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Lizzie Borden Through the Looking Glass

18 Oct

Bit of news:   I don’t know why but my blog has been listed with George Mason University History News Network in the U.S. History category.  Anyway, it was a pleasant surprise.

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mbgrigbyFrom mbgrigby on Flicker

Here’s a very imaginative take on Lizzie Borden.  It took me a while to realize where the writer was going with this – but soon I was hooked and wanting more.

Below is the beginning of this piece, but you can read all of it at Rivka Jacobs contribution to the Elephant Words blog HERE.

“Lizbeth was irritated and restless. She flipped up the gold watch that hung from a pin attached to the blue satin of her bodice. It was after ten in the evening, and her husband was not yet home.

She gathered her skirt in one hand and turned away from the white front door flanked by glass sidelights. As she walked by the staircase, she put her free hand briefly on the handrail turnout that began or ended the banister that curved up to the second floor.

Lizbeth entered the sitting room and paused. Her full mouth drew together, then abruptly stretched into a grimace as she felt an overwhelming sense of hopelessness and pain. It was the same sitting room it had always been, with its cheap-looking dark carpet covered with pastel flowers. The wallpaper’s busy floral design gave her a headache. The sparse furnishings were old-fashioned and uncomfortable. She glanced at the worn plush fabric of the only sofa in the room, and the picture hanging on the wall above it. “I hate you,” she said to everyone and every thing.

Lizbeth continued into the kitchen — it was humid and gloomy. The out-of-date stove was cold.  The place smelled of fresh scrubbing and stored onions and old meat. Their housekeeper, Bridget Sullivan, had tidied up for the night and gone up the back stairs to her attic room. There was an eerie silence now, a muffling pall that sank down and spread over Lizbeth’s senses. She closed her eyes a moment, trying to steady herself, hoping her strenuous emotions wouldn’t lead to another spell. She found an oil lamp sitting on top of the pie safe, retrieved a match, adjusted her wick and lit it. A wavering glow leaped up around her, casting bent and peculiar shadows. Her husband thought it self-indulgent and wasteful to use lamps after nightfall in the summer, but he wasn’t home, and Lizbeth didn’t want to be alone in the dark.”

– continued at blogsite (click on link above)

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Posted by on October 18, 2009 in Literature & Literati, Time Portals

 

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