A Child's Creation
By SARAH N. HOOD
A/N: this was an English assignment. We were learning about the New King James Bible and how it effected English literature, and had to write a creative essay on it.
PS. Yes I am a Christian if anyone was wondering…
As I walk into the room I glance around, but everything is dark. All sight is gone with no luminosity to see, and I hear my mind cry in sorry. Feeling my way along the rough sheetrock, I smile as my fingers brush against the hard stub, its plating smooth to the touch. With a flick of the switch I stumble in shock, bright light flooding all throughout the room. So white. The walls, the ceiling; even the carpet is void of color. Tears threaten to fall as my heart painfully tears I in two. So clean yet so utterly empty. Eyes take in the surrounding world, the tears soon replaced with a mischievous glint as dam bursts forth, thoughts into flooding my mind with ideas and plans. I walk out of the room, a grin stretching from ear to ear as the same mantra plays like a broken record in my brain.
Empty no more.
Early the next morning, I watch the door coming closer and closer. How I despise that door. I know what lies within it, and I feel a mix of emotions, mainly sorrow and happiness. The lights ignite with the flick of the switch, and I walk in, a bucket in each hand and a brush in my mouth. Spreading the tarp over the white carpet, I pry the lids open and stick the brush in, watching as the bristles soak up the thick paint. The annoying whiteness cowers under my shadow. Blues; purples; greys; pinks and reds; colors of all different hues and tints. I slash at the walls, spattering the paint against that white nuisance. My actions bring joy to my heart. I am using no pattern, simply nonsense noise. The walls swirl in a whirlpool as the celestial beings spring forth from the depths. Babies giggle their blues and pinks, which float as the get snag in grandma's silver hair. Purples watch over its subjects as the babies play with the elders in the iris fields with chains of roses upon their heads. I watch the all dance throughout the walls. I hear them sing.
Grunts echo throughout the room as I haul my load in. Polished blacks and browns, reds and tans; grains of wood set in a unique pattern and yet at the same time, different in every piece. Placing the furniture in its wanted positions, I glance around once more. Something is missing. With a snap of my fingers, I sprint from the room, returning with my arms full of greens and other vibrant colors. The plants are placed on the furniture in a uniquely random order. The Lucky Bamboo sleeps in its smooth porcelain vase, as the morning glories hang from the window. Water lilies float in silent bliss within their cool, crystal bowl. Rocks of wisdom play in the sandy plate, and candles lit up in their marble ovens, wafting their aromas throughout the room. A vibrant green mosquito net rains down upon the bed, which has been garbed in sheets of brown and vivid pillows.
Sitting on the carpet, I notice something missing; something I can't place. Thoughts file throughout my mind as I try to place my finger on it, and then it hits me. time. There is no time. How can I tell morning from night, afternoon from evening? I can see the light, and I will be blind in the night, but what is time? Fingers brush over various items as I search my art box. Paints and glue, brushes whose bristles had been worn down. Random strings of yarn, all various colors and sizes, tangle themselves around scissor blades, while colorful crayons intermix with their inky cousins. A smile crosses my face as I pull out my intended. The glass shimmers in the light, causing reds and yellows to soar across the walls, setting it a flame with vibrant life. The transparent surface swirls in colorful patterns as I hang it in the window. Returning to the box, I find several black sheets. With a chair under me, I peel the stickers and tenderly place them upon the ceiling. The white stars and moon smile down on the room, knowing they will light up the dark of night.
Despite the constant movement thrown into the room from the dancing colors, I can't help be feel an emptiness. A lonely part of my heart aches with a restless glance around. I need companions. Filling a tank full of water, I watch as the little nymphs swim around in the depths, exploring the coral and shells I have placed at the bottom. Their slippery scales glimmers in the watery light. Bubbles escape their mouths, and I am memorized. Like a dance they swim in systematic circles and waves; their fins swaying as they tango back and forth with each other while their crabby neighbors play the castanets with their claws. Enjoying the performance, the winged creatures hang from the ceiling, swaying back and forth from the twine that holds them up. The wind blows against them, and they come to life. From atop of the shelves, several watch over the room; their large, yellow eyes taking in all of the surroundings. As the breeze caresses my face, I can hear them asking the age-old question. Who? I laugh as I fiddle with a fallen feather, the sleekness soft to touch.
I reach into another container and retrieve an armful of critters. Each one a different shape and size with colors ranging from all over. Wisely, I place them in their own homes, with friends and family by their side. The panda, with his black-n-white cloth stuffed full of fluff, is placed with the lucky bamboo, along with the white elephant. The frog rests next to the lilies, feeling the coolness against his vinyl skin. The kooky monkeys swing back and forth from the lamp, teasing the others down below. Everywhere, the animals loitered. On the shelves, the bed, the windowsill; everywhere. Hugging my stuffed toys, I head out.
Pulling out a final box, I retrieve the joys of my heart. Blowing off the dust that layered the individuals, I get to work. Frames dress the room with vibrant smiles and laughs. Faces. So many faces. All reflecting those like me; friends, family, even strangers walk back and forth. Taping the glossy pictures around the room, I smile in childish glee. Memories flood my mind as I watch the figures act before me. A boy and girl push each other back and forth on a swing set as their mothers converse the latest gossip. I another photo I see a father and son working on the farm, gathering hay in the early morning light. Several old men chat back and forth as their wives scold them for smoking their pipes on Sunday. Looking at the pictures I smile at the children. Several run down dusty dirt roads, a beat up soccer ball kicked back and forth as the pull at their ragged clothes in an attempt to keep them up. A little girl heads out to help her mother gather eggs and milk the goat, while at the same time a boy is sitting in his room, staring out the window at the heavy rain that pours down upon the city lights. Mixtures of emotions flow through the pictures and into my heart. There is happiness and sorrow, patience and anger, daring and fear.
Taking a look around, I feel something tug at my heart. What once was a plain, empty room is now a world of beauty. The walls reflect their colors onto the floor, casting the carpet into a sea of blues and purples. The sun casting its setting glow through the glass windows as the stickers reveal their dark light. Above and around are toys, sleeping in silent bliss, and the fish sway in peaceful slumber. Plants moon bath from their perches upon shelves and tables as they cast shadows throughout the room. Then there are the pictures. Despite the darkness of night, I still see the faces of all those I hold dear to me. Their smiles, their faces, their very being sends chills of joy down my spine. Climbing into bed, I glance once more at the world I have created, and smile with childish glee. It is my creation.
A child's creation.
Whadda think? I like it, considering I got an A wm
It's basically telling the creation story. The child represents God. Most tend to see him as Michelangelo's "The Creation of Adam," or as the guy from Mel Gibson's "The Passion." God is flawless, he's perfect, he is the pure…
Children are the most universal symbol of pure innocence. Their imaginations are endless, but unfortunately tend to loss it as they grow up. Can you imagine what was going through God's head when he created this? This world that we live in? I can't even comprehend what joys he was feeling, and I know that this story is nothing close, but I hope that it gets a basic idea…
I guess if this was dedicated to someone, it would be my English Teacher, Mr. Powers, my senior classmates of 2007, Central Catholic High School for helping build my strength as a daughter of God, and, of course, God, for creating this world that we live in and for loving us no matter what.