Color Illustration Version If I Had Three Days of Light

Author: Helen Keller (USA)
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2006-01-01
Features: In the winter of 1892, a cloud of darknessed my childhood. I was filled with melancholy and long immersed in pain, sorrow, and fear. Books also lost their appeal to me. Even now, when I recall those terrible days, I still shiver with fear. The reason was simple: It was the autumn after I learned to speak when I wrote a short story titled "The Frost King" and sent it to Mr. Anagnos at the Perkins School for the Blind. Unbeknownst to me, this caused trouble. To clarify the matter, I must write down the truth to reclaim the justice that belongs to me and my teacher, Sarah Fuller. I wrote the story "The Frost King," which was the first story I wrote after learning to speak. In the summer, we stayed at our mountain villa longer than usual. My teacher often described the beauty of leaves in different seasons, which reminded me of a story someone had read to me, and I unknowingly memorized it. At the time, I thought I was "creating a story," so I eagerly wanted to write it down before I forgot. My thoughts flowed like a gushing spring, and I wrote with ease, completely immersed in the joy of writing. Fluent language and vivid imagery danced on the braille paper. Every word and sentence was written on the braille board. Now, I can confidently say that if any inspiration flowed effortlessly into my mind, it was not a product of my own thoughts but something borrowed from others. However, at that time, I had difficulty distinguishing such boundaries. Even now, I often struggle to differentiate between what is in my own mind and what is written in books. I think this may be because most of my impressions of things come through others' eyes and ears! After finishing the story, I read it to my teacher, Sarah Fuller. I still vividly remember how I was enchanted by the brilliant passages and how frustrated I was when I had to reread words I misread. I also read it to my family at dinner, and everyone was amazed at how well I had written it. Some even asked if I had seen it in a book. I was surprised by their question because I couldn’t recall anyone reading the story to me. So, I answered loudly and confidently: "No, I wrote it myself. I want to dedicate it to Mr. Anagnos." I then rewrote it and, following their advice, changed the title from "Autumn Leaves" to "The Frost King" and sent it to Mr. Anagnos to celebrate his birthday. I never imagined that this birthday gift would bring me such trouble and hurt. Was I a plagiarist? Mr. Anagnos loved the story and published it in the school newspaper of the Perkins School for the Blind. But soon after, my elated mood plunged into a deep despair. When I arrived in Boston, someone discovered that "The Frost King" was very similar to a story titled "The Frost Fairies" by Miss Margaret Campbell, which had been written before I was born and included in the collection "Birds and Their Friends." The two stories were very similar in content and wording, leading some to accuse me of plagiarizing Miss Campbell’s work. At first, I did not realize the severity of the issue. When I did, I was both shocked and upset. I suffered pain that no child had ever experienced. It brought me shame and made those I loved suspect me. I couldn’t understand what was happening! So, I racked my brain trying to remember what books I had read before writing "The Frost King" and whether I had seen any articles or books about frost. I couldn’t recall, but I had a vague impression that someone had mentioned Jack Frost and a poem for children titled "Frost’s Wild Ideas," but I had not quoted them. At first, although Mr. Anagnos, deeply troubled by the matter, still trusted me and treated me kindly, the situation continued to worsen. To make him happy, I tried my best to appear cheerful. During the celebration of Washington’s birthday, I even played the role of Ceres, the goddess of grain, in a masquerade performed by my classmates. That day, I wore a rather beautiful outfit, with a wreath made of colorful autumn leaves on my head, and my hands and feet were adorned with fruits and grains. But these colorful and lively scenes could not alleviate the deep sorrow in my heart.