Alex+Wahl+and+Kelsey+Coulter

The Mother’s Tale Taken was my daughter[1], nine years of age, who resided for three years in a cage of rusted silver and firm iron chains. I’ll never know of her weeping and pain You agree this is not an upbringing, for a child who should be singing, laughing and dancing, having not one care?[2] A child is pure joy.[3] And anywhere one looks, they will always find fulfillment in raising and protecting an infant.[4] In a mere four hours, my heart and my   soul and my body was weak. Now, I sigh thinking of the days I went without a   daughter, but now I can tell this and simply pray you never encounter such distress. So   the following is my sorrowful woe. I shall begin this story with a man. One quite ordinary who promptly ran the local music department in town and trained my Amber in violin down on Stem Avenue. And each thursday night she would return home on foot with insight on a euphoric, graceful melody. He saw these songs served as her remedy, her form of artistic expression and her fine teacher, Mr. Ronny would stand in the studio, Amber, confident as a Redwood[5], her practice evident. It was early november, leaves falling and the sense of nighttime was appalling. The chestnut clock struck the hour of eight; it was unlike my Amber to be late for supper. The beat of my heart quickened, the clock now struck nine and I was sickened. Amber, so young and innocent she was, where could she be, my brain began to buzz. Maybe she stayed late to work on her craft, surely that must be what happened. I laughed. I soon grew impatient, worried was I too, of course what else is a mother to do?[6] I decided I must travel to Stem Ave., hoping to find my beautiful gem. abandoned was the music department, I looked for her things in her compartment. Nothing had been taken, so where was my   daughter? Then a small pink bow caught my eye. Amber had been wearing it in her hair, tears rushed to my eyes, why was the bow there?[7] Mr. Ronny had been the last person with her. This thought caused my mood to worsen. It couldn’t be, he wouldn’t do such a   thing. I was distraught and filled with dismay. I ran seeking help, but it was half past nine. Through the streets I continued aghast. At last I came to came to man who I knew. I asked him questions, he had not a clue what had happened to Amber. The police were far from our house; the pain did not cease. Slow, sunken, stiff, and in shock[8], I walked back to my home, defeated and with a lack of knowledge of what happened to my   girl. I sat in darkness wondering “Why”? At this point in my story I will pause and examine the one most accurate cause of my depression for the proceeding ten months that had no trouble succeeding in bringing me to a dreadful state. It   was the unknowing that forced me to sit in my lonely hall and pray for Amber. Was it really he who truly had her? Ten months and one day from that dreadful night, Amber came home, a home of love and light[9] But the events in which she endured for ten months are where this tale begins for sure. “Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?”[10] they asked the booth where Amber was seated in the court room. A long-haired stout woman said “I assume you understand what that means Ms. Gertin.” “Yes ma’am,” she responded. I was certain she was nervous and afraid. Her final claim: “I was just part of Mr. Ronny’s game. He needed me to keep quiet or I   would wake the new puppy and make her cry. The chains were to make my arms much stronger so I could play my violin longer. He said this was how all of the greats became better. Soon enough I would have same skill level as Tartini or Elman. To become famous and rich was the plan.” And so Mr. Ronny went off to jail, surely that is not the end of my tale. Amber had changed while imprisoned him. She was more quiet, and her face looked grim. She spent all day playing her violin it seemed as if the wood fused to her chin.[11] She became disobedient, and cruel, That evil man turned her into a fool. And so as the days past my thoughts did roam, I soon wished that she had never come home.

[1] periodic sentence [2] appeal to pathos [3] varied sentence length [4] extended metaphor [5] simile [6] appeal to ethos [7] rhetorical question [8] alliteration [9] anadiplosis [10] epistrophe [11] imagery