Ultimately James began to think of Puberty. Puberty, that relentless beast with the blood red eyes who lives within each individual. The reserved one who lives in the open, waiting for its unexpected victims. What need has Puberty for a disguise and what resistance can face it? It overlooks the world, invisible to all. Crouches intently and motionless for years by the tree with its claws drawn back, waiting for a signal to pounce. Been crouching before there was a when, only staying with each victim briefly. He was likely going to have to find some oil for the squeaky door. He was reluctant yet excited. Unfortunate Chris! He should not be the only one to experience this! He had a plethora of options to help the youngin', but he refused. They told him it was a cycle, repetition, but they had forgotten how it felt. It would be okay once he oiled the squeaky door. That's all that was broken. That's all that was necessary. But the tree outside begged for water. Even if he had, time had turned their backs on them. It had changed the landscape for the rest of eternity. It just crouched by the tree and waited. Water, the patient instigator, had escaped once again.
To match Hurston's writing style, I used (besides the same sentence structure) personification, ambiguity and varied my choice of verbs and nouns. I attempted to hit on the motifs of trees and circles.
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| I WHIP MY EARS BACK 'N' FORTH. |
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