Bewitched - Emilyn's Story {Chapter 3}

Chapter Three

                Emilyn opened his eyes slowly; carefully. The darkness was so utterly black and complete, he wondered for a moment if he’d gone blind. He sat up and immediately felt a wave of nausea was over him. With a groan, Emilyn sank back onto the cot. “That was a really bad idea,” he muttered to himself. “Okay, let’s try that again.” Emilyn carefully raised his body into a sitting position. He swung his legs over the edge of the cot and yelped as they brushed the ice cold floor. He got to his feet and hopped across the freezing stone tiles, cursing expressively. He hopped smack into a wall and fell flat on his back.

                A door creaked open behind him as flickering yellow light spilled into the room. Emilyn scrambled to his feet and spun around. An enormous figure loomed in the doorway, a lantern held high in one hand. “Ah, you’re awake. Good.”

                “Who are you?” demanded Emilyn.

                “Is that any way to speak to the man who saved your life, and your friend’s too?” chuckled the man. “Come on. I expect you’re hungry.”

                With that, he turned and began to walk away, taking the light with him. Emilyn hesitated for a fraction of a second. Could he really trust this strange man? No, probably not, he decided. But food was food. Emilyn hurried after the man, following the bobbing light through dark, twisting corridors. By the time he finally stopped, Emilyn’s teeth were chattering with cold and his bare feet felt like blocks of ice. “Stop that noise!” the man commanded.

               Emilyn clamped his jaws together without protest, and watched as the man rapped the solid stone wall before him. Rap. Pause. Rap. Pause. Rap. Long pause. Rap rap rap. Then he stepped back and waited. Is he insane? Emilyn wondered. What does he expect will happen?

                Emilyn’s jaw dropped as the apparently solid stone wall swung inward on silent hinges. The burly man stepped in, with Emilyn close at his heels. The hidden door thumped closed behind them.

                The room was blessedly warm and filled with the flickering light from an enormous fireplace. Emilyn looked around warily. People with pale, unfamiliar faces were everywhere; standing in groups, sitting on the floor. They watched him with suspicion as a murmur of excitement rippled through the silent crowd. “Is he…”

                “It can’t be!”

                “He’s just a boy, we mustn’t frighten him.”

                “Does he know anything?”

                “Silence!” thundered the man. “The boy’s just woken up. He knows nothing. Someone get him a blanket and as much food as we can spare. Quickly!” A girl who had been kneeling by the fireplace, feeding the flames, stood and slipped away. She returned with a thick, rather moth-eaten grey blanket, a hunk of slightly stale bread, and a bowl of thin stew. “Here.” She handed Emilyn the items and smiled, pushing a strand of pale red hair out of her eyes. “It’s not much, but it’s all we can afford to give.”

                “Thanks,” muttered Emilyn, avoiding the girl’s curious gaze. “Go sit by the fire, boy,” ordered the man. “We’ll call you when we’ve decided what to do with you.”

                Emilyn started to protest. “Actually, I-“ The red-haired girl shook her head warningly behind the man’s back, pressing a finger to her lips. Emilyn frowned, but turned and seated himself on the pleasantly-warm hearthstones close to the blaze.  He wolfed down the food and set the bowl at his feet. The red-headed girl immediately appeared at his shoulder and silently whisked it away before Emilyn had the chance to ask her anything.

                He wrapped the blanket around his shoulders and stared into the fire, watching the colors flicker and change. Just as he was dozing off, a thought jolted hm awake. Emilyn leapt to his feet in horror. The girl! Is she even still alive? He spun around, searching the room for the enormous man who had brought him here. Emilyn narrowed his eyes at a broad-shouldered, thick-waisted man with a curly red beard and sharp grey eyes. Was that him? It had to be. No one else in the room even came close to his size.

               Emilyn hurried over to the man and waited until he had finished speaking to his companion. “Excuse me, ah, sir, I was just wondering if-“

                “Not now, boy,” snapped the man.

                “But sir-“

                “I said not now!” The man turned and glowered at Emilyn, who held his ground.

                “Please, this will only take a minute-“

                “Enough!” bellowed the man. “I take you into my very home when we have no room to spare, feed you with food that can barely fill the mouths of our own, and you dare to question my authority? You dare?!”

                Emilyn’s mouth opened and shut a few times. He stared up at the tall man who seemed to tower over him, growing louder and taller as he talked.

                “I-“

                 A hand on his sleeve warned Emilyn not to say anything. “Father, don’t be so hard on him,” came a familiar voice. “I’m sure he just wants to find out how his companion is doing. Wouldn’t you feel the same?”

                Emilyn turned and saw the red-haired girl. She was smiling sweetly up at the man, whose gaze softened as he looked down at her. “Yes, well,” he muttered, obviously embarrassed. “I suppose…”

                “I’ll just take him to her room, shall I?” asked the girl, already leading Emilyn to a door he hadn’t noticed before. They hurried through it into a long hallway, with lanterns hanging from the walls every few feet. The girl grabbed one as she went past. The two walked in silence for a few minutes.

                “That was incredibly stupid of you.”

                “What?” demanded Emilyn. “I didn’t do anything!”

                “Idiot,” the girl huffed, all signs of sweetness gone. “Come on. Can’t you walk any faster than that?”

                She stopped abruptly in front of a solid, dark wood door. Emilyn walked right into her, nearly knocking her down. He grabbed her just before she hit the ground. “Sorry,” he muttered, more out of automatic politeness than anything else.

                “You should be.”

                “Oh, yeah, don’t bother thanking me for stopping you from cracking your head open on a hard stone floor,” Emilyn snapped sarcastically.

                “I won’t.”

                Emilyn opened his mouth to say something very rude, but stopped as the door to the room swung open.

                                                                                       Sincerely,

                                                                                                                            A Writer

Bewitched - Emilyn's Story {Chapter 2}

Chapter Two

                Emilyn could only watch in horror as the girl slumped to the floor, unconscious. Several long, frozen seconds passed before anyone moved. Emilyn was the first to break the spell. He leaped from his desk and knelt at the girl’s side, checking for a heartbeat. “Alive,” he managed at last, voice ragged with fear. “But she’s sick. Very sick.”

                Ms. David put a hand to her mouth. “Is it…”

      “I don’t know. Maybe.” The students gaped at him.

                Ms. David turned to her class. “Everyone, back to your desks,” she said crisply. “Turn to page twenty-five in your history textbooks and begin reading the chapter.” Only her shaking hands betrayed her nervousness.

                The students filed back to their seat and opened their books, but no one was reading.

      Ms. David turned back to Emilyn. “She can’t stay here,” she whispered. “You know what will happen. It’s too dangerous.” Emilyn nodded. “But where…?” Ms. David shook her head, starting to back away.

                “I don’t…” She faltered, and Emilyn could see the fear in her pale blue eyes. She grabbed his hand suddenly, squeezing it hard. “Away. Take her away; far away. Don’t let them catch her. Promise me.” Emilyn remembered suddenly. Ms. David had a sister, a pretty girl with hair like pale gold, only thirteen or fourteen. She had become sick two winters ago, and disappeared suddenly one day.

                “They will find her,” breathed Ms. David. “But perhaps…” He knew what she was going to say.

                “The mountains.”

                Ms. David nodded. “Yes, the mountains. Head for the mountains. Stay safe.” She took another step back, then turned and fled, back towards the front of the classroom and her desk.

                “I promise,” Emilyn whispered after her.

                He lifted the girl in his arms. She was so light it scared him; like a fragile baby bird. And so beautiful…

                The minute Emilyn stepped outside the open classroom door, pulling it shut behind him; he realized how stupid he’d been. The wind howled around him, cutting straight through his thin jacket. He glanced down at the girl’s clothes and frowned. A short dark grey skirt and a collared white shirt. Where did she come from, where the winters were so mild they didn’t wear coats?

      “I’m one to talk,” he muttered, glancing down at his patched trousers and windbreaker. With a sigh, Emilyn trudged out into the night.

                By the time he reached the town, his lips were blue and his hands numb. The normally relaxing half-mile walk to and from school had turned into a dangerous trek. Snow had begun to fall; tiny, icy flakes that clung to Emilyn’s skin and clothes. After the first quarter-mile, Emilyn had stopped pretending that the girl’s lips were supposed to be that color, and that her skin was always this pale. He started to run.

                Emilyn stumbled into the town square, barely able to keep on his feet. His thought ran together WherecanIgoit’snotsafeherethey’llkillhersheneedshelpIneedhelpIhavetosaveher. I promised. He whispered the words aloud “I promised.” Then he turned and ran, staggering over broken cobblestones and ducking through dark alleys whenever he could.

                The enormous, dilapidated building loomed out of the darkness so suddenly Emilyn almost ran smack into it. He stared up at the pale stone walls and crumbling bell tower.  A wave of exhaustion washed over him as Emilyn’s legs folded beneath him. He sank to the ground, unable to walk any farther. Vision blurring, Emilyn gazed down at the girl.

              “Sorry,” he mumbled, and then everything went black.

                                                                              Sincerely,
                                                                                       A Writer

A Prayer to Selene

Now, I am not a worshipper of the moon goddess (just wanted to get that out in the open), and I have never met anyone who is, but I was roaming the Internet, searching for inspiration for my next story, when I stumbled upon a website about gypsy magic (which I cannot remember the name of just now, so you're just going to have to take it on faith. :P). It was very interesting, so I read a little, and stumbled upon a prayer to the moon goddess, Selene, that struck my fancy. Here it is:

“The gleaming stars all about the shining moon
Hide their bright faces, when full-orbed and splendid
In the sky she floats, flooding the shadowed earth
With clear silver light.

“Now rose the moon, full and silver,
While round stood the maidens, as at a shrine.
Thus sometimes, the women, tender footed,
Dance in measure round the fair altar,
Crushing the fine bloom of the grass.

“Come hither moon goddess, Selene, come,
And in golden goblets pour richest nectar
All mixed in most ethereal perfection,
Thus to delight us.”

Isn't it beautiful?

                                                                              Sincerely,

                                                                                      A Writer

  

Bewitched - Emilyn's Story {Chapter 1}

Chapter One

                Emilyn hunched over the worn wood desktop, tracing invisible patterns on it with one finger as he tried to ignore his splitting headache. He glanced up from his desk, over at the rows of children, heads bent over their books. Emilyn’s desk was in the very back of the room, by the dusty shelves of unused encyclopedias. He had picked it himself, for that very reason.

                He looked out the window, letting the pale December sunshine warm his face; watching the bare tree limbs toss against the washed-out color of the sky.

                Emilyn reached into his pocket for the hundredth time that morning, holding his breath until his fingers collided with the cool, smooth surface of his most precious possession. He ran his thumb over the one jagged line in the stone’s otherwise flawless surface.

                The wind was picking up, scattering the dead leaves in every direction. The branches on the trees whipped frantically through the air.

                Ms. David lips were moving, but her voice was drowned out by the roaring in Emilyn’s ears as his headache intensified.

              He grimaced as pain shot through his stomach, curling his hands into fists as the ache in his abdomen increased. Voices screamed in agony; harsh, cruel laughter grated against his ears. Voices began to whisper in his head, growing louder and louder as the seconds ticked past. Emilyn looked around the classroom, but no one else seemed to hear the voices. “…Prophecy…..” they hissed, a dry crackle of dead leaves. “….terrible…………..choices...…fa-” The last word was drowned out by a long, blood-curdling scream.

                Then the clamor was suddenly, blessedly silent. Emily realized he was doubled over, clutching his throbbing head in his hands. Blushing, he raised his head. The entire class had turned around in their seats, staring at him. “Uh…”

                Ms. David took a step towards him. “Emilyn, are you-“

                The door to the school crashed open against the wall, and a girl blew into the room. She stumbled and fell, sprawling across the aisle. Her long dark hair was tousled, her legs shockingly slender and white. The curtain of hair almost hid her face, but Emilyn could see her eyes. One was a wild, stormy grey, dark with fear. The other was a bewitching green, startlingly bright and fearless.

                                                                                Sincerely,

                                                                                                                  A Writer

 

Lullaby - A Short Story

All credits for the song go to Billy Joel's wonderful song, "Lullaby".

Lullaby

“Mommy?” the little girl lisps, padding along the icy hallway in bare feet. Shivering, she clutches a ragged teddy bear in both arms, protecting it from the hungry monsters that lurk in the shadows. The moonlight throws everything into stark relief; sharply outlining the branches of the tall trees on the hallway’s wood floor. 

                The little girl shrinks from the shadows; to her they are the long, bent fingers of a witch, reaching out to grab her.

                “Mommy?” she calls again. Her breath puffs out in a wisp of cold air. In the eerie stillness of the night a woman’s stifled sobs are barely audible.

                The little girl runs across the freezing floorboards, cold and smooth as ice, reaching one small, slim hand to push open the door. It swings inward at her soft touch.

                A woman sits in a chair at the kitchen table, head resting on the rough hewn wood. Her hair, silver in the icy moonlight, covers a tear-stained face.

                “Mommy?” the little girl whispers. The woman lifts her head and forces a smile that does not reach her eyes. “Ava, darling,” she calls softly, holding thin, white arm out to her daughter. “You’re so cold. Why aren’t you in bed?”

                “I heard you and daddy fighting. Did he hurt you?”

                “No, sweetheart, I’m fine,” the woman says softly. The little girl lifts her head to look at her mother with smoky grey eyes that seem too old for her thin, pale face. “Then why are you crying?”

                The woman shakes her head, and the hot tears she has been holding back spill down her cheeks and onto her daughters face like rain.

                “Let’s get you back to bed.”

Ava snuggles down among her covers and says softly. “Sing me a song, mommy.”

                “It’s getting late, sweetheart, I don’t think-“

                “Please, mommy?”

                “All right. Just one song.” Ava’s mother gently smoothes the wrinkled blankets. “But you have to promise to go to sleep right after.”

                “Promise.”

The woman’s voice is low, clear and sweet as a nightingale’s. Softly, she sings

“Good night my angel now it's time to sleep
And still so many things I want to say
Remember all the songs you sang for me
When we went sailing on an emerald bay

“And like a boat out on the ocean
I'm rocking you to sleep
The water's dark and deep
Inside this ancient heart
You'll always be a part of me

“Goodnight my angel now it's time to dream
And dream how wonderful your life will be
Someday your child will cry and if you sing this lullaby
Then in your heart there will always be a part of me

“Someday we'll all be gone
But lullabies go on and on
They never die that's how you and I will be.”

By the time the song has ended Ava is nearly asleep. Smiling, her mother brushes the girls soft, dark curls from her forehead. “Goodnight, sweetheart.”

“‘Night, mommy,” mumbles Ava sleepily. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

                                                         Sincerely,

                                                                    A Writer

I'm back! Didja miss me?

"Immortal amarant, a flower which once

In paradise, fast by the tree of life,

Began to bloom; but soon for man's offence

To heaven removed, where first it grew, there grows,

And flowers aloft, shading the fount of life,

And where the river of bliss through midst of heaven

Rolls o'er elysian flowers her amber stream:

With these that never fade the spirits elect

Bind their resplendent locks."

                                                            -John Milton, Paradise Lost iii. 356


Like the amaranth everlasting, I have returned! I'm so sorry for the delay, I was on my family's annual summer vacation trip to the beach. I took some gorgeous pics from the top of the lighthouse (it was terrifying.) which I will post soon(ish). God, I hate heights. And it's so windy up there. When I leaned my back against the wall It shook! (No it wasn't me shaking!) But I expect you would like a proper description of it, so I digress.


The view was spectacular, that I have to admit. I was so close to the ocean I could smell the sharp, salty air and see the pale foam that crested each silvery blue wave. The water was so blue you couldn't tell where it ended and the sky began. Seagulls dipped their wings as they soared low, sending up sprays of salt water as they hunted for fish. Houses on stilts crouched over the water like fat old ladies with their skirts looped up. A single white boat drifted out on the waves, aimlessly moving this way or that.


On the other side of the lighthouse was lake, with it's tall, sticky tufts of cordgrass, strong enough to rip the skin if you weren't careful. The water was so perfectly still I almost fancied that, late at night, the driads would sit by the water on smooth grey stones as they brushed their hair over white shoulders, watching their reflections in the cool water...


It would have been so beautiful as the sun set, or even after dark, but the lighthouse closed early that day. D:


All in all, I had a very nice time, and enjoyed myself immensely.


                                                                               Sincerely,
                                                                                         A Writer

Sky - a poem

Since I'm feeling lazy today, I'm gonna cop out and give you guys a haiku. :P

Sky

Sometimes I look up

into the vast blues of sky

and wish I could fly

                                              Sincerely,

                                                                                    A Writer

nightlife - a poem

nightlife

the night is alive

with the light

people dance in

smoky jazz clubs

to the music of the kings-

girls with glitter on

their eylids and

dresses that glimmer

with the blue lights

boys with slicked-back hair

and nervous smiles

dipping, spinning

turning, gliding

with the urgent jumble

of the nightlife sounds

                             Sincerely,

                                                               A Writer

Clair of The Big Apple - A Short Story

Clair of The Big Apple

“Goodbye, goodbye!” Clair caught up her skirts and leaned dangerously far out the train window, clasping her hat to her head as she strained for a last glimpse of her family. She waved and waved until the station and three shabbily-dressed figures were far behind. At last, Clair flopped back into her seat, brushing damp brown curls from her face and knocking her pretty white sunhat from her head in the process.

                “Pardon me, but is this your hat?” Clair turned and stared at the handsome young man standing in the doorway of the compartment, swaying gently with the movement of the train. In one gloved hand he held her hat.

                Clair blushed. “Oh, yes! It must have fallen off.” She gratefully accepted her sunhat and plopped it unceremoniously onto her head, slightly askew. The young man smiled politely and turned to go.

                “Oh please, won’t you stay?” Clair asked impetuously, gazing at him with wide-set hazel eyes. “I haven’t anyone to talk to!”

                The young man turned, looking both surprised and pleased. “If you wouldn’t mind…”

                “Of course I don’t! I asked you, didn’t I?”

                The handsome young man grinned in a very ungentlemanly way. He looked oddly young when he smiled, and Clair realized he couldn’t be more than a year or two older than her. He settled himself into the faded red velvet chair across from Clair’s. “My name is Thomas.”

                “Clair. It’s a dreadfully prim, plain name, isn’t it? Are you going all the way to New York, or planning to stop along the way?”

                “I think it’s a fine name.” Thomas smiled warmly. “I live in New York, as a matter of fact. I’ve been away on business in Chicago. What about you?”

                “Oh, I don’t live in New York, but that’s where I’m going!” said Clair cheerfully. “I’m hoping to get a job as a reporter for the Times. If not, I suppose I’ll have to go back home…” she sighed.

                “But where are you from?”

                “Oh! Just a small town in Mississippi. Very boring. What’s it like, living in such a big city?”

                The two companions chatted gaily for the remainder of the uneventful trip, and soon became fast friends.

                Clair stepped down from the train with her one small bag and looked around the noisy, crowded platform in bewilderment. She had nowhere to go, no one to take her in.

                “Clair?”

                She turned and smiled with relief at her friend. “Oh, Thomas, thank goodness! Do you think you could-“

                “No problem,” Thomas reassured her. “I know just the place for you to stay!”

“Thank you ever so much, Thomas. I don’t know what I would have done without you,” said a grateful Clair, happily accepting the keys to her new room. “I’m glad I could help,” smiled Thomas.

                “Didn’t you say your apartment isn’t far from here? Maybe we’ll see each other around.”

                “That’s right, but I’ve got a better idea. How about I stop by in a month or two, just to see how you’re getting on?” asked Thomas.

                “That would be wonderful. Are you sure you can’t stay for a cup of coffee?”

                “Sorry, I can’t. I’m going to be-“ Thomas stopped and glanced at his watch. “Oh hell, I am late for work! Goodbye!”

                “Goodbye! Take care of yourself, Thomas.”

                “The same to you!”

A Month Later

Clair stared down at the hateful slip of typewritten paper with stinging eyes. The lines of indifferent black print blurred together as hot tears began to gather in her eyes.

                A knock at the door startled her out of her misery. Clair leapt to her feet, swiped at her eyes, and began to pick her way through the untidy room to answer it.

                “Oh. Hello, Thomas.”

                Hello, Clair!” said the young man cheerfully. “I came, just like I promised. How have you- Hey, are you alright?”

                Clair broke down and began to sob. “No, I’m not! The Times just sent me a rejection slip and I don’t have any money left and there isn’t anything to eat in this whole god-forsaken apartment and my best dress has a tear in it and I can’t bear the thought of going home with nothing to show for all the time I’ve wasted here and going back to being little ole me, stuck in a tiny, boring village I don’t care two-pence for and I don’t have the money for a train ticket anyway and the weather is miserable and everything is just horrible!”

                “Clair…” said Thomas helplessly, grey eyes troubled. “I’m so sorry.”

                He hugged her tightly, feeling Clair’s thin shoulders shaking. “Don’t worry. Everything is going to be just fine, sweetheart. I promise.”

                                                          Sincerely,

                                                                                           A Writer

A Book of Fairy Tales - A Short Story

A Book of Fairy Tales

Hannah lifted her skirts high to avoid the puddles. “Not that it matters,” she muttered to herself, pushing wet strands of ginger hair from her face. “I look like a drowned cat.” With a sigh, Hannah let her skirts drop into the mud and walked even more slowly.

The streets were silent and empty, and it was nice to be alone, for once. Hannah took a long deep breath, filling her lungs with the cool, clean air. She thought ahead to her inevitable arrival at the shabby brick row house that was home. She tried to imagine it without the two sets of noisy, trouble-making twins who were always underfoot. Hannah had tripped over them more than once. Of course, it was always her fault.

With an impatient gesture Hannah yanked her dripping, muddy skirts to her knees and began to run.  It was getting later and colder, and she would catch cold if she wasn’t careful.

Hannah lingered in front of the shabby building for a few minutes. She took several deep breaths and looked longingly down the wet empty streets. With a quick, backwards glance Hannah pushed open the familiar wood front door with its hideous green paint peeling off in long strips and stepped into the hot, crowded room.

As usual, just being smothered into that tiny room with nowhere to go made Hannah want to scream. She swallowed a sob and headed for her tiny cot, squashed in the corner by the only window. Suddenly, she stopped dead. “What did you do?!” Hannah screamed in horror. Her mattress was propped up against the dirty plaster wall, and the remains of what had once been Hannah’s most prized possession as scattered across the floor and grimy stone hearth. Caroline, one of the oldest of Hannah’s younger siblings, started guiltily and attempted to hide the wreckage behind her back.

“Caroline, you wicked, wicked girl! How could you?” Hannah cried. She grabbed her sister by the shoulders and shook her until the girl’s teeth rattled. “I’m not sorry,” Caroline said defiantly. “You think you’re better than us, just ‘cause you went to school. How come you got a book and I don’t? Anyway, it’s not good for nothing. You can’t eat it or sell it, and the pictures are dumb. Who wants to read about a stupid ole princess?”

Hannah slapped her.

She fell to her knees as she began to gather up the ruined pages with trembling hands. The beautiful illustrations had been scribbled over with thick black marker, and some of the pages had been torn out and stepped on with muddy bare feet. Most had been burned. Hannah’s heart throbbed as she stared into the flames and saw one of her favorite pictures -a dragon breathing fire at a knight in silver armor- only half-burned. Hannah plunged her hand into the fire, ignoring the pain, and grabbed the picture. It crumbled into ashes in her burned fingers.

She stared blankly at the few remaining pages still in the book. One was torn right down the middle, and another was crumpled and broken like a fragile white bird.

Hannah looked up at her sister and hated her as she had never hated anyone before. “I will never forgive you!” she screamed, and the room was suddenly quiet, quieter than it had ever been since the first set of twins had been born. “This was all I had of Daddy and you’ve ruined it! You’re a horrible, selfish, ignorant, stubborn brat, Caroline, and I pity you, but I will never, ever forgive or forget what you’ve done!”

Caroline glowered at her with stormy eyes. “I isn’t igna- igno- whatever it is you said, and I isn’t selfish either! School is for people who can’t work. Anyway, I’m not sorry,” she added triumphantly.

“Hannah, stop yelling at that poor child and make yourself useful!” called her mother from the kitchen. The noise level in the room rose suddenly and life went back to normal. Caroline raced away to fight over a broken, headless doll with two other twins.

“But mother, she ruined papa’s book! Look, the pages are-“

“Yes, I know what she did. It kept her quiet, so I let her. For pity’s sake, child, don’t cry! You ain’t a child no more, and we can’t afford such luxuries since your father died. I don’t know why you kept the useless thing so long, anyway. Now get an apron on and come help me with supper. I got some carrots that need slicing!”

“Mother, you don’t understand-“ Hannah started.

“I understand just fine, young lady. It was silly of you to keep something like that in the house if it was so important to you! Now get in here and help me with this chicken. I declare, tisn’t enough meat in this bird to feed a family of two, let alone six!

“Hannah, where are you going? Hannah?”

                                                                    Sincerely,

                                                                              A Writer

Rainy Dawn in the City - my first poem!

Rainy Dawn in the City

Faint slivers of cold, grey light streak across the black sky.
The city is as still as an empty stage in a darkened theater.
Lines of silvery rain rush past my window to the street below,

Where puddles glimmer like mirrors, reflecting signs and

      windows and doors.
Pigeons calmly stroll the sidewalks, alone at a private

      picnic,
pecking at yesterday's crumbs.
It is cold and grey and silent in this moment before the world

      wakes.
And I, four floors above the puddled streets, pull my soft,
friendly quilt a little closer
And wait for the first spoken word of the day.

                                                                             Sincerely,

                                                                                       A Writer

A monologue I wrote about my imaginary friend

This is a monologue I wrote, also when I was younger, just after I read Anne of Green Gables. I loved the book so much, I wrote a monologue (although I didn't know what it was at the time!) in the style of the way Anne talks to Marilla, only about my imaginary friend, whom I suspect is still lurking around in the corners of my mind.

There is a beautiful, perfectly elegant brick house on Goldmine Hill (it's named after the old gold mine they made nearby, of course,) less than a mile away from mine. Even though I know I am much too old, sometimes I pretend a girl my age lives there. She is pretty (although she couldn't care less) and vivacious, bold and careless, too curious for her own good, and dreadfully sarcastic if provoked. She can give the most distractingly witty little speeches that are simply enchanting.

Although I know I shouldn't judge people by their looks, it's so much easier to love something beautiful than ugly, don't you think? I try not to mind how dreadfully plain I am in comparison, but it is hard, and Adele is very pretty. She is tall and slim, with long, smooth hair like black silk and dark eyes that flash and sparkle and dance when she is excited.

She can sulk spectacularly, and throw the most brilliant tantrums. She sulks quite often, mostly because she goes to a perfectly dreadful all-girls school (one of the best in the country, of course, because she is very wealthy), and hates it because the other girls are snobby and mean and tease Adele because she doesn't care about fashion or boys like they do. She's gotten kicked out of three different schools in the past year alone. Three! Can you imagine?

I was a little frightened of her at first, because I'd heard such awful stories, but she was very nice and scrupulously polite. She said she'd never met anyone with such a mouth on them, but she rather liked it on me, because at least I had something interesting to say, and that was more than what could be said of some people!

We had a perfectly delicious afternoon. We sat in the shade under some enormous oak trees, and the cook brought us cookies on delicate china plates rimmed in gold: snickerdoodle, sugar, ginger snap, chocolate chip, and even a funny kind I'd never had, from Germany Adele said. A secret family recipe of the cook's. We pretended to be elegant young ladies, taking tiny bites of cookie, until Adele bet me 10 cents I couldn't fit more cookies into my mouth at one time than her. Of course I didn't bet, because gambling is wrong, but Adele did it anyway. It was so funny I almost died laughing.

Oh, I just know Adele and I are going to be the best of friends! Adele says she will take me to the circus! Imagine that, a real circus, with lions and acrobats and everything! And to concerts in the summer, and ice skating in the winter, and to Adele's summer cottage by the sea, and we'll celebrate each other's birthdays together, since they're only a few years apart, and oh, what fun we'll have! 

Did you like it? I thought it was pretty good!

                                          Sincerely,

                                                                          A Writer

An old essay I found in my closet...

           I found an old essay I wrote when I was younger today! It's about what kind of house I want to own when I grow up. I was looking for a silk Japanese fan I'd lost a few days ago, but I found it instead! I edited it a little, so tell me what you think...

         ...The house will be snow and creamy lemon,* with more windows than you can count, with hidden corridors and lost rooms you never find twice. With walls covered in murals and balconies tucked into sweet, unsuspecting corners, perfect for seeing without being seen. With staircases that spiral up and up until your head is spinning and you simply cannot climb anymore. With a room higher than the rest, so high that looking down makes you dizzy and looking up brings you closer to the stars than the gods. With an ocean at your fingertips and stories piled high...

        So, what do you think? I thought it turned out pretty well.

                                         Sincerely,

                                                                                   A Writer
*Mmm...aren't those words delicious together? They make me think of these super delish chocolate and strawberry pastries my mom made me for mah birthday...