AN: I wrote this for a school assignment, but I wanted to see what y'all think. Read and Review!

Disclaimer: Sugarpony neither owns nor wishes to own The Scarlet Letter.

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Chapter One

Raised by Isolation

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In order for this story to be fully comprehended, one must first be informed of the circumstances of my birth. It was in the jail of the stately town of Boston twenty years prior today in which I was borne.

My mother, Hester Prynne, had been incarcerated forthe crime of adultery (of which I was the result) with the Reverend Arthur Dimmesdale, who at the time had remained nameless. My early days were spent in the darkness of that prison, tucked away from the rest of the civilized world. When I was first introduced to the light, it was merely to be displayed with my
mother for a few hours before being tossed back into the jail cell.

We were released from our confines while I was still a babe, and afterwards we lived in a cottage by the sea, in seclusion from the other Puritans yet near enough for mother to travel to town for work and anything we would need. I was raised for several years here, and it therefore is a part of my story. It was a childhood of solitude, and so I quickly learned many different ways to amuse myself. I would make the best of whatever I had, turning weeds and grasses and herbs into playthings. I imagined the dusky plants by our abode to be the Puritans and ripped them out, knowing they were the ones who had put us here. I sometimes threw burrs at Mother, but she never scolded me for it. She simply stood there, silently staring at me as
if I was some horrible apparition. Always.

Every so often, Mother would need to go into town, and so together we would make the journey. When we arrived, we would only be greeted by whispers. The so-called Puritans neither forgave nor forgot, as one might imagine; instead, they held grudges like the Devil himself. Parent and child alike scorned us. The adults were wary of us, and so their children would naturally be as well. The little Puritans ran from us in little groups, speaking in hushed voices of what our "disease" could be. They were little urchins, learning from the hypocritical settlers. The ministers in church despised us, also. When Mother would take me to the church service with her, I did not sit impatiently and wait for it to be finished. No, I listened to the sermon! I listened to the good Master Wilson with his Holy Bible preach of Mother?s sin and of her cowardly culprit! understood his meaning, yes. I understood his words of how all were to avoid being like her at all costs, lest they would share her fate of spiritual punishment. They also listened and understood, and as such they were repulsed by us. We had no place in their perfect little haven.

My childhood was lonely, but I rather preferred it to the horrible life of the other children. The were being corrupted by those by which they were surrounded. I thank whatever heavenly deity there is that I was fortunate enough to be raised by isolation.