“Lemon tree, bumble-bee, lavender, sage;
A pair of brown hunting dogs led by a page;
Sunshine and winter fields covered in snow
These are the pictures my needle will show.
Flowers and children, white picket fences;
Summer to autumn, filling my senses;
Sunshine and winter fields covered in snow
These are the pictures my needle will show.”
She sang this over and over reminiscing, letting the needle guide her into a different time. She repeated this melodramatic act each day, from morning until noon when it became time for her afternoon nap. Today was nothing different except she was gradually moving further and further back into her memory, transforming into the person she once was, the child she had once been that no longer existed. A cool …show more content…
That was what most of the children did on Melville Island, they sulked, they cried, they missed their family as well as questioned who they were. Only to eventually harden, both emotionally and physically, leaving behind the children they once were. Marlee was no exception and bared this same fate. There was the Marlee that ran for her life before being taken to the island, and then there was the Marlee who was put in a foster home, the one who sat quietly and did as she was told, the one who became more of an obedient servant than a child. The one who behind closed doors was dying on the inside, the one who had no fight left within her, the one with nothing left to fight for. She was stripped of her identity, stripped of her childhood and mentally scarred for the remainder of her …show more content…
The highlight yellow intricate detailing of the wallpaper, gradually becoming an emerald green and fading into a sky blue then back into highlight yellow. No solace in this empty room, imprisoned with her thoughts and memories, the ones that will continue to haunt her until the end, this was the reality she faced. She had once wished that it had been her whom the children were burying, at least that would have been the end of her battle, the end of her pain. This was the struggle, the real struggle of being part of a mission. The true pain that children like Marlee faced after being taken, their lives stolen from them and torn up into shreds, leaving them damaged and