I VALUE MY LIFE
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I stand tacitly unmoving by Mr Briggs, silently watching the ceremony. There is a grating and tense feeling in the room; Rochester is apprehensive and panicky, rolling his thumbs, and poor Jane looks a bit bewildered. I do not like the feel of the church at all – it is quite stuffy and old, and the only things attractive inside are the vivid windows. The Virgin Mary glares down on us, dryly supervising this formality, and is actually surprisingly daunting… scary, even. Any light that makes it through the stained glass is a dim orange-brown, and adds to the uncomfortable oppressiveness of the church.
Suddenly Mr Briggs steps forward in front of me, and disrupts my train of thought. He declares loudly to everyone that the marriage cannot go on, and says of an existence of impediment. Mr Rochester, that stubborn scoundrel, orders the priest to proceed; however, Mr Wood does not follow the command. I look over to Mrs Fairfax, who has her hand over her mouth in shock and disbelief and a mixture of sadness and relief in her eyes. Miss Jane merely stands there, no real expressions on her face save for one slightly lifted eyebrow.
Mr Briggs introduces himself, and tells the entire church of Bertha, my sister. He tells them of myself, and asks me to take a step forward. I hesitate, as Mr Rochester is staring at me with a burning fire in his eyes, and he starts striding over to me. I move behind Mr Briggs, absolutely terrified – Rochester is no small man. I am aware that it is cowardly of me, but I value my life. He asks me in a coarse, resounding voice that echoes eerily throughout the church what I have to say. I tell that Bertha is my sister and that she currently resides in Thornfield Hall. Mr Wood doubts me, the stupid blighter. Rochester eases up a little, and informs everyone in the church that he is indeed married to Bertha. He then continues to make known that she is mad, and invites us to go see her.
We climb the winding staircase, and it seems that there is no summit; it rises endlessly. Mr Rochester and the young Jane make their way up the stairs with ease, blessed with strong and youthful muscles, but Mr Wood and I are already losing our breath. The bricks in the wall next to us are ancient, and riddled with suspended cobwebs and black dust. A few have crumbled to pieces, leaving blank, dark, empty spaces in the wall. I don't wish to touch any of the bricks, in case they deteriorate in my hands and crumble to thousands of minuscule grains. There is absolutely no light in the staircase, due to the fact that there are no windows, apart from the lighted torch that Mr Rochester is carrying in front of us. I am forced to walk swiftly, so that I can keep up with him, as I don't want to be left behind in the haunting dark – anything could happen.
At last we reach the top, and are met with a large tapestry. Mr Rochester shoves his torch into Mrs Fairfax's hands and lifts the tapestry away to reveal a large metal door. It looks extremely heavy and thick and I hope Rochester does not ask me to help open it. However, he swings it open by himself with astonishing ease and exhibits a spacious, empty room. Grace Poole quickly hides something in her apron pocket- it is in the shape of a bottle or jug of some sort - when she hears the door opening, and as we go in, I cannot help but eye her in suspicion. The room is very still and quiet, and some of the white walls are dirty and damaged. There is one solitary window facing the West, and it is locked securely, with solid bars reaching across the glass. This room is like a prison of some sort.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see something move slightly and hear a little groan. I spin my head around to face it, and see her – my sister. Once an incredible beauty, marvelled and desired by many, she is now huddled in a corner, all alone, a prisoner. Her wild dark hair is strewn all over her face, and black eyes peep up at us through the dead strands. We move slowly and cautiously towards her, but this does not help in calming her as she promptly hurls herself at Mr Rochester. But Mr Rochester is a strong man, and he and Grace manage to force Bertha into a chair. I tell Rochester that we should leave her be but he snaps at me, and tells his audience of the sad tale of Bertha.
Briggs informs Jane of her uncle in Madeira, but she scorns at him and walks over to Rochester. They begin talking, but I cannot hear what they are saying – I am occupied making sure that Bertha does not do anything drastic. If she turns on any one of us, it may well be the closing of a life. I hear Jane start crying, and I turn my head to focus on her. She is looking relatively attractive today, what with the dress she is wearing and her hair styled elegantly. It is certainly a change from her everyday appearance. She is usually quite the--
All thought escapes from my mind in an instant. An unbearable pain strikes me on the left side of my neck. Something is digging into my flesh, eating away at the inside of my neck, sharp teeth gnawing mercilessly away at my neck muscle. It is suddenly jerked back, and the teeth rip out of my skin which pains more than can be said in words, much more than when it lunged. I can see blurred images of people gathered around me, but I don't care about them. All I care about is my throat and my life… I'm going to die.
A/N: ...yeah. :) It's just something that I wrote for an English assessment in April this year, when we were studying the 'Jane Eyre' play. I then, for some reason, decided to publish it on fanfic dot net. Hope you enjoyed, reviews are welcome.
Have a good day:)
-laura.