Using Marquez's One Hundred Years of Solitude as your chosen prose text, write a monologue from the
perspective of a flat character, using ideas from the critical anthology to support your response. Include a
commentary of how you have explored the significance of Marquez's use of flat characters in your
recreative piece.
...Recreative...
Remedios Moscote’s Account from Beyond the Grave
The most blinding pain woke me from my peaceful sleep. It felt like my whole being was being torn apart
limb by limb. Something warm and wet pooled between my legs and I touched it, only to see the dark
glint of blood, which shone in the darkness. So naturally, I did what a normal person would do.
I screamed.
My screams pierced the still, silent night air and Aureliano’s loud snores immediately stopped with a
piggish snort. I felt a cold draft as he lifted the thin mosquito net around us, and he saw a dark red pool,
so red it seemed black as it stained our linen rust-red. His eyes, wide and filled with love and growing
panic, reminded me of our wedding day…
***
As the well wishers waved from the windows, and streets, Papa led me to Buendia House, where I was to
meet my groom. I was very nervous for this day, as my sisters had instilled the panic of ruining the
wedding day early, by giving several rehearsals on how I must act and talk, and the wedding night. Ah,
the wedding night. I was so fascinated by the adult secrets that I was finally allowed to know and I told
everyone who came into the house, excitedly, before my sisters admonished me and sent me away. I
concealed it all, the panic and nervousness, and I smiled freely at everyone, as they wished me a happy
marriage. I was so absorbed in waving and receiving flowers, I didn’t even notice we had reached the
Buendia House.
, The door was open, and I immediately saw Aureliano, clothed from head-to-toe in a deep midnight black,
which seemed to swallow him whole, with his unnaturally pale and withdrawn face. In that moment I
had wondered whether he’d gotten any sleep at all, because underneath his eyes were dark, purple
shadows, which was the only colour that could be seen on his face. Papa passed my hand gently to him,
squeezing it slightly, and when I glanced at him his eyes were full of tears. Immediately I felt the
difference between Papa’s warm, dry and steady hand and Aureliano’s cold, clammy one. I wanted to
pull my hand out of his and run far far away from this man but my sisters had taught me too well, so I
smiled widely at my groom as his paw-sized hand held mine with such care, as if I was made of fine
china.
We made our slow path to the altar, with Aureliano walking so slowly, it could have been a funeral
procession made of two people, walking closer and closer to the graveyard. The Father, clothed in black,
heavy vestments appeared impatient and I couldn’t blame him. I was impatient but I kept that smile
plastered on, and it seemed to grow wider and wider until my jaws hurt with the effort.
After what seemed like a whole decade, we reached the altar. The Father, who sounded almost bored,
spoke the ceremonial words and it almost felt like I was in a dream. Not the sort that you wouldn’t want
to wake up from, but the ones which haunt you for nights on end. Aureliano, whose voice trembled as he
spoke the vows, held my hand so lightly. His hand shook as he attempted to place the ring on my finger.
Its thunk onto the makeshift wooden altar penetrated the silence, as it dropped on off his shaky fingers,
and at once Aureliano placed a foot out in an attempt to stop it, and he bent to pick it up.
‘Great,’ I thought, ’I’m marrying a clumsy oaf.’
As he faced me again, his face was a deep dark red.
Like blood.
