Too busy to post, but here's a joke:

WE WERE SUPPOSED TO WRITE A 200-WORD ACCOUNT OF A PART OF WIDE SARGASSO SEA FROM TIA'S POINT OF VIEW (the dress-stealing part) AND I WROTE A THOUSAND-WORD LONG ESSAY.

After shortening, 960 words: (Note: maybe it's a good idea to skip this blog post)

At first, I refused to take notice of the insults that came upon me when the villagers saw that I had made a new friend – Antoinette, or the “white cockroach”, as she was infamously known. I was her first true friend, and she was mine. I was not a part of the group of friends in school – I felt insecure with my poorness around the tall, pretty girls flirting with the big boys. Antoinette was a victim of verbal bully and I was one of insecurity – we understood each other perfectly. We bathed and ate together – she was the only one to whom I was not afraid to reveal that I never wore underclothes; my mother had rather spend the little money we had on other essentials. My dresses were never as clean or neat as hers, but around her I felt acceptance.

The taunts and jeers towards her and me as her friend never stopped. I ignored the nasty mocking by the girls in school, but many a time I would valiantly defend my new friend. I knew Antoinette better than them and she was not the pathetically disgusting dog they made her out to be. She did not seem as poor as they said – she with her pretty, white dress beside my stained, torn ones. She was not of filth. She was a nice girl and a great friend – or so I thought. Our new friendship was as fresh as the clear water we played in; as special as the striped pebbles in the lake; as beautiful the dark green leaves of the trees we slept under at midday. But even the leaves abandon the trees in autumn.

I left the house to meet Antoinette in the morning feeling moody. I had not eaten dinner the previous day – Mummy did not have the money. We need to save everything we’ve got, I was told. Because Mummy was busy, my torn dress went unwashed, reeking with poverty. Antoinette was in her spotless, white dress, starched and freshly ironed. My mood only worsened. That white-black girl and her pretty dress. A few coins dropped out of her pocket. They glistened like gold in the morning sun. I could not understand why the people thought she was poor. Antoinette was a carefree girl, seemed to be unfazed by the insults that came our way when we were together and probably really was not that poor. Lucky Antoinette. Now she was displaying her coins to me on a stone. I thought about my family having gone without meals. That lucky girl; maybe she didn’t realize how fortunate she was as compared to a poor girl like me. Maybe she even found herself deserving of pity because of the never-ending insults hurled upon her. That pathetic-looking, self-pitying, lucky white cockroach with the nice dresses and glistening gold coins.

“Bet you three of the pennies you can’t turn a somersault underwater like you say you can”. She used to brag about it but the proof had yet to be seen. I needed the money more than her anyway. “Bet you all the money I can,” she ended up saying indignantly as I continued to doubt her ability. I smiled.

That wasn’t a somersault, that was a pathetic attempt; she needed to learn her lesson and improve before continuing to brag about it. Besides, pennies weren’t worth much anyway and she could do without them, but I didn’t want to continue going hungry. The girl gave me a glare. I scowled. If only she knew what I was going through and that I needed the money more than her. I wouldn’t reveal it to her, though; my pride wouldn’t let me now.

“Keep them then, you cheating nigger. I can get more if I want to.”

Here I was, hungry from not being able to afford dinner yesterday and dirty in my torn dress, and my supposed best friend had called me a cheat and said she could get more money if she wanted. The filthy white nigger, the one the whole village hated, would not understand, because she was richer than we thought and not as pathetic as she was made out to me. She thought she was pitiful but at least she could afford meals everyday. She wouldn’t understand the insecurity I was dealing with, the secret suffering I was facing. To think I used to boldly defend this girl. Did she even know about the insults I received for being her friend and how I fought back when they talked about her? She was ungrateful.

In a rage, I poured out everything the villagers said about them being poor. They were like beggars, having no money for fresh fish, being unable to repair the holes in the roof of that old house. Nobody came near the poor, filthy white niggers. I shouted a storm. I wanted this girl to know what it felt like to be poor. Like me. If only she knew half of my problems. I wanted her to feel hated, insecure, desperately poor like they said – because then would she understand my silent cries. This ungrateful girl.

As I turned my back on her to leave, that annoyingly clean white dress of hers caught my eye again. She didn’t deserve it, that girl of such a filthy character. Without a second thought, I took it and put it on. Now I was the rich girl.

The morning sun shone on me and my new white dress gleamed. I was pretty now; me and the pretty white dress – I was a princess. The dress was mine. It was never hers – it was too beautiful for someone so ugly inside. I should’ve listened when they spat insults at the white nigger.