Literary Journal - The Muse - Dominican Academy

She makes me feel like a hero and that is what I need to
feel right now. “Pheebs” I whisper. “Holden?”
Thoughts of a Puritan Woman
Allison Scacalossi
`I want to go, to follow that bright star shining above our archaic hearth, to
fall into the trance that continually attracts my attention. I want to be part of that
non-existent world, but I cannot reach it in this state. For I am only sleeping, I
envy those who have already woken up. Who knows what this shattering life will
bring, except to lead me from one dream world to the next, both non-existent, real
and unreal at the same time. Who‟s to say we shall ever wake up? Perhaps it has
been a dream within a dream? Who knows how long we must persist, to wipe away
the crust that forms a barrier over are shut eyelids, forbidding us from getting a
view of the world with our own eyes. We are always looking through the same
small telescope, turned to the end where we can only see what‟s directly in front of
us, blind to all else.
Wake me from this nightmare, where sin runs the world, where chaos is
ever-present, where broken hearts spill their blood and lost souls scream their
songs of pain. That gut-wrenching cry! The tearing of hair! Why must the world
suffer so? She cries tears of fire, planning to consume the earth and swallow it
whole. Will we then wake up? Will the crust disappear from our closed lids, and
will the nightmare of the dream become a distant memory? I dare not hope any
more than necessary. For we live off of that small hope, that small seed gnawing
on our insides, reminding us to look on the bright side of everything. Knowing that
there will always be a tomorrow. Tomorrow, you say? I see no tomorrow, only an
endless today. Until the day when God hand-plucks you from this graveyard shall
you be forever mourning, forever causing pain and receiving pain, forever forgiving
and being forgiven, forever hungry and thirsty, forever part sinful, part good.
Thrust into a realm where sin feeds off everyone, fat and yet still hungry, never
satisfied with its daily portions, expanding towards every living and nonliving thing
on this earth. How are we to drink the water of morality? How are we to be fed by
the grains of truth, when they do not even exist? We live in a fake world- a world
full of evil and lust and agony, where the good ones get squashed out like granny‟s
pumpkin pie, like a fly on the end of a fly swatter. Truth, you say? Alas, I see no
truth, only lies laced with the vines of persuasion, attaching itself onto our wrist,
crawling up our arms, tightening itself in a death-like grip, never to let go. The