JH 3

Lanyon sat in a barren room

A fire burned in the sockets of

His scarred eyes

Lanyon questioned all

The madness that had occurred

Seconds ago

The more he thought

The burning spread

Throughout his

Trembling

Shaking

Pale body

Spinning and circling

His mind began to melt

Just as the fire in his eyes

Burned brighter

There was little Hyde

Little ferocious, demonic

Hyde

Smiling with the most ridiculous

Most cynical smirk

Did I want to know?

Did this mean so much?

Lanyon sat reviewing

Each and every

Possibility

Each and every possibility

Of the hell he could

Have relieved

His sacred soul from

What is wrong

With my thoughts

Contemplated the

Scarred one

As his eyes shut

Lanyon towered

Towards the floor

Lanyon felt the last

Trickle of the flames

Drip off his existence

   

JH 4

Author's Note:
I really wasn't very pleased with the ending of Jekyll and Hyde so I decided to make it my own and add a few twists. The ending should have left readers hanging..I tried to do that in my version. Enjoy! Comments are appreciated!

-Abbey

            Hyde escaped into the midnight. His clothes oversized clothes fell off his wretched body. No soul would dare to enjoy his company. His short stature, his deformed face and his hairy hands were not appealing; even to a blind eye. Edward Hyde had become a rabid beast. His sanity no longer existed. Stewing in his thoughts was the pleasure of diminishing the existence of Jekyll. He looked him in the eye and felt the doctor’s last breath drain out from his body. Serenity rushed throughout Hyde as Jekyll lay in his arms. Over powering confidence and satisfaction he had craved was finally there. All the moments he had wished to obliterate Jekyll, all came to an end. Lifeless and useless, there the corpse remained. The horror of the murder had not sunk in until Hyde awoke in a panic. Jekyll crept into the mind of Hyde whispering, “Who’s to hide behind now…Who’s to hide behind now...”.  The quiet panging of Jekyll’s voice froze him to the core. Searing, tight, maddened, hands began to wrap around Hyde’s neck. Frantically he grasped the hands like a child, and acquired the nauseating reality that the hands belonged to Jekyll. He had only been dreaming. There Hyde sat at the last street in London. Looking over his shoulder each and every monstrosity he had ever done, came back to memory. Little flutters of his life danced throughout his mind. Hyde once more took of running through what now was the mid morning. Exhaustion began to engulf his corpulent body. Hyde felt the sudden urge to return the only place he could truly remember. He arrived at a house with no windows or doors. Hyde reached into his hair and drew from it a key. Only one other individual had laid eyes on it. A rustle of leaves left Hyde sincerely worried. There little Hyde stood. 

Jekyll and Hyde writing response 1

Author’s note:

            I was really inspired by the section below of Jekyll and Hyde. The absolute beauty of this scene really made me want to put it into a very short story. I love how Stevenson added light and imagery to this. I also tried to mock a few of his sentences. Enjoy!

-Abbey

“Well, it was this way,” returned Mr. Enfield: “I was coming home from some place at the end of the world, about three o’clock of a black winter morning, and my way lay through a part of town where there was literally nothing to be seen but lamps. Street after street and all the folks asleep — street after street, all lighted up as if for a procession and all as empty as a church—till at last I got into that state of mind when a man listens and listens and begins to long for the sight of a policeman.”

            Among the endless rows of safe havens, a withered door ever so slightly opened. A young woman slipped into the shadows of the black morning. Her mind was just as frazzled as her hair. Moments of the previous evening raced through what she knew was reality. Drops of alcohol cascading down glasses, women laughing, men hollering, and warming yellow candle light livened the motions of the figurines dancing. The clang of a door slamming shutting, the feeling of immense pain shooting throughout her fragile body, weight being thrusted upon her, and the faint memory vanished. Walking down the never ending street, there was nothing to be seen but lamps. Brick after brick followed her after each footstep. Processing down the isle of the boulevard, each member of the town was asleep in their beds. Brick after brick, her path was lighted up as though it was for a procession but as empty as the home she would return to. She stopped for a moment to listen. To listen for something more; as though someone was hiding in the crevices between buildings. The dazed world that lay before her eyes had stopped moving. There was not even a flutter of wind dancing in the air, not even a mouse scurrying home, not even a clatter from inside a home. The young woman laid down in the middle of the road. She breathed in the smell of the earthy bricks and looked at her body. She had forgotten her shoes at the party, her chest ached, her dress had been mangled to some degree, and her legs had patches of bruises. Lingering on her skin was the scent of a man’s cologne. A drum began beating within her head. The beating became incessant and traveled to her heart. Each and every action of the night had flooded her body. Something wanted to be released. Something trapped in side her human soul craved to enter another world. Springing up from the cold ground she had been laying on, the woman ran. She ran to her dingy house at the edge of town. Plunging into her bed, the young woman was finally at ease. Beat after beat grew lesser each time and breath by breath it had escaped. Her innocent, terrorized soul was set free into the mid morning light.

Jekyll and Hyde writing response 2

The Fog

A man stood

Looking at a mirror

His once rosy face

Had grown unsunned

The mirror stared

Back into his solemn eyes

A hazed fog

Wrapped around his ankles

The sun had

Yet to flourish

The sun had

Chosen to hide

Warped into the fog

A cold hand swiftly

Circled his body

Sinister carbuncles

Began to boil

Under his flesh

Looking once more

At the reflection that lay before him

He felt the earth

Roll on around him

That mirror

That mirror elicited

A feeling of great madness

Inevitable prolonged negligence

Stared back at him

All the gaiety he had once known

Was gone

 His eyes burned

As well as his flesh

Something was not right

Something was not right

At all

The fog seeped into

His frowning mouth

It began to suffocate him

The image that glared back at him

Continued to haunt his

Eyes

The man ran as fast

As his legs would carry him

However he could only see

One small thing

Through the almost blinding

Fog

A short man hunched over

Leaning against the lamp post

Staring back at him

He closed his eyes

Falling to the ground

He went down

Down

Down

He opened his eyes

Rising above

He went up, up

And away

Everything that had just happened

Overwhelmed his body

Two people were tugging at him

One side was pulling up

And the other, pulling down

The man in the mirror

Screamed stop

The person pulling down halted

To the sound of his plea

Good bye demon

the fog whispered