42 Maple Contemporary Art Center invited area schools to participate in the unique writing challenge offered with Craig Pursley’s body of work, “Pieces of Dreams”, featured art for the month of January 2015.
Lori Innes, English teacher from Profile School accepted the challenge, and brought her AP Languange and Composition class to the gallery to study Craig’s art, choose a painting, and write a story or poem in 500 words or less. Also in attendance, was Littleton Courier editor Darrin Wipperman. The exercise was featured in a local newspaper. Please check out our Press page to read more about the experience.
Below is one of the many stories generated by Profile high school students as a result of this experience.
Crossing the Lethe River
Her beauty blinded me, washing over me like a wave and I drowned in an ocean. Just a glimpse through a crowd is all I needed to become utterly infatuated with her. She wore a long white gown with her hair was neatly tucked behind her ears. Her face was just a blur, I was unable to make out the fine details, I needed to get closer to learn her.
As I chased her, the books, bottles, and packets that I carried flew from my grip and littered the streets. People stared at me as I spirited by, they must have thought that I was going mad. They didn’t not seen the beauty that I saw, because if they did then they too would be running at top speed through the streets of Berlin. The woman fled the square and headed toward the outskirts of town. She was moved incredibly fast, not running, more like floating.
The woman’s feet skimmed the ground as she lured me farther from the center of town. As the hustle and bustle of the tiny town faded into extincition, a new sound became audible, it echoed the woman’s beauty and grace.
“Hey, slow down, I just want to talk to you,” I gasped; my lungs were burning from his exercise. She didn’t respond, she just kept dancing between the trees and increasing the gap between her and I.
Why was I even chasing her? Was this love at first sight or am I simply going mad? My questions distracted me from my task for a fraction too long. When I came to the forest was pitch black and silent, blood had dried on my forehead, my brain felt like it was oozing from my skull. The silence was broken by the song that the woman sang. She must be near. Knowing that she was in proximity forced me to stumble to my feet. I staggered, leaning on trees for support as I wandered closer and closer to my goal.
Her song grew louder, it delighted my ears and warmed my heart. Finally, after what seemed like miles, my eyes were delighted by the sight of the woman. She stood with a lantern in hand, tittering on edge of the bridge, peering into the water abyss below.
“Get back from the ledge!” I yelled. She stayed stationary. One false move would spell death for her. She sung and stared into the pools of death nearly a hundred feet below.
“Are you okay, Miss? Can I help you?” She didn’t respond with words, instead she held out her hand, as if asking me to join her on the verge of demise. Her hand was cold as ice and paler than snow, as I joined her on the ledge her sweet song turned into a ear piercing screech. Grabbing my ears for protection threw me off balance, I hurtled down into my own demise. I finally saw the face that I sought so direly. She was death.