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On Thoughts Of Mrs. Reed

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    Despicable.      That's all I see when I notice Mrs. Reed's eyes on me. She's despicable. She sees me as despicable. To her, I am nothing but a prickly thorn in her side. A dirty stain in her perfect life. A black sheep bleatinng pathetically while she daintily cares for her own children. And I paid no mind.     I suppose saying that I paid no mind would be inaccurate. I did mind the impartiality. I did mind the unfair and unjust treatment that I so often received while living in Gateshead. It almost drove me to madness and my mind was plagued with thoughts of falling into an eternal sleep. How delightful, how tempting it even sounds now.     There were many incidents against her that I could've spoken about. But the indignation and the humiliation I faced overflowed and broke a carefully constructed dam inside me.      Let us go back to the previous post on Mr. Brocklehurst. I briefly mentioned of being falsely accused of being a liar and Mr. Brocklehurst had the r
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On Thoughts Of Mr. Brocklehurst

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    Quite gullible and terrible. That's all I can say about Mr. Brocklehurst. Though, between the timid, orphaned girl that I was and the seemingly reliable character of Mrs. Reed, it doesn't take a genius to know which one looked more believable.     Still, I found it laughable. Was the esteemed Mr. Brocklehurst that imperceptive to not know how apprehensive I was feeling? Did he perhaps think I was pretending? No wonder he got along so well with Mrs. Reed; birds of the same feather flock together.     Although, I cannot always be gloomy today. I think, and I cautiously hope for, that I will soon leave Gateshead. There is talk of putting me in a girl's school in Lowood. That would be a wonderfully timed escape, as the torment of the Reed children have gotten particularly awful (no doubt on the orders of Mrs. Reed). I don't even care if every teacher in the school is like Mr. Brocklehurst; as long as I get out of here, I'll go anywhere.     Fortunately, I wasn't
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On Thoughts Of The Reed Children (Mostly John Reed)

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      If there's one thing I hate the most in this world, it is ignorance. Ignorance of any kind irks me to death. Especially if it's coming from two certain sisters. I'm sure my future self perfectly knows whom I'm referring to but in the unlikely case she should ever forget, I'll give a reminder.      Eliza and Georgiana Reed always turn a blind eye to the wrath of their brother. Indeed, it wouldn't be far off to say they must hold some sort of loathing for him as well. But their loathing pales in comparison to mine. If John Reed was out of the picture, perhaps I would not have hated Elize and Georgiana as much as I do. But, alas, John Reed is in the picture and my antipathy has not decreased in the  slightest .      Cursing, beating, belting, shouting, mocking, taunting. I could fit so much more. I remember not a single second where I wouldn't duck in fear, wouldn't shake whenever there was a mere mention of his name. There were times I would try and
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On Thoughts Of The Red Room

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    Sometimes, I wonder what goes on in that dainty little head of Mrs. Reed's. With a face that is frosty, it's a wonder how anyone manages to stand her presence without being chilled from head to toe.     Ah, in hindsight, I'm mistaken. It is no much of a wonder how people can stand Mrs. Reed more than it is as to why her hatred of me is so great. Her own children never quiver in fear of being  unjustly rebuked day in and day out and neither do they fear that their meals will be taken away just because you haven't been "sociable" or "cheery" or "childlike" enough. Her servants don't have to worry about getting sent away when they're so adept at their work. Her life is as comfortable as it could be; and then there's me. A prickly thorn in her side, a splash of ugliness in the life that she meticulously tried to maintain after the loss of her husband. I suppose I do feel a little pity for her husband but it's mostly for myse
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