The Past of Crooks (writing task from book 'Of Mice and Men'

At school we were set the task of writing a back story for one of the characters in the book we were currently reading. This was my effort!!

Samson stared hollowly at the strange fruit that swung lazily from the branches of the willow tree in their backyard. The day was soft and warm, sunshine spreading rays of heat on his back. But Sam was frozen inside. He could only stare through bitter tears at the strangled, contorted faces of his father and brother Taylor. Their eyes, wide open, looked through him with a glazed expression. His father had been everything to Sam. He was the one who taught Sam to read, showing so much patience and determination

‘Ain’t no son of mine gonna be a dunce’ he’d said, ‘No matter what those whites say, you ain’t gonna be stupid’.

Sam had never been particularly close to Taylor, but to know that he would never be able to rectify that made his eyes well up with fresh tears. He didn’t even want to think about his mother. Dear mama, lying crumpled in a heap at the foot of the bed in his parent’s room. Her face had been turned away, but he had no doubt that they had been open, screaming a cry for help that would never be answered. Because they were black.

 

Samson scrunched his hand into a fist and rubbed the tears from his eyes. He knew now. He understood. He also knew that he hated the Ku Klux Klan with every fibre in his body. He knew they had done this, knew they wouldn’t be convicted even though they were responsible for the hundreds of dead blacks around California. As Samson thought about this with growing fury, he realised he could smell smoke. The stench stung the inside of his nose and gave him a pounding headache. He sprinted towards the smell, past the stables, past the chicken house, past the dog kennels where he used to nurse the new puppies. As he rounded the corner, he stopped dead in his tracks. Smoke billowed from the house he used to call home. The flames licked at the walls greedily and the timber on the roof crackled like sinister sweet wrappers. All together, his house resembled something of an oversized funeral pyre. And the culprits were busy adding more fuel to the fire, throwing flaming torches onto the fire. Their white robes and pointed white hoods contrasted eerily with the glowing backdrop. 

 

Suddenly, Samson found that his legs could move again, and he dashed for the house, with renewed energy. As he flung open the back door, thick, black smog swirled around him and he staggered backwards as it burned his eyes. Holding his shirt up to his face, he swung back inside the burning house, his purpose clear in his mind. He clambered up the smouldering stairs, aware that he was putting his life in danger, but being too determined to care.  As he reached his parents room, he kicked down the door. His eyes scanned the room, aware that he was running out of time. He found what he wanted, grabbed it, then dashed straight back out of the house. By this time he was coughing his lungs out, his throat sore. Still, he kept running till he was out in one of the fields. From there he watched as his house, his childhood memories, crumbled in flames. He sat on the grass, clutching the dictionary he had run to retrieve to his chest. Rocking back and forwards he watched with wide eyes, whilst muttering to himself, ‘I ain’t gonna be dumb papa, I ain’t gonna be dumb’.

          

Rubbing the liniment onto his sore spine, Crooks whispered those same words to himself, as he allowed himself for the first time in __yrs, to remember.

 

After the devastation of his home, Samson’s life was a depressing whirlwind of sleeping rough whilst trying to find a job that would be able to feed himself. It didn’t help that he’d had an accident as well. One job that he’d actually been accepted into, he’d been careless. Standing behind a horse, just like his father had told him not to, he’d been kicked in the back. The pain had been excruciating, and to make matters worse, he’d been fired. The boss had even been planning on not paying him his wage. That was when he’d needed his Californian Civil Rights Code book. If he hadn’t had his father’s teaching, if he’d been any other black, he would’ve been a cripple cheated out of his pay, and a laughingstock. But Sam worked hard in that court, proving to people that he was a human that needed to eat and needed a place to sleep like anybody else. He won the money he was owed. He took it and went to buy himself food for the night. However, he wanted it to last, so he skipped out on looking for a place to stay, and slept rough again. Sam regretted that decision sorely. During the night he was stripped of his money and he became broke again with nowhere to go. He remembered limping groggily and aimlessly, then passing out. When he had woken, he had been in a straw bed, the smell of horses pungent in his nostrils. That had been the start of his life at the Tyler Ranch�"the start of his life as Crooks. The Boss had taken him in, given him a job and had told him not to mention it. Ever. Sam still didn’t know why, but he had learned enough in his life to know that if you’re offered something good, you take it. That was how he looked at things now. How could he not? No on was going to expect a black cripple to be able to earn anything worth having. So he took whatever scraps he was offered, even though it pained him to do so. But this was his life now. This was the way Crooks lived.

Author's Note

Was trying to focus on creating a setting which would make it obvious why the character changed so much through the story.
Please give constructive criticisms!!