A Couple of Things: I wrote this a couple of weeks ago for an English assignment. I was required to write a one-page journal entry from the perspective of Hester Prynne. Writing it was an obnoxious task, but I did enjoy reading over. Bear in mind that it's supposed to be three paragraphs. I would have written more if the assignment required five or six pages, but it required me to write only one. Also, there isn't a category for The Scarlet Letter in the first place, so this is why I posted it here. With that said . . .
x Purged x
. . .
I have sinned anew, so I come to thee in repent. My lover of clumsy patience recently provided a compassionate regard for the bricks and stones of my bloated agony, and we thus contrived a slow moment of silent intimacy. Be it not for the broken magistrates of our fair Boston and their swinging declarations of inhumane severity, my relationship with this man would've tasted the bittersweet apple of my purged transgression. . . . urge after urge. Such tenderness and precious bouts of freedom stitched yet another thread to my scarlet tradition.
What started as the mark of adultery quickly molded into the shallowness of a curse that only lingered and threw its shadow over my very soul. Society, with its narrow ideals, spared me no pity. They hissed at me, and snickered at my ghostly shell like yesterday's chorus. For a lack of better words, I was their favorite outcast – the occasional word of gossip. It pained me to not confess my hatred of them, and their brats. It pained me that I haven't had the opportunity of conversation to prioritize my sanity. But most of all, it pained me to no end when they riddled themselves with hypocrisy and more sin. Haven't they learned of their own?
Moreover, it strikes great fear in me that they still praise Your name. For every crude gesture that they weave, their depiction of the merciful soul loosens and festers. It lies limp to their furrowed feathers. Such anger and vile temperament is unjust, but certainly left to be pursued. Cruelty is law, but forgiveness and love aren't to be forgotten. Sometimes, I wonder why society commits itself to the tethers of oppression. Sometimes, I wonder why I commit myself.
The scarlet letter neither has a place on my bosom nor room in my heart. It's only a memory, and a damned harsh one.