As I think I stated in a previous post, my English class had been reading the famous play The Crucible by Arthur Miller. The Crucible was written in 1953, in the midst of The Cold War, but with a setting during the Salem Witch Trials which took place in the 1690s. I finished the story a few weeks ago, but we completed watching the film just yesterday. Right after the final scene, when John Proctor, Rebecca Nurse, and Martha Corey are hung, my teacher stopped the film for a minute or two, at the very final image: a close-up of the rope, against a beautiful bluebird sky.
At this point, the whole class was trying to stifle their tears, but she just turned to us and said, "Write." She then continued to say, "Write about the rope. What's the point? Channel your emotions, and write."
She gave us about ten minutes or so before we shared them out loud, but I've taken the time to develop my piece a bit more here:
The Rope
A rope is something strong and rough, unbreakable my mortal hands. A rope is braided and twisted, each single twine a small part of the whole. Salem, MA, a town created from sweat and empty space, soon became strong like the rope; with their belief in God to hold on to, and the drive of survival burning in their hearts and backs, with each lift of a log in building a home.
But the people who lived in Salem were braided, so tightly wound in their own bitter greed and envy. Their twisted souls ached with pride and vanity. Their twisted paranoia and sick need for hearsay clouded their vision. It muddled the people's choices enough to not see the good in the town's only true heroes - the ones who saw the corruption, but were dealt the wrong fate.
In the end the town and its people together create the rope; the device used to kill instead of strengthen. The rope is a symbol of fortitude, pride, and of life. And maybe most importantly, what we all need to think upon.
Just the one word she spoke, "write", can lead your emotion to come tumbling out of your mind in clusters and fragments, and bridge across your pencil to become whole sentences and imagery on the page. No matter who says it, "write" is a command I have no problem obliging to, even if it means leaving my heart on the page as well.
At this point, the whole class was trying to stifle their tears, but she just turned to us and said, "Write." She then continued to say, "Write about the rope. What's the point? Channel your emotions, and write."
She gave us about ten minutes or so before we shared them out loud, but I've taken the time to develop my piece a bit more here:
The Rope
A rope is something strong and rough, unbreakable my mortal hands. A rope is braided and twisted, each single twine a small part of the whole. Salem, MA, a town created from sweat and empty space, soon became strong like the rope; with their belief in God to hold on to, and the drive of survival burning in their hearts and backs, with each lift of a log in building a home.
But the people who lived in Salem were braided, so tightly wound in their own bitter greed and envy. Their twisted souls ached with pride and vanity. Their twisted paranoia and sick need for hearsay clouded their vision. It muddled the people's choices enough to not see the good in the town's only true heroes - the ones who saw the corruption, but were dealt the wrong fate.
In the end the town and its people together create the rope; the device used to kill instead of strengthen. The rope is a symbol of fortitude, pride, and of life. And maybe most importantly, what we all need to think upon.
Just the one word she spoke, "write", can lead your emotion to come tumbling out of your mind in clusters and fragments, and bridge across your pencil to become whole sentences and imagery on the page. No matter who says it, "write" is a command I have no problem obliging to, even if it means leaving my heart on the page as well.
