This is supposed to be a vignette modeled after the chapter "Hairs" in The House on Mango Street by Sandra Cisneros. I don't really like it, but it's still kind of good. I sort of cropped it when I originally wrote it so it would fit on one page.
This is supposed to be a vignette modeled after the chapter "Hairs" in The House on Mango Street by Sandra Cisneros. I don't really like it, but it's still kind of good. I sort of cropped it when I originally wrote it so it would fit on one page.Voices. My family’s voices are like a choir, some voices singing solos, some singing in unison, and others just singing background. My father’s voice is even, not high pitched, but not too deep. Whether he is happy or sad, his voice does not change all that much. It stays calm and steady, like a lake on a windless day. My brother’s voice is a lot like my father’s. It has many of the same opinions, but I think a bit of my mother is in his voice because his voice has more emotions and pitches. His voice is the boat riding in the calm water, barely rocking back and forth in the slight current.
My mother’s voice is often a lot softer than the boys’ voices. It is the hug she gives you when she is happy, her raised eyebrows when she’s surprised, and yet it can still be like steel when she is angry. Her voice is the waves of the sea, rising up and crashing down with each different emotion and mood, each tide and form of weather.
My voice, however, is unique. My voice is often quiet, staying in the background, afraid to show itself because it might get hurt, but sometimes my voice will come out, loud and proud, to voice an opinion, make a suggestion or correction, or just to joke around. Around friends, my voice is laughter. Around family, my voice is calm. Around strangers, my voice is quiet. But when I am by myself, when I am by myself my voice is the ship on the ocean, its sails full of wind, ready to travel into uncharted waters, free.