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Post by Deleted on Mar 27, 2012 18:42:34 GMT -5
OH no
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Post by celticbear on Mar 27, 2012 21:07:34 GMT -5
I smell trouble! I hope to you know who! That Daniel and Damo where followed by Ryan!
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Post by pattydear on Mar 28, 2012 11:02:43 GMT -5
It's spelled *were* not *where*. Hahahahaha! I love correcting people's grammar!
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Post by pattydear on Mar 28, 2012 17:32:26 GMT -5
“So, dear children,” the man said, “what brings you here? You look very well dressed for folks who would end up here.” “Well,” Damian replied, “I came here just to visit a friend.” “A friend?” the man asked. “Tell me, what’s his name?” “*Her* name, you mean?” “Oh, it’s a gal. Well, then, you can’t visit. No fellas are allowed to talk to the gals. Not that you could visit if you were looking for a fella, since that’s just how this place works. You come in through those gates, there’s no coming out.” “What?” Both Damian and Daniel instantly looked very afraid, much more afraid than when they’d first come in. “You mean we have to live here now?” Daniel asked. “I guess so,” the man replied. “Too bad for you. Ha!”
For the next few days, Damian and Daniel worked in a nearby factory which was owned by the poor house. It was constantly dangerous, there, as the factory was the home of many chemicals, fires, and metallic-bonecrushing machines. The factory was also the home of a lot of smoke, which soiled everyone’s faces and clothes. Everyone at the poor house eventually started looking like they’d all been rolling about in ashes. The meals were terrible, few, and scanty. They were terrible, as they were mainly moldy and rotten. They were few, as anyone caught not “working half as hard as they should” would be punished by going hungry for one day. And, they were scanty, as they mostly consisted of scraps as bad as those Damian would receive from his father. One important rule in the poor/work house was “mum is the word!” No one was allowed to talk during work, during meals, during bedtime, during inspection, etc. Due to “mum is the word!”, Damian and Daniel barely spoke to each other at all. Sometimes, though, at night, Damian would be his one cot among that of over a hundred other boys, and he would tremble and cry. Daniel would sneak out of the cot he would be using that night, and try to find Damo in the dark. When he would find his dear friend, the two of them would wrap their arms around each other, like Jane Eyre and Helen Burns the night Helen died. One night, Damian waited for Daniel to come. Daniel didn’t, so Damo took it upon himself to search. He looked at all of the cots, but none of the other boys were his little Danny boy. In despair, he sat on the filthy floor and let tears form in his eyes and fall down his cheeks and nose. The next day, he noticed a few of the men were carrying a tacky coffin. “Who… died?” he asked them. One of the men looked around carefully, to make sure none of the supervisors were listening. He then said, “It was a boy. Half of his body fell into one of the machines.” Damian knew he should have remained silent, but he simply blurted out, “Can I see?” “It’s not a pretty sight.” “Please… I must see.” The coffin was lowered to the floor. The lid was taken off. Sure enough, half of the body was all a mess, but the face was still intact. It was Daniel. Damian fell onto his knees. His face fell into his hands, and he cried. “Oh, Daniel!” he said. “Oh, my sweet Daniel! You’re gone, and it’s all my fault, because I led you here out of my stupidity.” “Don’t be upset,” another man who had been holding the coffin said. “He is now going to a much more wonderful place. He will have a happier life up there.” “But he already loved life down here,” Damian replied, with tears still falling out of his blue eyes. Before anything else could be said, the men all picked up the coffin, and walked away, for fear that the supervisors would notice. Damian sat on the floor and cried. He cried and cried and cried. One of the supervisors walked over. He was carrying a stick. “Get up!” he snapped at Damian. He whacked the boy with the stick very harshly. He beat the boy for about two minutes straight. He then left him lying there. Damian continued to cry. He then got up. He walked. He walked on and on and on. He then came to the factory door, and walked out into the not-so-fresh air. He saw the gate that he went through to get into the poor house. He walked towards the gate. “Where’re you going?” he heard a harsh voice say. It was Matron Muggs, who was head of the “gal” section of the poor house. “Nowhere,” Damian replied. “I saw you,” Matron Muggs said. “You were going to slip right through the bars of the gate. That’s what most kids your size do.” “Can I? Please, please, please!” Matron Muggs laughed. “Sure,” she said. “We’ll just call the police on you.” She walked off, cackling. Damian remained at the gate, and stared at it for one hour. He then slipped right through the bars. He ran through the streets. He ran and ran and ran. “Which street leads to George’s house?” he muttered to himself. He ran down a road that looked correct. It only led to streets that were completely unfamiliar to him. Those unfamiliar streets led to out of town, into the grassy, hilly, green countryside. “Oh… Brilliant!” Damian said. “Should I go back into town, and get lost even more?” Just then, the sky darkened before him, and he saw a flash of lighting and heard a clap of thunder. A wind picked up, and it howled in monsterously earsplitting tones. Damian tried not to allow the force of the wind to push him down. He was almost unsuccessful, but, somehow, he maintained his balance. Suddenly, he saw in the darkened sky a glorious, beautiful castle. He saw on one of the castle’s parapets Daniel. “I’m so sorry!” he shouted. “Please don’t be angry!” “I’m not angry,” Daniel replied from high above. “I am happy, so very happy, that I now have this chance to intercede for you from such a glorious place.” “How can I believe you’re in a glorious place, when I haven’t seen it? You could be just another of those voices and figures which appear to me sometimes and cause me to shudder out of fright.” “I’m not just one of those figures,” Daniel answered. “I am real, and I have gone through Purgatory into Heaven. I am looking forward to the time when we are together again.” “We’ll be together again? How do you know that? What if I never believe?” “I know you will believe, because of what I was told while in Purgatory. The great prophet who I was named after came to me, and he told me how the Lord elected you, for our All-Holy and All-Powerful Lord saw your conversion in the future. Your belief and your subservience to Truth will lead you to God, who, in return, will not just purify you, but lead you to Heaven, where I am. Therefore, we will be together. Still, run out over these hills which you are standing on. There is someone you must see.” The castle disappeared, along with Daniel. Despite the wind, Damian tried to run across the hilly countryside. It was quite hard at first, but then he got used to it. He ran far off over the green grass and under the black clouds. The lightning flashed, and the thunder roared. Eventually, he saw a girl lying on the slope of one of the little hills. “Cathleen!” Damian called out, trying to speak above the noise of the wind. The girl, Cathleen, instantly sat up. “Damian!” she called out. Damian rushed up to her… until he noticed what she was wearing. “Where’d you get that dress?” he asked. “Did you steal it?” “No,” Cathleen replied. “But then why isn’t it all dirty from the poor house? It isn’t upper-class and all, but it still looks in good condition.” Cathleen’s dress was, indeed, in good condition. It was not faded one bit (it was dark blue, by the way), and it had no rips or messed-up hems. “I was given it,” she said. “I escaped the poor house I was in (which was the one on Joyful Street), and I had no place to go, so I came out here. Then, while out here, I met up with this kind woman who gave it to me, then left. I don’t know who that woman was, but I am thankful for her, as this dress is very warm and comfy, especially with the winter that seems just around the corner.” “You’re just going to live here, then? With no roof over your head?” “I have that wonderful roof called the sky. Right now, that’s all I need.” “That’s not how it should be. People belong in houses. We can go back into town, and I can bring you back to my home with me.” “Back home? Wherever have you been Damian? From the looks of it, it wasn’t a well kept-up place.” “I was at the poor house on Happy Street.” “Oh, Damian! You’re so stupid, which is typical for a boy. I know you had no reason to be in a poor house, due to who you say your godfather is. It was such a stupid thing to even be curious about the poor houses!” Damian felt pride swell up in his chest. “I am not stupid!” he said. “Don’t you dare call me that… ever again!” Cathleen laughed at how angry the boy looked. “What’s wrong with being stupid?” she said. “For years, women and girls were stupid, because they weren’t allowed to go to school.” “That’s not called being stupid- that’s just called not having education.” “Yes, no education whatsoever, like you.” “Oh, shut up!” Cathleen laughed some more. “Oh, Damian,” she said, “I love you dearly! I just love how you act and how you are, even if it is nothing but stupidity!” “You… love me?” Damian instantly felt happy. “Yep, I love you. You’re like a brother to me.” “Oh.” Damian no longer felt happy. “I love you, too, but not like a sister.” “What other way would you love me, then?” “Like how Bianca and Lucentio love each other in *Taming of the Shrew*.” “I’ve never read that. How do they love each other?” “Romantically.” “Ugh… That only proves that our relationship with each other is like Cathy Linton and Linton Heathcliff’s in *Wuthering Heights*.” “I’ve never read that. What is their relationship like?” “Well, at first, they have a puppy love, but then…” “Puppy love! I hate puppy loves! I don’t sympathize with them at all!” “Yeah, sure. Anyway, eventually, though (this is where it all becomes analogous to our current condition), Cathy Linton wishes for Linton Heathcliff to be like a brother to her, but Linton Heathcliff wants Cathy Linton for his wife.” “Wow… Cathy Linton sure sounds like an idiot.” “Actually, if you know the whole story, you realize she is one.” “Like you!” “How am I an idiot?” “Because, you… because… Well, just because!” “‘Just because’ is not a good answer, Damian.” “It is too a good answer!” “Oh, so you want to argue about this?” “Yeah!” “Then let’s see who wins the argument by wrestling!” “Huh?” Cathleen stood up, then tackled Damian to the ground. They rolled about in the grass, amidst the thunderstorm that was going on ahead. Damian ended up trying to protect himself, as Cathleen proved to be the better fighter. Eventually, he started shouting, “Stop! You’re hurting my arms! Ouch! Stop!” Cathleen stood up and said, “I win! Therefore, ‘just because’ is not a good answer!” “That’s not fair!” Damian replied. “You can’t say you’re right by trying to kill a guy!” “I wasn’t trying to kill you… just teach you a lesson you wouldn’t forget.” “Yeah, and that lesson is that… is that… Well, I kind of forgot why we’re arguing.” “So have I. Let’s be friends again.” “All right.” The both sat next to each other on the slope of the hill. Damian looked off into the distance, reached over absent-mindedly and held Cathleen’s hand into his. Instantly, the storm stopped. The wind hushed, and the clouds went toodle-oo. “Wow,” Cathleen said. “Look how blue the sky is!” “Oh, my!” Damian said, jumping up. “What?” Cathleen asked, also standing up. “I better get home,” he answered. “George must be so, so worried.”
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Post by Deleted on Mar 28, 2012 19:10:12 GMT -5
...................... you killed Daniel you meany!
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Post by meagab15 on Mar 28, 2012 19:58:19 GMT -5
lol wow
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Post by celticbear on Mar 28, 2012 20:59:15 GMT -5
Patty this last update was definitely worthy of *Jane Eyre*,*W.H* and *Oliver Twist* all rolled into one! Not to happy about the killing off of Daniel,but I understand why you did it! Glad Damian found Cat and they are friends again.
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Post by pattydear on Mar 29, 2012 0:27:52 GMT -5
Wait a second......... You know why I made Daniel die in the story? What's the reason? I don't even know why, myself! ^_^
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Post by pattydear on Mar 29, 2012 1:40:30 GMT -5
“He’s back! It’s a miracle!” Zara rushed into the dining room where George was sitting at the table alone, eating in utter silence. “He’s back?” George asked, instantly standing up. “Damian?” “Yes,” Zara answered, with a grin on her face. George rushed out of the dining room and into the house’s entrance hall. It was there that he saw his filthy, sooty godson, who was standing in an ashamed manner. “Oh, Damian!” George said, getting on his knees and wrapping his arms around the boy. “Oh, my Damian!” Tears formed in his eyes, and he gave his dear godson a kiss on the cheek. “I’m sorry,” was all Damian said. “I’m sorry, George.” “Hug me back, Damian, so I know it’s really you and that this isn’t a dream. I thought I’d lost you, my boy.” Damian awkwardly wrapped his arms around George. He started to cry, out of both joy and shame. Oh, what joy he felt at being in his true home again, but, oh, what shame he felt at what he had done and what trouble it had caused.
For the next week, Damian spent most of his time in bed. George checked in on him often. Damian was beginning to feel a strong, filial bond with George, one he hadn’t felt before. It made him feel more secure, despite the evil world that surrounded him constantly. “George,” he said one evening, as he was under his warm bed covers, “do you have a prayer book I could use?” “Of course, my boy,” George answered. “I thought, though, that you didn’t like praying.” “I don’t know,” Damian said. “It wouldn’t hurt to give it a go, though, would it?” “Is it because of Daniel?” George asked. “Maybe. I saw him up in Heaven. It was really weird, but really realistic.” “You saw him in Heaven?” “Yes. It was almost in the same way I see goblins creep up to me and try to rip me apart. It was so much pleasanter, though. It was like the time I saw my mother’s ghost.” George simply smiled. “It’s time for me to go to bed,” he said. “I’ve got a busy day tomorrow. Good night, Damian.” “Good night, George.” George left. Five minutes later, though, there was another knock at the door. “Come in!” In came Paul, Keith, and Emmet. “Hey, Damo!” Paul said. “We’re bored. Entertain us.” “How would you like me to entertain you?” Damian asked. “With a puppet!” Keith said, grinning wildly. Damian took off one of his socks. He put it onto his hand, and he used it as a puppet. “Hello!” he said in his “puppet” voice. “My name is… Rufus.” “What sort of name is Rufus?” Paul asked. “Yeah!” Keith added, “Rufus is a pathetic name!” “I just so happen to like that name,” Damian answered. He looked at Emmet. “Well, do you hate it, like the others?” “I’m not sure,” Emmet answered. “I haven’t met many fellows named Rufus.” “What about the name Angus? Do you like that one?” “I’m not sure on that one, either.” The four present in the room chatted for a while. Pretty soon, Paul and Keith left. “You know what, Emmet?” “No, but I’ve met his brother Who.” “That’s not what I meant to ask.” “I know.” “Well, do you know what I’m thinking about?” “No. I don’t know whatever you’re thinking about. I hope it doesn’t deal with politics or religion, though, as I’m feeling rather simple minded at the moment.” “Well, what I’m thinking about is my opinion on you.” “Oh… Marvelous.” “Really, Emmet! I’m being serious!” “Well, what is your ‘opinion on me’?” Emmet had to smile. He was very fond of Damian, despite how much pain the boy reminded him of. Damian said, “I used to not necessarily know if I liked you. You seemed nice and all, but I knew that there was a big chance you were a jerk. Now I know for certain that you are nice, and that I like you.” Emmet smiled even more. “Thanks for saying that, Damo,” he said. “I really needed to hear that, especially lately.” He sat down right next to where Damian was and wrapped his arms around him. When Damian started to squirm, Emmet let go. “You know,” Emmet said, “I’ve got a secret to tell you. Something tells me I can tell you this secret that I don’t want to tell anyone.” “What is it?” Damian asked. He instantly felt very, very curious. “Well, when I was little… I took a cookie when my mother told me not to take one.” “That’s it?” “Yep, and it’s been a secret all these years.” “Wow. Sorry, but that’s not much of a secret.” “Be nice about it- it’s been nagging at my conscience throughout my whole life.” “You don’t want me to tell anyone this secret?” “Yeah. That’s why it’s called a secret- it’s not for anyone else to hear.” “Oh, Emmet! If only it was something less trivial! I cannot take you seriously now…” “You want to take me seriously? I could tell you about my life. You would then feel a kindredness in spirit to me, and then you could take me seriously yet again.” “What would you like to say about your life?” “My mother wanted my education to be more diverse, but my father made me keep most of my attention on piano and vocal practice. He told me that musicians have no need for anything but their music. Up until my later teenage years, I had no friends but my siblings. I also never learned thoroughly the alphabet until then, as the only stuff I would read would be sheet music. If my mother caught me gazing at the pictures in books, or idly playing something like tag with my sister, she wouldn’t care. If my father caught me doing such things, though, he would grab me by the shoulders and shake me sternly. He would scold me, with his face so near mine that I could smell his alcoholic breath.” “He was that awful? I hate him already.” “I no longer hate him, because when he caught pneumonia that one winter, I started to feel sorry for him. He died a year or so later.” “Oh.” Silence. “Emmet, since you’ve led a secluded and abused (by some variation) life, like me, do you… sometimes see things?” “Like what?” “I don’t know… like frightening things, I guess. Do you see living things that no one else sees?” “I see plenty of things that no one else sees. Some would call those things hallucinations, while others would call those things creatures from the spiritual world which is right next to the physical world.” “So, I’m not insane, like the people in the books? I don’t have to be sent to an asylum?” “Not necessarily. You might consider becoming a priest, though.” “I don’t want to be a priest. They bore kids down with their dull talk.” “But seeing the spiritual world is a gift that few people have, or so I’ve assumed all my life. It could help you in leading others down the straight and narrow path.” “But I, myself, haven’t already gone onto the straight and narrow path, yet.” “Then take baby steps to that priest goal. Start with inquiring about things such as faith, God, and why the earth spins about like a top.” The two of them talked on and on. Some of what they discussed was simple, mundane, and maybe even foolish, but other subjects they plowed through were deep, controversial, and powerful. “I’m very tired now, Damian. Good night. I’ll see you in the morning… That is, if I wake up before ten o’ clock rolls around.” “Good night, Emmet. Sleep tight. Don’t let the bedbugs bite.” “Bedbugs biting me… That’s another story, for later. Good night.”
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Post by pattydear on Mar 29, 2012 16:35:38 GMT -5
Damian would oftentimes go out into the countryside to visit Cathleen. They enjoyed their visits together, despite the crankiness that had occurred before. “Cathleen,” Damian said one day, as they were sitting right on top of one of the little hills and staring up at the clouds, “it’s already been getting very chilly. Don’t you need a home?” “No,” Cathleen replied. “If ever I am cold, if ever I cannot find any food from the nearby woods, if ever I am injured, there is that woman, the very same woman who gave me this dress.” “Oh,” Damian answered. He looked at Cathleen. He noticed that she wasn’t as skinny as she used to be, and that she looked much better that way. “Damian,” she said, “last night, I had the most wonderful dream. I dreamt that I was at a wedding. Everything at the wedding was perfect. I saw my mother, and I asked her, ‘Whose wedding is this? Who is it for?’ And, my mother replied, ‘Why, my dear daughter, it is for you.’ After that, I saw up the aisle of the church… you.” “Oh?” Damian was instantly curious… very, very, *very* curious. “You were the best man.” “Oh.” Damian looked down at the grass in sorrow. “Who was the groom, then?” “Daniel. You know Daniel, right? He’s that one kid at school.” “Daniel is dead. He went with me to the poor house, and he fell into one of the machines.” “That’s… so dreadful!” Cathleen started to cry. “He was my boyfriend. Oh, Daniel, I shall miss you!” “Daniel was your… *boyfriend*?” “Yeah…” Cathleen cried some more. “He didn’t seem to know you all that well, then.” “Why would I tell even my boyfriend that I was in the gutter? That’s just not the sort of stuff anyone should know.” “He never told me that he was going out with you.” “Why should he have told you? It’s none of your business.” Cathleen cried and cried and cried. It was obvious to Damian that he should shut up. Silence fell between the two for a while. Finally, Cathleen wiped her tears and said, “I’m so glad you came, Damian. There aren’t many people around her. Well, there are the sons of the nearby farmer, but they mainly throw rocks at me and laugh.” “That’s not nice… I think.” “It *isn’t* nice, at all. I don’t like the farmer’s sons, not one bit.” Silence. “I have to go home now, Cathleen. Goodbye.” “Goodbye, Damian. Tomorrow is Sunday, so I’ll see you at Mass.” “After Mass, do you want to have Sunday dinner with George and me?” “No, thank you. I like natural foods from the woods much more.” “Oh, okay. Goodbye.”
Sure enough, the next day, Cathleen was at Mass. She said barely a thing to Damian, though- she didn’t even say hi to him. She seemed very serious in her prayers, which she was most definitely saying for her family.
The very next day, George came into Damian’s room early in the morning. “We have to move tomorrow,” he said. “My job is transferring me, and I have to leave soon.” “Where are we going?” Damian asked, still almost asleep. “New York.” “Oh…” Throughout the whole day, as Damian packed, he thought about who he would miss. He hadn’t made many friends at all- just Cathleen and Daniel. Oh, poor Cathleen! How lonely she was! That afternoon, Damian went out to the countryside in search for her. He wanted to have this one last chance to say goodbye. He couldn’t find her, though. She was absolutely nowhere to be seen. He got up on top of one of the little hills and called out, “Cathleen!” No answer. No answer, whatsoever. Damian went home, with his head down to the ground.
The next day, Damian walked onto the ship headed for New York. He made sure to follow close beside George. One moment, though, he stopped, turned around, and had one last look at his home country. “Oh, Éire,” he said. “A dhéanamh dom fanacht.” Once on the ship, and once in the little cabin he and George were going to share, Damian fell asleep. It felt as if time had stopped, and this terrible feeling would last forever…
The next morning, Damian woke up to a knock on the cabin door. George answered the door. “Hello, Keith. Hello, Paul. Hello, Emmet,” he said. “Please, move out of the way so I can make it to the deck.” They all moved… very quickly. They then went into the cabin. “Damian!” Keith said. “Guess what? Paul found a rat!” “Yeah,” Paul said, walking into the cabin. “See?” “Ew…” Damian said. He sat up, and wrapped his arms around his legs. “He tried putting it in my mouth,” Keith said, laughing. “He tried putting it in *my* mouth, also!” Emmet added, frowning. “Ah, lighten up!” Keith said.
The rest of the days on the ship were a lot like that, though it wasn’t *just* rats. There were plenty of spiders, diseases, and storms. Damian hated most of the trip, if not all of it.
After a while- several months, in fact- Damian stood up on the deck and saw land ahead. It was Ellis Island. It was great seeing land and all, but it still looked extremely foreboding, for some reason.
After inspection and stuff like that, Damian, George, Keith, Paul, Emmet, Zara, and Deirdre all went to their new home in New York City. Damian marveled at how large the city was. He was disgusted by the filth in the streets, and he was frightened by the gangs he saw. But, almost most of all, he felt the loss of his home country. The bonds which the first Irishmen had made with the Emerald Isle had now been stretched about in his soul- stretched so far that they almost felt severed. The ultimate most of all he felt, though, was that he had left Cathleen forever, and that they would never meet again. They would be dead to each other.
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Post by celticbear on Mar 29, 2012 21:09:39 GMT -5
WOW PATTY! Was not expecting Cat and Daniel to have been dating! I wonder why Damian could not find her on their hill to say goodbye to her before he left for New York! Glad the rest of George's crazy household traveled with them!
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Post by meagab15 on Mar 30, 2012 17:21:54 GMT -5
aww poor damian i would come and meet him
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Post by Deleted on Mar 30, 2012 19:18:28 GMT -5
:/ i have mixed emotions about those updates if you hadn't already guessed
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Post by pattydear on Mar 31, 2012 14:57:24 GMT -5
“Am I going to have to go to a new school?” Damian asked George one day while they were sitting in the parlor. “Most likely,” George replied. “We’ll just have to find one.” “Are American schools different from Irish ones?” “Of course. For instance, you’ll have to learn a completely different history. Actually, you’ll probably end up learning a much *shorter* history than you would have if we’d stayed in Ireland.” “A much shorter history?” “Yes, though, depending on which school you go to, it might be more or less nationalistic when dealing with history. I think I’ll stick you in a parochial school full of immigrants. I really doubt you’d get along well with American kids.” “Why? Are American kids mean?” “Some are. Some think they are better than immigrants, because they’ve been here for generations and are of English descent and are Protestant. That’s just how they think- don’t judge them.” “All right, George. I’ll try not to. It might be hard, though. It’s so easy to judge, and to look down on others.” “I know, my boy. I had to learn tolerance, humility, and kindness when I first came to Ireland. I had to realize that the citizens of my new home were people just like me.” “Where were you from before you came to Ireland?” “I was from Scotland.” “Why’d you move?” “My job took me off.” “How many times has your job moved you?” “Including this time, twice.” “That’s a lot, right?” “I don’t know. Some people never have a single place to live, ever. Some people move to a new home every month. Some people stay at the same home forever, and that becomes their true home while they’re alive.” Silence. “George?” “Yes, Damian?” “Can I go to bed now? I’m very tired, even though it’s only afternoon.” “You may… Of course, you may.” Damian went upstairs to his bedroom. He went onto the bed, and went under the covers. He started snoring softly.
That night, he heard a noise going on outside. He got out of bed, went to the window, and looked out. What he saw was a very odd sight indeed! Outside, in the middle of the streets, there were a bunch of figures wearing white clothing with pointed, white caps. One of them was carrying a tall, wooden, burning cross, and three others were holding a dark-skinned man, who was wiggling about, trying to get free of the white-clothed figures’ grasps. One of the figures took a rope and tied one end of it to a street lamppost. The figure then tied the other end in an almost knot. The dark-skinned man was lifted up to the almost knot, which was put around his neck and tightened. The figures all left the dark-skinned man hanging from the rope and lamppost. When all was quiet (and obviously safe), Damian quickly went downstairs. He saw Keith down there, sitting on a chair, nodding off to sleep. “Keith!” he said. “There’s a guy hanging from the lamppost outside!” Keith instantly woke up. “What?!” Keith and Damian went outside, but they were too late. The dark-skinned man was already dead. “That’s just awful!” Damian said. “Why did they do that to him?” “Who are ‘they’?” Keith asked. Damian described what he saw. Keith said, “It sounds like that one gang that’s really famous here, the KKK, or whatever you call it. Be careful, Damian. The KKK are nationalists. Don’t talk in public, or a member might hear your accent. And, when your accent becomes like that of an American’s, still don’t mention anything too foreign. Don’t mention Mass, either, because the KKK hate Catholics. Remember, any white adult here whose ancestors have been in this country for over a century could very easily be apart of the KKK. They are everywhere.” Keith saw a police officer. “Hey, police!” he shouted. He pointed at the hanging man. The police walked over. “Oh, look,” he said, sadly. “It’s Mr. Bailey. He owned the shoe shop a few blocks down the road.” It became apparent to Damian the Mr. Bailey was well-known in the neighborhood, and was a very nice man, for, the next day, as he and George were going to the market, the hanging was apart of all the gossip. “You heard about what happened to Mr. Bailey?” a woman asked George. “I think so,” George answered. “You’re new here,” the woman said, “so you don’t know what Mr. Bailey meant to a lot of folks. He always had a smile on his face. He was very good with kids.” “Did you hear about Mr. Bailey?” the man behind the fruit stand asked. “He really didn’t deserve to die like that.” “Yes, I heard of Mr. Bailey,” George said. “Sad, isn’t it?” “You would have really liked him. He made friends wherever he went.” At home, Damian asked George, “If he was so nice, why did those… KKK(?) people kill Mr. Bailey?” “The KKK don’t like people with dark skin,” George answered. “A lot of white people hate dark-skinned people. That’s just the way white people are.” “Oh,” Damian said. “But you’re white. Do you hate dark-skinned people?” “No,” George replied. “When I was little, I had a nanny with dark skin. She was such a nice woman. Because of her, I never had feelings against people like her. True, I’ve met some dark-skinned folks who were mean, but I’ve met plenty who were nice, also. On top of that, they’re just like white people. The only difference is their tan, and the places and cultures their ancestors are from.” “Oh… Are there a lot of dark-skinned people around here?” “Maybe. I don’t know. So far, I’ve mainly seen white people.”
That night, Damian lay in his bed. He kept hearing voices speaking in his head. He clutched to his chest the prayer book George had given him, for he was very scared. A knock came at the door. “Come in!” Keith came in. He knew how scared Damian was. “Would you like me to stay here till you fall asleep?” Keith asked. Damian nodded. Keith smiled. He sat on the bed. A few minutes later, Damian started snoring. He was asleep. Keith left. “Good night, Damo,” he whispered.
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Post by Deleted on Mar 31, 2012 20:17:42 GMT -5
I hate the KKK. we were talking about the KKK in my class yesterday. good update.
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