5 Category 5: Creative Writing
Chloe Xiong; Maddy Sherry; Tehani Huntsman; and Trinity Mertz
Hall’s Sentencing
Awarded to Chloe Xiong for work submitted in Fall 2025 to Kathleen Therrien in ENGL 2030: Experience of Literature
Marian stands after her emotional speech, tears brimming in her eyes as she stares into the darkness in front of her. She sneaks in a tear or two after reminiscing of her human life. The wind from the dark swooshes, and all heads snap to the door on the right, labeled “Heaven”. The wind flies by the lantern outside, and the flame lights up. She steps forward, enters, and the door shuts closed with a loud bang. All goes quiet before Hall stands up next from the creaky, plastic chairs. The chairs were lined up in two rows at the bottom of the upper level. Shane, Sonny, and Montresor sit spread out within these rows as they watch him stand. Hall walks up the steps and onto the flat platform. He stops in front of the entrance of the open shrine; all eyes focus on him. The concrete pillars shoot all the way up above them, making the four men look miniscule in comparison. In the center, darkness awaits Hall’s next move. He takes a deep breath, then exhales. A sudden eerie, ominous feeling surrounds the dull chamber. The wind slows down as Hall stills.
“I’m here today to discuss my sins. I feel as though I didn’t do any wrong, but I will admit a few things,” he starts. The last remaining people, Shane, Sonny, and Montresor, sit back, listening to his slightly awkward yet vengeful tone.
“Did I throw cans at rats? Maybe,” he pauses. “Did I…somehow lead my supervisor down into a rat-infested basement and kill him? Maybe,” he remarks. “I admit I did it on purpose…but my supervisor was insufferable. He made all of us do the work he didn’t want to do. I did what anyone else would’ve done under those circumstances. He would’ve replaced me if he wanted to. I did what I had to do. As for those rats…well, they were…a nuisance. I had nothing to do but hit those little rodents with cans. They probably didn’t even know what hit them at the time. They’re just rats…who cares?”
As Hall speaks, Shane sat still, thinking. Suddenly, he stands up and walks up the steps, approaching Hall.
“You killed your supervisor?” Shane’s voice cuts through. Hall spins around in surprise at the man’s sudden appearance. Hall puffs out his chest slightly. Hall looks Shane up and down before speaking. Hall starts to feel threatened; who was he to say what he felt?
“You wouldn’t get it. He sent all of us down there to die. You weren’t there to experience his wrath. Shane, was it? Listen, you don’t understand the shit he put us through.”
“I’ve seen men that deserve killing, but it’s not the same as wanting them dead.”
“Does it really matter if it gets mixed up, though?”
“You shouldn’t let that happen. That’s the part that gets you-“
“We’re dead already! Why does it matter—”
Shane suddenly takes ahold of Hall’s collar, gripping it firmly, but just enough for Hall to pull away. Shane puts his mouth right next to Hall’s ear.
“Listen, I’m not trying to judge you; I’m here to make sure you didn’t throw your life away. You aren’t getting through those pearly gates without some humility. I don’t want to see another man fall.” Shane’s smooth voice cuts through the slight breeze. The wind picks up, swirling through the darkness that waits for Hall’s confession. A chill runs down Hall’s spine, but he doesn’t falter.
“It was justified. You don’t understand.” Hall repeats. His eyebrows furrow. Shane clears his throat and takes a step back. He repositions his hat. Hall pats his shirt down and scoffs.
“I don’t understand what you’re trying to do, seriously. I don’t need your help, cowboy. I’ve made it this far by myself.”
Montresor’s face lights up and he suddenly pops up from his seat. He runs up the steps and stands right beside Shane, hands clasped behind his back as he faces Hall, almost cunningly. He circles him, analyzing him from head to toe. He stops right beside him, satisfied.
“Must I say, you, are remarkably clever! Were it not for your audacity, I might never have been moved to perform such acts against those who slight me…but! I see, you are just as worthy as I,” Montresor exclaims. He grins and looks around at the two, then down at Sonny.
“What? Have none of you witnessed such cheer as mine?” Montresor murmurs, gesturing to himself expressively. “This young man proves himself capable. Your enthusiasm is remarkable. Even in the shadows, one may find a companion worthy of…certain measures against those who offend us. He is akin to me. We stand on the same plane.” Montresor grins, and Hall walks back to the row of chairs, sitting right in the middle of the group. Shane follows down the steps with Montresor closely behind.
“You there?” Hall points to Sonny, hand slightly shaking. Sonny looks distraught and almost panicked.
“Me? What about me?”
“Do you think I deserve to go to Hell for what I did?”
“Hell? I mean…what were your circumstances?”
“My circumstances?” Hall scoffs. “I had a sick supervisor who wanted that mill’s basement to be cleaned by me and the others. He wanted nothing to do with us. He gave us the dirty work. I only did it because, hell, he was trying to kill us. He tried leading us down into that basement with millions of rats. I was technically doing it out of self-defense. He deserved it. God, and those stupid rats. I threw cans at them out of boredom; they’re just rats after all.”
Everyone stands still, not knowing what to say. Shane breaks the silence with a sigh and stands in front of Sonny, blocking him from Hall’s view.
“Look, Hall. You’ve got a choice. Stand up and do what’s right for you and the people you’ve wronged.”
“Listen, cowboy, let me say what I want to the darkness and let them decide for me. What’s with you? I don’t even know you and you don’t know me. We don’t know each other, so lay off. The darkness will decide for me; not you or anyone here!” The veins in his neck pop out, teeth grinding in annoyance.
“I don’t think you deserve Hell, Hall,” Sonny says softly after some thought, standing up. “I’ve felt that way about my own town… like I was trapped, like there was no way out. That’s why music spoke to me. It gave me a breath when the walls were closing in. Maybe…if you had another way, you wouldn’t have had to hurt them. You wouldn’t have had to lead your supervisor into that basement. You wouldn’t have had to kill those rats and throw cans at them. But… I don’t think you thought about them. About the rats’ homes. About the life they were trying to live,” he pauses, letting the words hang in the air. He stands up and approaches Hall, pacing back and forth as he thinks.
“I’m from a rundown place, Hall. It took me years to find my footing, to figure out where I truly belonged. Music…it saved my relationship with my brother. It helped us understand each other. My brother was really…close-minded you could say. He used to go about things a certain way. If it wasn’t his way…he wouldn’t understand. But when I had the chance to show him what I loved, he understood.” he continues.
“Those rats…and Warwick…they didn’t deserve what happened. Maybe survival demanded it…but sometimes…a community…any kind of community, is all a living thing needs.”
“He’s right,” Shane affirms. “I’ve seen men take the wrong path because of their stubborn nature. Even I put people in their place.”
“Don’t go preaching on me,” Hall cuts him off. “There was no other way out! That’s what none of you understand. I was stuck in that hellhole.”
He suddenly points to Montresor: “You there, you understand me, right? What, didn’t you also kill someone? Buried them alive, because they wronged you, correct?”
“Ah…You’ve perceived me correctly. Poor Fortunato…If he had not slighted my family, he might yet walk the earth. Mr. Hall…your courage….resonates with I,” Montresor grins.
“He understands me! Neither of you do,” Hall sighs, pinching his nose bridge.
“Hall, I’m not judging. I already said that” Shane murmurs. “We are confessing our sins in this chamber. The point is not to list them. The point is to face it. What’s done is done. If you acknowledge, that’s the only way to move forward.” Shane tilts his head towards the door labeled “Heaven”.
“There’s nothing you can do to change my fate. Whether it be my acknowledgement or not. I did what I did. I feel no remorse,” Hall confidently remarks.
“You’re just misunderstood. I know how you feel-” Sonny murmurs.
“I don’t need to hear another sob story, Sonny.” Hall cuts him off.
“Hall, if you end up going to Hell, was it all worth it? Killing your supervisor? Throwing cans at those rats? Did it get you what you really wanted?” Shane questions, his voice confidently striking through everyone. He waits for Hall’s answer in silence as the tension between them rises with every second.
“You’ve got to understand what you’ve done,” Shane responds softly. “No one’s asking you to justify. Just to acknowledge. Just to see other perspectives.”
“It’s not that easy. I hated that mill. Warwick knew nothing about who I was, who any of us were. He didn’t care if we lived or died. He just didn’t want the mill to die. But, oh I let him know that I knew about the circumstances of that dirty mill. That’s why he let me bring him down there. I blackmailed him. If he just cared maybe he wouldn’t have died.”
“What about those rats? They were alive too. And Warwick…You were selfish, Hall. You were thinking on your own. Do you finally see? It was never about revenge, you acted through anger,” Shane confirms softly.
“That is an interesting proposition, though I cannot but note its shortcomings,” Montresor butts in. “Poor Fortunato…if he had not insulted my family…Oh, justice takes its own precise form.”
“Montresor, what if you misunderstood Fortunato? Did you talk to him before acting? You felt attacked, and so you did what you thought was right. Hall, you did what you thought was right. But, Hall, for you to make it, you’ve got to understand others,” Shane replies.
“Shane has a point. You see, my brother never understood me until he truly saw the way I played piano. He heard, he listened and understood me. He supported me. Hall, maybe you were just missing something, a base for your relationship with your supervisor. Even though he didn’t seem like the greatest guy, you should still try to understand his flaws and point of view. He’s a dead man now. The most you can do is empathize,” Sonny responds carefully.
Hall stands there, fists clenched. Something flickers behind his eyes, almost like the walls he’s been building up were crumbling. Shane and Sonny stand beside each other while Montresor sits back down on his chair, lost in thought after Shane’s comment. The three men stand a few feet away from Hall, keeping their distance from the almost-explosive Hall. Hall sighs and puts his hands behind his head, pacing back and forth in thought.
“Okay, I get it, alright? I get it. What do I do next then? Tell the darkness that I feel bad? You can’t change your fate here. The darkness will truly know how I feel about the whole thing-“
“Shouldn’t this be for yourself, though? Even if you don’t get it fully now, once you start talking, it’ll make sense,” Sonny responds. “It took a while for my brother to understand me too, but look Hall, you’re one step closer to acknowledging your faults. Get those emotions out, then you’ll realize.”
Hall stops and sighs, “What, I just start venting to the darkness?”
“It doesn’t hurt to try.”
Hall sighs again. He runs his hand through his hair and gets up from his chair. He weaves through the chairs and walks back up the steps, almost defeated. Shane, Sonny, and Montresor sit back and watch him. Shane’s body tenses up as Hall speaks, Sonny’s eyes blurring as he gazes at the darkness in front of him, and Montresor sits back with proper posture.
“I-I believe, what I did to Warrick was…wrong. Do I still believe it was self-defense? Yes, but do I believe what I did was still…wrong…?” He hesitates, “Yes,” he sighs. “What I did was wrong. I didn’t try to empathize with him. I didn’t try to communicate despite his…corrupt tendencies towards us. He’s human too and he deserved to be treated like one. But what he did was still wrong…Despite that…I shouldn’t have led him down into that basement, I should’ve talked it out like a real man.”
“What I did was unfair and blackmailing him was not the right thing to do. But… understand my point of view too! He hated us, didn’t care for us, and wanted us to die, that’s why he wanted us to go down into the basement. He didn’t care, he never did-“ Shane clears his throat loudly, cutting off his explosive rant. Hall stared back at him, reading him. Hall knew what he was saying was out of spite, not the truth.
“I continue to believe he still has a point-“Montresor tries to speak but Sonny shushes him, and his proper façade slightly cracks from the interruption.
“As for the rats…I shouldn’t have thrown those cans at them. They feel just like we humans do. I was too deep in my own thoughts to fully understand that. I also didn’t see it from their perspective. They just made what they considered home, in the mill, and we manipulated that. I understood what I did was wrong and I acted on my selfish desires out of boredom. At the end of the day, I only thought about myself. I shouldn’t have used them for my own entertainment,” Hall catches his breath, heaving after his long monologue.
Suddenly, the wind picks up. The wind swirls out of the darkness and pushes past Hall, making his hair fly. The wind circles around him, deciding what to do with its victim. It swoops past Hall and towards the others, almost as if it were questioning them. It rushes back to Hall, and suddenly, it swooshes to the left door, then to the right door. Both flames in the lanterns light up followed by an abrupt rumble. The heavy concrete doors open, then stop. Hall stands, starstruck. He hesitantly turns back around and looks at the remaining three.
“Did I do something wrong?” Hall questions, looking for validation. None of the three respond for a second. This was the first time both doors had opened in this empty chamber despite the previous confessors. Shane stands and walks up the steps, placing himself on Hall’s right.
“You choose your fate, Hall. That’s the choice they’re giving you,” Shane replies, placing his thumbs in his belt loops, before going back down the steps and sitting back down.
“Act, then, as your conscience dictates,” Montresor replies from his seat, waiting for Hall’s decision.
“Hall, you’re the only one who knows which one to choose. Do what you believe is truly right,” Sonny adds.
Hall stands in contemplation. His eyes flicker over to the left door. Heat was emanating from the door, as raging waves of magma and lava rushed past the entrance. There was only a tiny ledge that separated the door and the burning substance. There were black, ragged stones that led the way to the other side of the river. On that side, there were endless trees that filled the darkness, black and charred with flames. He blinks and his gaze lands on the right door. The blazing roared, almost yelling at him to choose quickly.
The right door, in contrast, had the same layout, though the river was flowing endlessly with a liveliness that was missing from the left door. The water sparkled under the shining sun, making the fish swim with delight. The stones that led to the other side were gray and moisturized, perfectly placed for anyone to pass. The trees bloomed and flourished, a cool breeze hitting the vibrant green leaves that made the trees sway in unison. The trees covered what looked like a small trail, with flowers leading into the dreamy, prosperous forest.
Hall’s mind was spiraling, knowing the others were waiting for his decision. He looked back and forth between doors for what felt like an eternity. His body wouldn’t move. His legs wobbled and shook. He imagined what it would be like to cross both rivers with those stones. And for the first time in his life, he was scared. His mind spiraled; which did he really deserve? What was his life worth?
His body suddenly moved in one direction. He knew, deep down, which door was his destiny. He had no control. He was letting fate choose for him, because, in the end, it had been decided already.
Works Cited
Baldwin, James. “Partisan’s Review.” Sonny’s Blues, vol. XXIV, no. 3, 1957, pp. 327–358.
Edgar Allan Poe. “The Cask of Amontillado.” The Poe Museum, 3 July 2021, poemuseum.org/the-cask-of-amontillado/.
King, Stephen. “Graveyard Shift”. Night Shift. New American Library, 1979, p.35-51.
Schaefer, Jack. Shane. Boston, Houghton Mifflin Co, 1949.
Brick’s Rehab Journal: Cat on a Hot Tin Roof
Awarded to Maddy Sherry for work submitted in Fall 2025 to Dr. Kylie Petrovich in ENGL 2030: Experience of Literature
Day 6:
It is day six at the inpatient rehabilitation facility, but it’s the first day I am not in denial about being here. It was not my idea to go to rehab. At first, Maggie did not want me to go either. That night before Big Daddy’s birthday dinner, I remember her going on about how over her dead body would I go to rehab. After Big Daddy said it was the only way I would receive my share of the inheritance, she changed her tune on the whole matter. Day six at rehab also means day six of sobriety… the withdrawals are proving to be one of the biggest challenges, followed closely by being able to think clearly for the first time in years. There is a lot that goes on in the head of someone whose best friend commits suicide. The alcohol helped to drown out the noise. I think I have been in more pain than I want to admit. I have not wanted to confront any of these emotions. My appointed therapist here seems to think I have suppressed a lot of my feelings about Skipper and what our friendship really meant to me. I feel like Skipper was the only one who really knew me. What am I supposed to do after losing someone like that? I just feel like I have a constant weight on my shoulders, which the bottle helped to bear. Is it the pressure from my father? From Maggie? Is it guilt? Guilt for what? My mind keeps racing.
It is nice to finally get a break from Maggie and her incessant nagging. I probably would have put up a little bit more of a fight about coming to a place like this if she would just leave me alone sometimes. Maggie’s always trying to make me talk—about Skipper, about drinking, about the future. I know she means well, but I can’t breathe under all that pressure. Here, at least, nobody’s expecting me to explain myself. It is exhausting, constantly trying to be fixed. It feels like a battle every day, so I am happy to get a break. I do feel bad. It is not like she is doing any of this because she doesn’t care about me. It is quite the opposite, in fact. I understand that she wants closeness, to go back to how we were before Skipper died. I guess I just don’t know how to be close to anyone right now. Maybe that’s why I’m here.
Day 20:
I am about eight days away from being discharged here, and I do feel as though I am getting better. I have learned a lot—about myself, about my drinking, and about my relationships. Particularly with Maggie, I have developed a better understanding as to why I have been pushing her away. Grief is a wild thing, and my poor Maggie has been on the receiving end of my inability to deal with it… Skipper’s ghost is in every room with us. She was part of that story. I don’t know how to be around her without remembering him. Rehab might be the first place where the memory isn’t standing in the doorway.
For the last three weeks, Doc has been pushing me to write a letter to Skipper. He says it will give me the opportunity to process my feelings about our friendship and his passing, since I’ve been avoiding them for so long. Alcohol made avoidance much easier. It’s day 20… I have made it this far, so I might as well keep trusting the process.
Dear Skipper,
I’ve been told to write to you — to say the things I didn’t say then. I’m not sure if this is supposed to help or just stir up everything I’ve been trying not to think about. But I’m doing it anyway, and I guess I can be proud of myself for that.
I’ve been struggling since you died. I didn’t know what to do with all of it — the grief, the silence, the things I couldn’t name — so I went to the bottle. And then I kept going for it, until it became the only thing I knew how to hold onto. That’s how I ended up here, in treatment.
I guess I knew something was wrong when I broke my ankle trying to run hurdles like we used to. I told everyone it was just bad luck, but the truth is I was chasing something. Maybe the feeling of when things were simple, before everything got so heavy. Or perhaps I was running from your memory. I see now that I was missing you more than I could admit. You were the only person I didn’t have to perform in front of. With you, I didn’t have to be charming, or strong, or anything. I could just be me.
When you called me that night and I hung up… I don’t know if I will ever be able to forgive myself for that. You were the brave one, and I kept the silence going. I told myself I was being ‘strong’ or ‘normal,’ but I was just scared. I was too scared to face the truth. And you paid the price for my fear. I know that I must stop letting the guilt eat me alive, but it is much easier said than done.
I have been taking a lot of it out on Maggie, which she doesn’t deserve. I just wanted her to leave me alone about everything and she couldn’t let it go. When she tried to name it — whatever ‘it’ was — I panicked. I thought if I ran fast enough, denied hard enough, it would disappear. But it didn’t. And neither did she… or you. Maggie forced me to confront my feelings, whatever they were, and I felt cornered. So, I lashed out. Drinking was the only way I could feel okay. I really did not care about how it was affecting everyone else. I’ve been in survival mode… desperate. Drinking let me ignore all the ways in which I was letting life pass me by, and it let me forget you. Or at least forget the part of you that hurts to remember. But then the only time I’d see you clearly was through the bottle. And that’s no way to honor you.
I just don’t know how to let you go. But I’m trying to let myself remember you without drowning. I loved you. That’s the truth I couldn’t say then. I’m saying it now.
Yours,
Brick
Creative Adaptation Reflection
I chose to write a sobriety journal from the perspective of Brick in rehab for a few reasons. The primary one being that I am a recovering alcoholic so I could see a lot of my own experience in the portrayal of Brick in Cat on a Hot Tin Roof. Alcoholism is such a heavy thing to confront, and it plays such a significant role in the way the story plays out, so I wanted to make it the focal point of my adaptation. As someone who has been to an inpatient rehab facility, I have a good understanding of what someone might experience on the sixth day versus their twentieth day in treatment. I used that to show the character development in Brick, not just in the acceptance of his reality but also in the way he processes his emotions.
Secondly, I thought a deep dive into Brick’s thoughts about his relationships would also offer a unique perspective because the play’s audience is left with lots of unknowns in that regard, particularly his relationship with Skipper. I aimed to further explore the theme of unrequited love and dysfunctional relationships with Brick’s letter to Skipper. Writing a letter to a loved one that is no longer in your life, for any reason, is something I did when I was in treatment, and I see lots of therapeutic value in the exercise. It allowed me to confront the emotions that I was suppressing because of my grief, and I learned a lot about myself and my behavior from it. As it was a turning point for me and my recovery, I wanted to accomplish the same thing for Brick.
One of the biggest challenges I faced while writing this adaptation was separating my own experience from the one I was creating. Since I have kept my own journal while I was in rehab, I had to make sure I was not bringing too much of my own feelings and experiences to Brick’s entries. I needed to keep reminding myself that it was in the perspective of Brick from Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, not me. Going back and reading the play over helped me to recalibrate. I paid a lot of attention to the way he interacted with everyone to get a sense of how he might feel about being sent to rehab, being forced to do all the personal growth work they make you do. I think I gave him a lot of grace in how he was able to embrace it eventually.
Our Story
Awarded to Tehani Huntsman for work submitted in Fall 2025 to Honey Denson in ENGL 1020: Research and Argumentative Writing
History is written by those in command,
but the truth of Hawai‘i lives in its land
The West called annexation fate,
a “peaceful act” they celebrate
yet Native voices disagreed,
their sovereignty ignored by greed.
Missionaries came with sugar and creed,
claiming the islands for profit and need.
Queen Liliʻuokalani stood her ground,
even when soldiers forced her down.
Thousands signed the Kūʻē plea
Let our kingdom remain free
But Washington chose its own design,
a resolution was signed
Language banned, traditions strained,
culture silenced, land unclaimed
Still Hawaiians kept their right
to speak, resist, and reignite
An apology came with no repair
a gesture empty, thin as air.
Yet the story lives in those who teach
the truths that textbooks rarely reach
For history cannot be made whole
without every voice, every soul
I chose to convert my essay to a poem to convey the abrupt and emotional experience the annexation was. I wrote half of this poem sitting in the theater during the previews of wicked. For a long time, I was stumped, I didn’t know how to start the poem or how to finish it. Moving back and forth from an empty document and my actual paper, the first line “History is told through the lens of its victor” stuck with me, thus resulting in my first line of the poem. I ended up going from paragraph to paragraph and summarizing each section that way my poem can be quick and to the point like the actual annexation was. I hope that my audience can feel the carpet that was pulled from underneath Queen Lili’uokalani and the native Hawaiians by the Americans. My main goal of my research paper and the poem was to shed light to the history that is often ignored and the emotions that are consistently censored.
