I ran down the stairs as my craving for my Milk and Cookies ice cream raged, only to open the freezer door and find it missing.
A lonely girl,
forgotten and used.
On the streets of Paris,
left hurt and abused.
She soon met a man,
and instantly stumbled.
Down into a hell,
where she soon would be left crumbled.
In love and in a pit,
she gave him her heart.
He put on his own little skit,
and broke her heart apart.
Left by a man,
she was on her own.
With a baby girl by her side,
How would she have known?
Nosy, hateful people.
Not one just let her be.
Leaving her life shattered,
and left crying was she.
Without a job,
she had to feed her kid.
She did everything she could
for the burden she loved that she couldn’t rid.
Walking down a snowy street,
yelled at by an abusive man.
At that point, was there any other kind?
Hope was lost, and it her heart, it was banned.
Watching her leave,
with a fatuous smile.
leaving her feeling incredibly bile.
Saved from prison,
kindhearted was he.
Restoring her faith
that a man could not flee.
At the end, she was left
with all her troubles behind.
Left in an impossible word,
where all the people are kind.
One might think of such,
with hair raising on his skin.
But didn’t you see that woman on the street,
that looked so very thin?
She asked you for some change,
saying anything would do.
But you avoided eye contact,
without feeling just a little bit blue.
Why should you worry?
Why should you help?
Its not your problem and,
after all, there is such a thing as self-help.
You repeat to yourself,
its not my problem, it’s theirs.
Why doesn’t she go get a job?
Its no worse than sleeping on those concrete stairs.
Why is this our world,
broken and unjust?
Why don’t we help one another,
and build some trust?
I am the one, the only, Fantine, and have gone to hell and back. I fell in love once, and what came of that? My heart was shattered, with promises unfulfilled. He left me with a hole in my heart, laughing at me with his friends. Taken advantage of, I bore a child from that relationship, and named her Cosette, who filled the large hole he had left. She was beautiful.
Everyone has their thing. The thing we can’t live without, the thing that makes us whole. The thing that completes us. She was my thing, and I loved her with all my heart, soul, and mind. I longed to give her a perfect life, but that would not have been possible. My family is incomplete without the man who gave me my child. I won’t be able to work, so as much as it hurts, I must give her away. I found a wonderful woman taking care of two small girls who agreed to raise her, at least for now while I find work in Paris. However, she had an evil husband. He was a terrible man with a greedy heart. They were the Thenardiers. Little did I know they were treating my baby girl with hatred and abuse. She was their slave. I tried my hardest to return, I swear. I had lost my job because of a nosy old lady, so I cut my hair to clothe Cosette, and when I sent the dress to the Thenardiers, they gave it to their daughters instead. I had my two front teeth pulled out all for a life threatening disease I was told Cosette had, but it was a lie. I was deceived and it wasn’t the first time. I had no more money and had to provide for Cosette. I became a prostitute. People pushed me down to a level I never thought I would ever be at. It was a new low for me and I hated it.
There was once a man who mistreated me so much, I went to jail. I was walking, minding my own business when he started to yell at me, and after I ignored him, he called me names. You see, men want to feel superior. They want to have the upper hand, the control, and if you don’t give it to them, they throw a tantrum. After I showed him no further interest, he threw his man tantrum and threw snow down my back. I was done. I was angry. I was so tired of people showing me hatred and a lack of compassion. I was particularly tired of men mistreating me, so that’s when I snapped. I attacked him, but was soon arrested. All the attention was on me, and while I got into trouble, the man escaped.
It was so unfair, but life’s unfair. There are problems in today’s society, such as the mistreating of women, that we can fix. Women shouldn’t have to be arrested for defending themselves from rude men that throw things at their backs while they just run away. We are mistreated while men get the upper hand. We can make life a little less awful for half the population, so why not? I got help from a good hearted man who understood my debts and hardships. There’s an organization called the American Bar Association Commision on Domestic and Sexual Violence that does something similar to what my hero did. They help women get justice from their assaulters by engaging the interest of people from the legal profession. Statistics show that 1 in 3 women are victims of domestic violence. The organization goes to court with these women and help them get justice from their nightmares. You don’t have to join the organization or anything, however, I am asking you to do me one favor. Tell someone you know in the legal profession about what’s going on in today’s society. It might just be a few words, and if you have personal experience, even better. Share your story. I’m Fantine, and I need your help.
English Period 4
23 September 2016
Miri set down her paintbrush and stepped back to look at her painting. She let her herself quickly admire her talent while she took her painting apron off, her shield against the staining colors. She called her parents to come and look at her painting.
“Good job, Miri. We always knew you would do something great. You know, your mother and I always knew that this would be your passion. Ever since you were a little girl, you would always find the cranberry juice and use it as paint,” her father said, chuckling.
“Well, what can I say? I’m a fan of art,” Miri replied, smiling. A yawn surfaced. “Okay, I’m going to go to sleep now. Painting wears me out,” she said. “Good night, Momma. Good night, Poppa,” she said while giving each a kiss on their cheek.
“Good night Miri. Sweet dreams,” her mom said.
Miri awoke from her dream, hearing screams. She rapidly pulled the thin blanket off her long skinny legs and ran to her sisters room. As she entered the room, she saw an empty bed and an even emptier room. “Elie? Elie!” she frantically screamed, voice cracking. She heard no answer. She sprinted to her parents room, tears streaming down her face as she realized they were also gone.
She ran out into the street, eyes darting back and forth looking for some sort of sign that there might be a shred of hope that her family was still alive. She saw people running around, panic in their eyes, but she saw no members of her family. Her knees shaking, she started to run, as if that was the only thing left to do. Run away from the world. As she drowned out the screams, all she could think about was how she was alone. Her whole world was gone. She ran faster. She ran until she couldn’t anymore. She collapsed onto the road, helpless. She looked up and saw something coming at her. Suddenly, there was nothing. Nothing but darkness.
“Reign of Terror.” Wikipedia, Wikimedia Foundation, https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/reign_of_terror.
“French Revolution.” Wikipedia, Wikimedia Foundation, https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/french_revolution.
History.com Staff. “French Revolution.” History.com, A&E Television Networks, 2009, http://www.history.com/topics/french-revolution.
By claiming the fortress on behalf of the revolution, they sent a powerful message to the forces of old wealth that still dominated the kingdom – the upheaval in France would not be a simple legislative reorganization, but rather a social revolution. From. “A Guide to the French Revolution.” Jacobin Comments, https://www.jacobinmag.com/2015/07/french-revolution-bastille-day-guide-jacobins-terror-bonaparte/.
She walked through the doors of the large museum and stopped in her tracks. Her love for art took over as she ran towards the masterpieces. As she approached a painting she slowed to a stop. She looked carefully at the canvas. The pastel colors in the peaceful sunrise gave her the chills, goosebumps running up and down her arms. Looking at the painting, she felt content, as nothing else made her feel, her breath deep and relaxed, as though this is where she wanted to be for the rest of her life. The love she had for art was almost unsettling, as though only staring deep into a painting could bury that feeling. She stepped closer to the painting carefully examined the familiar checkered texture of the canvas.
Her bright green eyes flickered to the left, and saw another example of perfection. She walked over to the painting, mesmerized by all its colors. As she slowly came to a stop in front of the painting, she examined all the brushing techniques, and suddenly longed for a paintbrush and canvas so she could make a masterpiece of her own. All of a sudden, her best friend Mason approached her, bringing her out of her dazed condition. “Come on, we’re going to go sing happy birthday to your dad. Are you coming?” Mason asks. “Yeah I’m coming,” she replies. She takes one last look at the painting and goes with her friend.