Scene: Old Woman Sitting in A Dark, Dreary Room
Scene: Old Woman Sitting in A Dark, Dreary Room
The door slowly creaks open, as if ashamed to reveal the contents of the small room. The
air is dank and musty and the overpowering stench of stale urine permeates the atmosphere. The
four walls are bare with peeling yellow paint and foundation cracks crisscross like veins. A sliver
of light hesitantly emerges from the small, lone window, playing peek-a-boo through the tattered
window curtain, revealing dust particles dancing in the air. A lonely couch sits to the far right
corner while a narrow bed, draped in pale blue, thread-bare sheet stands in the centre of the
room. The unmistakable squeaking of mice can be heard as creatures scurry from one corner to
the next. The ceiling fan spins unenthusiastically, periodically complaining with a loud creak
while it sweeps the stale air from corner to corner.
One can see that the room had initially been a thing of beauty for, though worn and
withered, the antique table and matching chair to the far left were made of walnut wood and the
carpet, once a vibrant, lush green is now a pale shadow of its former self. The intricately carved
iron bed frame is now rusty and tired. The atmosphere is rife with suffering and decay and this is
perhaps most evident on the face of the lone occupant of the room.
The rhythmic creaking of the weary, rocking chair as it struggles to support its tenant can
be heard throughout the room. She sits with slumped shoulders which are lovingly embraced by
a soft, red silk pashmena (shawl). Gnarly wrinkled fingers, stooped with age clutch the shawl
even closer, perhaps like a mother clutches a young child, a drowning man clutches a rope, a
dying man clutches hope. Her withered face blends almost perfectly with her surroundings.
A gust of wind blows through the open window and the curtain billows in the air as if just
set free. The room is suddenly bathed in a soft, golden light. She stops for a moment and tilts her
head, allowing the sunshine and the delicate scent of jasmine to bathe her wrinkled, tear stained
cheeks. At the sound of the shrill laughter of the neighbourhood children, a hesitant smile is
pulled from chapped lips and one can almost see the beauty she had once been. But, just as
quickly, the laughter fades, the fragrance loses its battle and the dank odour reclaims its throne.
The sun retreats and almost cruelly resumes its little game. The creatures are unaffected and
continue on their daily routine and the rocking chair continues its laborious journey as its
occupant once again blends into the darkness.
Atmosphere dreary, depressing, desolate, hopelessness (even light, colour, fragrance cannot
challenge darkness)
Senses sight colour, smell, hearing
Figures of speech personification fan complaining, weary rocking chair, fragrance and
stench fighting
Everything ties in with the mood dreary room, withered furniture/woman