Tuesday, November 30, 2010

I Hope I Would Walk Away from Omelas: Post for 12/2

I'm going to try something a little different for this post responding to Le Guin's The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas. It's a first-person narrative of a girl in Omelas who is exposed to the child in the closet. I don't really know if it works, but here it goes!


I am eleven. I live in Omelas. Things are nice here. I am happy. I do good in school. I like art. Mom says I am really good. I like living here. Everyone is so carefree. Everyone smiles so easily. I can't be sad while I am in Omelas.

Mom is calling me right now. She says she has something to tell me. She says she thinks I am old enough to understand. I wonder what it is. I go to find out.

I found out. Mom thought I would understand but I don't. She talks about a child in a closet. One who is only a little younger than me. One who suffers. One who has to suffer so we can be happy. I thought everyone was happy in Omelas. But not the child. The child sees no sun when I see it every day. It is starving when I am full. It is not clothed when I have clothes in my closet I never wear. Mom and Dad are taking me to see it. I don't want to go. They make me.

Horrible. I feel... compassion. I feel... pain. I feel. Guilt. The forbidden emotion. I hide it.

I am home. I cry for the child.

Why?

It has been five years since I have seen the child. Terrible. I still feel guilt. I think of the child every day. I will visit the child today.

I went. Guilt.

Today in class I got up and left. I could take it no more. I left my books. My sketchbook. I left everything. I don't go home. I walk through the city gates.

I keep walking. Will I stop? Will I turn around? Will I return to Omelas? Or do I keep going? I think of the child. I do not stop.

2 comments:

  1. I think it's really cool how you did this :) And it almost sheds light on your view of the story through this.

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  2. I really like the way your did your blog. Its very creative. I can see your view of the story through your blog post.

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