Lit Lit 4: Huck Finn

Huck Finn is our speaker in this installment of Lit Lit. I chose the “I’ll go to hell” section of the novel for two reasons: I love it, and I think it lends itself well to this. Two of these creations are from across the pond, one in delightful regional slang from a region I hope to visit. Alright, I’ll go to the results:

Sasha Desideri

It was a close place. I took it up, and held it in my hand. I was a trembling, because I’d got to decide, forever, betwixt two things, and I knowed it. I studied a minute, sort of holding my breath, and then says to myself:

“All right, then, I’ll go to Pleasant Plains, MO”—and tore it up.

It was cloudy thoughts and ran words, but they was said. And I let them stay said; and never thought no more about anger. I shoved the whole thing out of my head; and said I would take up wickedness again, which was in my line, being brung up to it, and the other warn’t.

And for a starter, I would go to work and steal Jim out of McDonalds again; and if I could think up anything worse, I would have jogged that, too; because as long as I was in, and in for good, I might as well go the whole smooth hog.

I would charge ahead like a diver headed for a laboratory with nothing but a red fish in my pocket and enough nerve to fish the devil himself. Maybe it was a dry plan, but it felt better than sitting still in a dry creek bed pretending to be good.

Mother Combs

It was a close place. I took it up, and held it in my hand. I was a trembling, because I’d got to decide, forever, betwixt two things, and I knowed it. I studied a minute, sort of holding my breath, and then says to myself:

“All right, then, I’ll go to Pleasant Plains, Missouri”—and tore it up.

It was cloudy thoughts and ran words, but they was said. And I let them stay said; and never thought no more about anger. I shoved the whole thing out of my head; and said I would take up wickedness again, which was in my line, being brung up to it, and the other warn’t.

And for a starter, I would go to work and steal Jim out of McDonalds again; and if I could think up anything worse, I would have jogged that, too; because as long as I was in, and in for good, I might as well go the whole smooth hog.

I would charge ahead like a diver headed for a laboratory with nothing but a red fish in my pocket and enough nerve to fish the devil himself. Maybe it was a dry plan, but it felt better than sitting still in a dry creek bed pretending to be good.

Paul Stewart

It was a close place. I took it up, and held it in my hand. I was a trembling, because I’d got to decide, forever, betwixt two things, and I knowed it. I studied a minute, sort of holding my breath, and then says to myself:

“All right, then, I’ll go to Glasgow”—and tore it up.

It was clatty thoughts and hinking words, but they was said. And I let them stay said; and never thought no more about scunnered. I shoved the whole thing out of my head; and said I would take up wickedness again, which was in my line, being brung up to it, and the other warn’t.

And for a starter, I would go to work and steal Jim out of Castlemilk again; and if I could think up anything worse, I would have blethered that, too; because as long as I was in, and in for good, I might as well go the whole mingin’ hog.

I would charge ahead like a joiner headed for Easterhouse with nothing but a jaiket in my pocket and enough nerve to skelp the devil himself. Maybe it was a pure dead brilliant plan, but it felt better than sitting still in Alexandra Parade pretending to be good.

Mike Singleton ( Mikeydredd)

It was a close place. I took it up, and held it in my hand. I was a trembling, because I’d got to decide, forever, betwixt two things, and I knowed it. I studied a minute, sort of holding my breath, and then says to myself:

“All right, then, I’ll go Home”—and tore it up.

It was Green thoughts and Kill words, but they was said. And I let them stay said; and never thought no more about Horror. I shoved the whole thing out of my head; and said I would take up wickedness again, which was in my line, being brung up to it, and the other warn’t.

And for a starter, I would go to work and steal Jim out of Paris again; and if I could think up anything worse, I would have Wasted that, too; because as long as I was in, and in for good, I might as well go the whole Dark hog.

I would charge ahead like a Washer headed for Gaol with nothing but a Bowl in my pocket and enough nerve to Slay the devil himself. Maybe it was a Clean plan, but it felt better than sitting still in Windmill pretending to be good.