavy thump, a swift click, the four walls were back. No more uncertainties, no more doubts, his world had returned. “No escape now”, he whispered. At these words a shudder from the corner of the room reminded him that he was not alone. He looked over at the old woman and as he turned his eyes towards her she straightened her stance bravely, but the wild look in her eyes revealed her fear. He chuckled greedily at her distress. “No escape now” he repeated carefully, the menace in his voice leaving a sting in the air. As her eyes darted around the room desperately, he smiled calmly. She was in his world now, and HE was God. He gestured to a chair with a swift wave of his hand. This could be interesting he thought, watching as she shuffled hesitantly into the seat; this could be very interesting. He took a moment to examine the….alien? Not from his world no other title seemed fitting. She had round sad eyes hidden under long wispy brown hair tinted with grey strands. Her elegant oversized cream coat, exquisite fur finish and matching neck scarf looked quite out of place with the dull and bland confinement of which they now shared. “Hmmm,” he commented to himself, and then sat down in the chair opposite. “What is it one says in this predicament?” he asked himself out loud. He turned to the woman. “Aaaaah I know” he parted his fingers creating a “V” shape and spoke mechanically “Welcome puny earthling, we mean you no harm…”, he shook his head chuckling “Well lets not start off on false promises….perhaps, Take me to your leader would be more appropriate?” He smiled. “Well here I am, so speak now or get the fuck out.” He ordered, his words came slowly and calmly. The old woman was looking at the scarlet uniform he was clothed in. Then she said the first thing that came into her head. “You always did like the colour red”, she whispered; her voice purred soft and frail with the delicacy of a wilted rose. He smiled remembering the mystical beauty of the familiar colour. He’d signed his first autograph in red…. “You were fascinated with it, do you remember?” ….He remembered the deep rich crimson ink spilling into the world as he etched the sharp blade into the flesh… “I, I never- I mean everyone has a favourite colour. Right? But with you, I always knew it was something more.” She whispered. …He remembered carving and crafting it deeply, making his mark on the world, staining it with his talent “But you didn’t stain the world with anything” he heard a whispered voice interrupt “You were soon forgotten- again”. The old woman, oblivious to the presence of the third voice started to twiddle her thumbs absentmindedly in her discomfort. She looked up slowly but hesitated and bowed her head once more. It was eerily cold and there was something disturbing in the atmosphere that lay hidden, almost like an unearthly mist. Reluctant to sit in silence she ignored this feeling and continued. She had come here for the truth, not just the truth but to save the little boy she remembered. “Was it me?” she asked staring into his eyes. He ignored her. “Of course it was me. But you have to forgive me, if I had known that this would happen, that this, This! Would have been the consequences.” She fell back against her chair “Oh how I wish things were different.” She declared wishfully. He blinked distractedly, focusing on her two thumbs as they rotated around each other, carefully and precisely while her fingers lay entwined. He remembered she had a habit of softly stroking her middle finger while her thumbs playfully chased each other. He missed the softness of her skin and restrained the urge to lay his hands on hers. “You were such a good little boy. Do you remember how you used to love Shakespeare...?” His eyes snapped back into focus at once. Was that supposed to be a joke? He thought. “She knows.” The distant whisper that came seemed for his ears only “She knows how it was, what she did! You know why she’s here don’t you?” He thought about it until his eyes grew dark. All thoughts of the softness of skin, the warmth of touch were suddenly slaughtered; the murderer had returned. Unaware of the transformation the woman had continued, “...You’d recite your favourite lines and smile, such a sweet smile you had….” Had? He thought to himself, I thought I still had quite a dashing smile; a Killer smile in fact, he laughed to himself. “I know I wasn’t there often but you have to understand that I wanted to be.” She pleaded desperately. Her words swam through his head meaninglessly, and as he looked on at her pleading pathetically her sickly sweet voice seemed to ooze in his ear and he spat at her in disgust. The woman froze in shock, looking down at the table between them where the saliva lay short of its target. She fell silent at once. Hours slivered by as the two sat face to face, the silence casting them into an almost merciless trance. The woman’s eyes crawled upon his face seeking his eyes, hoping the little boy she remembered would look back. The gaze that met her eyes was one of menace and darkness and she fell back against her chair despairingly. Finally the silence gave way to a mild giggle from the prisoner, then a gentle chuckle, and then finally a hysterical and manic cackle exploded from his mouth. He stopped just as abruptly as he started and grinned widely “Oh my, that was random now wasn’t it”. “I suppose you want to hear about my crime?” he asked at last. “They always want to hear about my crime, about how what I did was wrong and that I’m sorry for being a bad boy? Right?” his dark eyes burned into hers intently, holding them prisoner with his gaze; challenging her to look away. Trapped in his gaze she slowly shook her head, while their eyes continued to stay locked. He chuckled bitterly “course not”. He paused thinking. “They seem to think I’m a psychopath. You know a bit lala in the cuckoo nest. What’d you reckon?” he raised an eyebrow and as if the spell had been lifted the woman found herself able to look away, her eyes trailed towards the floor at once. “I told them about you buying me all those Hannibal videos.” He continued, “I admit it did make me wonder; does human flesh taste like chicken? I never had the chance to find out. Oh well maybe next time” he licked his lips purposely. With a chilling swiftness the woman’s flawless, soft, frail features transformed into a twisted expression of infuriation, and an evil snarl slithered upon her thin lips. Her wrinkled hands balled up tightly into fists of iron and hammered on the steel table loudly as she got to her feet. The hollow sound seemed to disrupt the fabrication of his world, slicing it daringly with it arrogance, tearing it at the seams..........
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