Entries for January, 2006
For my Literature class last semester, I wrote this as an imitation of my favorite author, William Sydney Porter. You may know him as one O'Henry, the indisputable short story master of the universe. A massive titanium cookie for those who can figure out which part of this excerpt from "The Gift of the Magi" is his and which part is mine.
Suddenly she whirled from the window and stood before the glass. Her eyes were shining brilliantly, but her face had lost its color within twenty seconds. Rapidly she pulled down her hair and let it fall to its full length.
Now, there were two possessions of the James Dillingham Youngs in which they both took a mighty pride. One was Jim’s gold watch that had been his father’s and his grandfather’s. The other was Della’s hair. Had the Queen of Sheba lived in the flat across the airshaft, Della would have let her hair hang out the window someday to dry just to depreciate her majesty’s jewels and gifts. Had King Solomon been the janitor, with all his treasures piled up in the basement, Jim would have pulled out his watch every time he passed, just to see him pluck at his beard from envy. Theirs were two nuggets of priceless ore treasured by a bedrock of mediocrity.
As Della stood there in the drawing room, knees buckling with a wretched realization of her own penury, a wild flurry of possibilities wheeled around her head. A light seemed to extinguish in her eyes as she hit upon the only course of action for such a woman as herself. But quickly she gained her composure, and her eyes hardened with all the fearlessness of a warrior marching off to the battlefield for love of man or country. With a firm grasp on the cascade of hair rippling down her back, Della quickly wiped away the single tear that splashed onto the worn red carpet. On went her old brown jacket; on went her old brown hat. With a whirl of skirts and with the brilliant sparkle still in her eyes, she fluttered out the door and down the stairs to the street.
Where she stopped the sign read: “Mme. Sofronie. Hair Good of All Kinds.” Once flight up Della ran, and collected herself, panting. Madame, large, too white, chilly, hardly looked the “Sofronie.”
“Will you buy my hair?” asked Della.
Bon appetite.
Written by jihwan at 01:50 AM.