So, I had to write a Character Declaration using a poem today. It was about the Crucible and well, I really liked it. I thought I wrote it pretty well, and captured the character decently. I had to use this poem:

The houses are haunted
by white night-gowns
none are green,
or purple with green rings,
or yellow with blue rings.
None of them are strange,
with socks of lace
and beaded ceintures.
People are not going
to dream of baboons and periwinkles.
Only, here and there, an old sailor,
drunk and asleep in his boots,
catches Tigers,
in red weather.

And fit the character, and have them give a speech.

Declaration of Goody Proctor. (Speaking to John's Grave)

It's curious, isn't it John? How easily people believe. It's almost as if they wanted to believe that these houses are haunted, even though they'd known each other for years. They were shaking in their white night gowns John. They felt alone, and afraid. They now know, in their hearts, that none of them are strange, but back then, they didn't want to believe it, did they? That would mean admitting the wrongness of what has happened, and their dreams would have changed, more than they already had. People are not going to dream of baboons and periwinkles now John. They are dreaming of death and destruction, the destruction of their friends and families. None are green with envy now John. They all feel cursed by the blood that is on their hands now. They felt lost in red weather, but that weather isn't the color of autumn this time John. It's not a happy red, it's the red of blood. But those four girls – you remember them, right John? Abigail is getting married next summer. She doesn't wish to follow the usual conventions though. I overheard her, talking about her dress. She said she wants a blue one with white rings, or purple with green rings. It's almost funny, I think. These girls murdered so many people, and you died so they could live. But you weren't just dying for them, were you John? You were dying for everyone in that jail. The rich men with socks of lace, the poor girls who make their own dresses, and beaded ceintures. That was good of you John. You proved you were a good man.

But it was so selfish, John. Leaving me here, on this earth alone, while you sit at God's table and drink and sup with the Lord and His son. Or perhaps you are with the Devil, and he is mocking and jeering at you as I speak. But I don't believe that happened. You paid for all your sins in that fire, and you died for others, like His son did. That's why I think you sit at His table. You paid for your sins, and you had been so tired at the end. You were like an old sailor John, halfway between here and there. Only… I think that suited you quite well John. It made me love you all the more when you stood there, defiant, and silently burned. It made me proud to have known you, and to have been with you. But, I suppose you don't want to hear about that do you?

John. Do you remember the proctor? That kind, noble man, who tried so hard to save us? When you succeeded, he almost gave up being a priest of Our Lord. I found him one day, drunk and asleep in his boots, his eyes bloodshot. But for some odd reason, I always remember them as yellow with blue rings. Frightening, yet captivating John. It was magical. I almost felt as if him and I could run away together, run far away from this oh so miserable place. Maybe to Africa, d'you think that would be a nice place to live John? I could make clothing, he could travel and preach the word of God. Or maybe he wouldn't do that in Africa. Perhaps he could be a man who catches Tigers, silly, I know that John, but in that moment I felt like he could catch a tiger if he wanted to. He was like the embodiment of fire John. So filled with noble anger and a gleam in his eye that stared right through you.

I… I don't have much else to talk about John. Not much else has happened since you died. I just… I just don't want to let you go, I suppose. But I'll have to eventually. I'll have to move on, even if I don't want to. I think I keep coming back to practice John. Practice saying Goodbye.

Goodbye, John.

Yeah yeah, Those That chapter 6 is way late. I had to do some homework and play Skyward Sword. Writing it as we speak.