Titled "Crimson". A story representing the Individual and Society of the 19th century.

Essay by misty_angelHigh School, 12th gradeA, July 2004

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If only these walls could talk, then I shall have a friend. If only I could close my eyes, and not see my whole life flashing behind that black façade, then I would dare to sleep. The seconds, minutes, hours... Holds no meaning now. For I am nothing but a misplaced soul wandering across a white plain, where there is no start. And no end.

A little girl skipped across a pathway. Her long white dress swirled as she hopped across the stone steps. She then halted and observed a bush filled with red roses - her favourite. She smiled and laughed as she continued to move along. Her mother had previously told her a fairytale, and indeed she was delighted. Perhaps she believed that one day she could find a "prince charming" and create a fairytale of her own.

I chose to love. To believe in love. Money would never tempt me.

My dear Edith, you must accept Mr. Blackstone's proposal, for he is a gentleman of substantial wealth and I forbid you to refuse. I continued to hold my strong opinions, but how could I go against my father's wishes? If you refuse, you will remain a spinster for life. And I shall never speak to you again. I was forced to go against my own morals, the morals that I grew up with. And it was those morals that represented my individuality. My unique soul. It greatly influenced my own disposition. But it would be impossible for them to understand the dignity that had been lost. I was stripped from my ability to continue believing in dreams, for they would never come true. A childish dream it must have been, and I was a fool in ignorant bliss. The odds were against me. Always.

My dear Edith,