Venus Monologue
The scientists had announced that it would be today. For the first time since I had moved here, the sun would finally come out and shine it’s beams of light to the planet of Venus. I so dearly missed seeing the sun, especially when it would shyly come out from behind the clouds, and look over the world, so warm and comforting. I never really noticed how essential the sun is to us, how it immediately brings life to the moment, but now having to live seven years without it, I can't help but see what a miserable life Venus was to live in. Day after day, rain and more rain. Venision legends say, the gods were angry with us for bringing humans to the planet. They were so infuriated, they took the sun away. Only every seven years would they allow
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I get to teach an amazing group of adventurous children, and I especially love getting to tell them about the sun. Since most of them were two years old when they moved here, they had nothing but a vague memory of what the scorching fireball was like. Whenever I told them, they were so intrigued, their eyes like lost nomads, desperately searching for any memories still viable in their brains.
Well that was when Margot didn't interrupt with her own stories to share. Little Margot had only moved here five years ago when she was four, so she had a clearer picture than the others. Even though almost no one believed her, I was still jealous. It’s wrong to be jealous of a student, I know, but when she tells her stories, she’s a pistol, shooting out every detailed memory of hers that even I forgot of. Knowing and remembering the sun was my comfort. It was my like my job, but Margot always found a way to steal the spotlight with her own stories.
Even yesterday, when we were reading about the sun, and how it was a beautiful golden, lemon colour, she wrote a beautifully well-constructed poem: I think the sun is a flower, That blooms for just one hour. The kids went wild. One claimed she didn't write it. Another said she was making everything up. Either way,her poem was amazing, and as a teacher, I cannot pick favourites and
I get to teach an amazing group of adventurous children, and I especially love getting to tell them about the sun. Since most of them were two years old when they moved here, they had nothing but a vague memory of what the scorching fireball was like. Whenever I told them, they were so intrigued, their eyes like lost nomads, desperately searching for any memories still viable in their brains.
Well that was when Margot didn't interrupt with her own stories to share. Little Margot had only moved here five years ago when she was four, so she had a clearer picture than the others. Even though almost no one believed her, I was still jealous. It’s wrong to be jealous of a student, I know, but when she tells her stories, she’s a pistol, shooting out every detailed memory of hers that even I forgot of. Knowing and remembering the sun was my comfort. It was my like my job, but Margot always found a way to steal the spotlight with her own stories.
Even yesterday, when we were reading about the sun, and how it was a beautiful golden, lemon colour, she wrote a beautifully well-constructed poem: I think the sun is a flower, That blooms for just one hour. The kids went wild. One claimed she didn't write it. Another said she was making everything up. Either way,her poem was amazing, and as a teacher, I cannot pick favourites and