This was a practise scene for a school assignment I had to do. This was based off the book Jane Eyre, done on the perspective of Bertha - the mad woman in the attic - and the night she burns down Thornfield.
First practise: Bertha’s perspective
The night she burns down Thornfield.
The beast rose before me; a monstrous, demonic thing; red eyes matched my own and, as I dared to exhale breath, a low laugh came forth – it was a low, mirthless ha! Ha! I turned sharply and, pressing my cheek against the glass of the icy window, I shut my eyes; sounds, low and evil, stirred in my inner ear. Ere long an hour elapsed before this frightening vision passed and I, left alone to the still air that stirred my confinement. From whence this vision arose I knew not but cared little for, whilst it was reduced once more to my inner, I had silence.
Tangible, I drew it close to my chest and moved to my bed – a ugly, uncomfortable thing that dug into my body – where my eyes moved shut; sleep, however, did not claim me, as I had prayed. Upon discovering this, I sat but, with eyes closed, I imagined a scene I had a thousand times before – this time, however, my soul wrestled with difference; a feeling encompassed this vision and concealed a command.
I envisaged the fields beyond Thornfield; by the split tree I glimpsed Edward, tall and fierce; he possessed a yearning in his eyes – a thing I could not will myself to see before, or allowed myself to be blind to; the distinction was irrelevant. The yearning (forgive me, romantic reader, for I must empart this truth) was a broken sort of yearning; the type a child might display for the ripped doll or proud horseman whose horse had been slain the night prior – the type given for something lost, out of reach or broken beyond repair. In this vision, long and silence, for no wind stirred through, nor gasp fell from my ghostly lips, I upon realised that I stood near him, thought unseen – a phantom. A glimpse of something dark, steely and grey, drew my gaze; a chain locked firmly around his ankle ran like a snake through the grass to me and locked upon my own ankle.
In my hand something cool rested; a quick examination revealed a key – simple but marked with a red jewel.
The vision ended; I saw myself standing by the door, my ear strained against the old wood for the gentle snores of Grace Poole. An hour elapsed, the night drawn past midnight, before the sound reached my ears. I pried open the door with a key I had stolen from her the night before, for she had not yet realised my deception, and stole myself out into the hallway.
Silent feet carried me; no particular direction drew me for a time, nothing of which inclined me to cease. Frequently, though indiscriminately, I passed my fingers – a whisper of touch – across the closed doors. Once, thought I, these rooms had brought wealth – jewels, silks, exotic and lustrous voices that entertained the most restrained of minds; even I, though often enthralled by spritely, impish visions, whence lured my mind out and allowed myself a moment to entertain their laughter – oh, how sweet it was! Silence consumed these rooms now; a flutter of air stagnated within and, so unused were they, that the desire – a rush of power – inclined me to fling them open, to cry, “free!”
My journey, for what time I knew not had passed, deposited me in the gallery; from my prior trips I had divulged the materials required for what I knew had to be done. The image of Rochester chained to me rose up before me, rallied me to the revealed purpose, and I soon beheld a lit candle in my hand. No such feeling inclined me to Edward’s door, nor into his room as I had been prompted to do before, but rather to linger – I stayed but a moment in the gallery and gazed upon the books; trapped vessels of knowledge that unfurled a world that would, nor could ever be, mine and I found myself strangely freed by the notion; no worldly desire was sealed in my flesh.
The dark oak desk lured me forth; aged and marred by small wounds and, upon noticing that one of the legs had been repaired – new, fresh and pure, unmarred by years of error – I rested the candle upon it. Memory conjured with her dark powers an image which appeared before me.
Edward, bent over the desk, absorbed in some new letter that had arrived from town, and grimness furrowed deep into his brow. The smell of ink, pure paper and earth assailed me; I thought of that memory and my arrival into that room. He had ordered me away, unwilling to hear me and dark feelings stirred in my soul; a rush of fury, subdued in the following breath. I saw no point, nor any reason to tie myself to such poisoned thoughts; it had no promise to benefit me, to deliver me away, only to tie me, entrapping me to misery and her iron willed mistress, desire.
My hand knocked the candle, compelled as I was to complete my final task – a silent decree – sent by my other self, a voice of purity; the fire caught the book and flames licked forth, quickly rushing outwards to consume. This other voice knew not of its command to me but, alas dear reader, I heard it and adhered; for I knew that no peace, nor resolution would be achieved until I had become what all others wish – gone. I departed the room.
Just as I had arrived at the attic I perceived a greyness to the air, as if thick with smoke and then, upon realising that it was, indeed, smoke, I felt a warmth stir in the room. No urgency, nor care inclined, I went to the window and saw a clear sky – no cloud, nor mist concealed the stars beyond and for that I was glad, not it any great, joyous way but, rather in a way where I felt peace; a sense of certainty in what I had done.
Fire burned fiercely around me before I perceived any need to move; a voice called to me and as the roof fell down around me, discovering myself standing upon the edge of what had been my room. The voice came again; a plea in the form of a name as foreign to me as the land in which I now resided, as well as the strange ways that trapped me here.
Turning to the voice, I found Edward, already singed, blackened by the fire, and ignored his cries; I remained where I was. He took a step to me. An urgency seized me and I went to the edge once more, unfurling my arms; there, upon the flames, I seized my fate and flew.
Dear reader, I was free.
