The Story

My assignment was to translate a story from one medium to another. The idea for my example of this translation is that of Literary Deconstruction, my goal; to write a story which would appeal to all who read it.


Please remember, that the following story has but one interpretation. For those who understand Literary Deconstruction, know that the meaning you find in this story was intentional.


Jeremiah Black, from a country town, wondered upon a city.
This city was bright, beautiful-like, and seemed to welcome ya home.
So good ol' Jeremiah, kept on awandering, till he ran into man who called himself, Mr. White.
A tall young man, a touch of a lanky type, who asked him, "May I help you?"

So Jeremiah, being a good country boy, answered, "Ya sure could,"
Ignoring the expression which crossed White's face, "I'm a new 'round here."
"Ahm," he sniffs, kind of like ol Lucas at home, that is until he sees a cat,
Then of like a shot, ol Lucas goes, on all four furry legs, just a blur sprinting past ya head.
"I can help you," he remarks, a odd look in his eye,
"Of course i can help you, its just you haven't said what your looking for."
Jeremiah, kind of slow a mite, realizes what he forgotten to say,
"Oh, why i apologize to ya. I did done forgot to think of a destination."
"I see," he responds, while he seems to be trying to sniff something in the air.
"I would suggest you go back home, i don't think your ready to be here."
Then without ado, he turned on around, and sauntered on down  the road.
"A mite odd, that fella. Oh well, he's probably right. Anyways, i'ma over due at home for meal time."
So ol Jeremiah, went on home, to his family and animals and friends.
And to this here day, ol Jeremiah Black, don't remember where that city had been.
He looked often, till he got tired one day and gave up for good that city.

All Beautiful-like and brilliant and bright, yet lost now in his wanderings.
So resigned did he, to his days at the plow, working on his family's plot.
Plantations were fine, compared to where he begun, so who is he to start complaining.
Yet that ol city, never left him alone, till the day he died.
Tis almost like a dream, maybe a vision meant for him, ya know the strange things some folk see.
But, ol Jeremiah Black, went on home, to live out his, where he chose to be.