Ello! Minion here!
Yes, yet another piece of my English project from last year but this is the last of it I'm going to post seeing as the rest is a letter from Jonathan written to his Granny but obviously not read by her, a real journal (already turned in and posting it on here wouldn't have the same effect), and an essay which I might post on a gloomy day but it's still undecided.
Anyway this is also based on Batman Year One: Two Face and Scarecrow (yes I'm obsessed with the comic!) when Jonathan was speaking to his old professor he revealed his past and mentioned that his grandmother forced him to work long hours in the fields in the hot Georgian sun while she watched so I was inspired to write this and while it's in the format of 'Double Voice' with a narration it's definitely free-verse because rhyming was beyond me at that point due to deadlines and stress levels but I think I like it better this way.
Also I do not own in any way, shape, or form Batman with that in mind, enjoy!
The sun rises over the sleepy town of Arlen, Georgia.
Tireless bones were held agonizingly in prehension.
Silk rustling, the echo of generations continues in the endlessness of her gentility, her right.
Upon shaking, her fingers rise in resigned apprehension; she mirrors the austere wood.
Sleepless eyes were closed tightly in trepidation.
Heart pounding, the dream of sleep bursts in an awareness of his reality, his nightmare.
Upon hearing the floorboards shriek in shrill laughter, he awaits the impending sentence.
Sharp, rigid knocks echo in the breathless silence.
"Jonathan, it is time to rise."
Her soft yet biting voice resonates in the empty shell of a hall.
Harshly grinding, she clenches the aching surface of her teeth.
Even breaths create a raging yet monotonous timepiece in order to measure the degree of her mercy while augmenting her disposition in fury.
His weary yet enduring will stills in the empty husk of a boy.
Shakily exhaling, he releases the fading lullaby of his safety.
Quick feet weave a panicked yet practiced dance in order to don the armor of his mind while clothing his body in rags.
The door opens.
Regalia sneers down at the young, ignorant face of the boy.
Loose skin is pulled back by tightly bound hair; the high collar forbids loose morality.
Utter disdain flares in her waiting form.
Humility peers up at the old, rigid face of the woman.
Tight nerves are strung high by stiff, frozen posture; her pressing glare forbids easy breathing.
Utter terror screams in his trembling form.
They journey to the wilting fields, still shadowed by the cruel stab of morning frost.
Falling into the rhythmic sequence, she eases her aching body into the cushioned chair.
Her view is unobstructed, every spasm of muscle is readily seen.
A tight-lipped grin stretched her lined face in an expression of grim satisfaction.
Slipping into the familiar penance, he pulls his aching body through the practiced motions.
His view is obstructed; every trickle of sweat is wearily shed.
A pain-ridden grimace tore his flushed face in an expression of shackled labor.
The sun intensifies its touch as it reaches its zenith.
She sits, shaded by the overhanging cloth; an oasis of cool compared to the burning touch of the bright day.
Detached...she is merely a spectator of the honest work before her.
The air is alight with the buzz of insects plaguing the fields, no different than the boy plaguing her with his greedy, sinful presence.
He works, jaded by the oppressive sun; a symbol of fury paralleled by the sulfuric touch of her eternal hell.
Defeated...he is merely a prisoner of the unearthly woman before him.
The ground is awash with the drops of sweat satisfying the woman so indifferent to the aching splinters caught with his thin, bleeding hands.
The boy falters.
She leans forward, her knobby fingers clutch at silk in an effort to contain herself.
Her eyes narrow in contempt; he will not defy her power.
A sharp rattle of breath catches in her wheezing lungs as she awaits his next move.
He pitches forward, his knobby knees hit the ground in an effort to catch himself.
His eyes close in misery; he will not give her victory.
A dull throb of resentment rises in his pulsating body as he buries his current weakness.
The body struggles to rise.
Hungry eyes feast on the sight of his emancipated body sweltering under the rays of the cleansing sun.
Will he overcome his immoral faults?
She leans back; she knows he will not succeed.
Full eyes drift from the sight of his decaying resolve staggering under the onslaught of her sickly game.
Will she relinquish her immortal chain?
He pushes forward; he knows she will not succeed.
He stands.
Ice cracks in its confinement of liquid and glass; lips twist in a snarl.
Such intolerable acts of idle sin!
A shimmer of deranged light enters the woman's eye upon watching him.
He struggles in his confinement of pain and fear; lungs gasp for a breath.
Such intolerable acts of pained labor!
A glimmer of fading hope leaves the boy's eye upon watching her.
A crow caws.
"Jonathan, are you tired? Is the strain of bearing honest labor so intolerable?"
Glory sings in her veins; he shall not overcome her authority, God's authority.
Ears strain to detect the whisper of his blackened tongue.
She snatches up his expression of disbelief with obvious zeal.
Despair clings to his heart; she shall not relieve his suffering, his torment.
Eyes struggle to find the mercy of her 'purged' soul.
He looks down; her gaze of anticipation with malice burns.
"N-No Granny..."
The wind plays with the ragged clothes of the scarecrow chained to a rotten post.
Appeased, her face once more brightens with its usual luster for all his suffering.
She notes his broken obedience as he takes the rough tools and once more tears into the unrelenting ground.
He cannot break free.
Outraged, his face once more darkens with its simmering ire for all her ideals.
He hides his tremulous rebellion as she enjoys the soft luxury and once more falls into the false lull.
She cannot contain me.