The ramblings of a random Savage woman
This new woman who has come to our home is strange. She keeps saying things like, "A gramme is better than a damn." And when she watched us mend the clothing of our children, "Ending is better than mending." Or even, "The more stitches, the less riches." What is up with these strange sayings? She's so different from us, and her skin's so much paler, she's even got a different hair color. Different from us this one way, different from us this other way, and when she first got here and found out she was pregnant... oh my. She just sat there, repeating, "Oh ford, the contraceptives didn't work." In a monotonous fashion as she mulled over the plight that she was in. She also seemed to complain how, "One person belonged to one other person. Not to everyone else." It's annoying. I want her gone, and it's disgusting how she thinks that she can just waltz in here and think that she can take our men. It's not right, and downright disturbing. I remember when her own son actually tried to kill Popé by stabbing him. The man just shrugged him off. I remember seeing that the day it had happened and how John sat, stony faced reading Shakespeare. I mean, she's even called our Mescal this thing called Soma!
Her son is a boy to feel sorry for, with how he's always eating with me when his own mother is at home passed out from to much mescal. It's a sad thought, a young boy such as him not getting to see his mother like a boy should. I mean, a mother is bad when she doesn't even make sure her child eats. He's different too, so he ends up being singled out of the other children, being left to play by himself. I feel sorry for him. If I could, I would take this young boy and make him my own. Over the years I have come to love him like one of my own children. I've often caught him reading that book that Popé or whomever that woman had at the time had given him so that he wouldn't interrupt their time together. It's saddening really to see such a young man grow up like this. I feel like I'm one of the only women in the village who actually feels sorry for him (which, I probably am). It's probably just the fact that I love children more than anything else. It saddens me to see a child made to be a loner because of his looks and who his mother is (no matter how evil the mother may be). The son shouldn't suffer for the sins of the mother!
That blond haired woman known as... what was her name? Rinda... Dolinda... Dorinda... I know this name...Linda! That's it! There's the name I'm looking for. Anyways, she's a great form of gossip that we use here; she's always doing something that we can complain about to eachother. My friends always find something about John to talk about too. The latest thing in gossip is how Linda seems so bipolar, beating her son and such, but than instantly saying sorry for something. I remember when the big item of gossip was when Linda was teaching John not to call her mother. I also remember when all the other women just went after Linda, whipping her mercilessly because she had slept with their men. She hasn't slept with mine yet though. He's sort of dead and six feet under the ground. I honestly have no clue about what to think about with Linda anymore. I feel sorry for her, but I don't... Why do I need to be the sympathetic, kind, mother hen type person that I am? I shrug that question off quite a bit, and try to act hard faced around these people, and only my children know and realize how I worry over these strange outsiders from a brave new world seemingly unknown to us in this small corner of the world. Oh why must this be so complicated? Anyways, I hear my children calling for me to help them with something. Now, I take my leave, hopefully to have no one in the village read my words, or it could be me instead of Linda getting the scorn.
A/N: This is just something I wrote for my Humanities class, I got an A on it too if you'd like to know.