before I go mad

🌊

"What do they want?" I ask. My breath catches in my throat as a small group of pirates passes our hiding place.

"That's easy," says the Dr. He wraps Aurora's hand with a strip of cloth. Already, the make-shift bandage is dark with blood. "They're after Florin's Fan." He finishes.

"But that's a myth," says Aurora. She shakes her head, blonde hair in a tangled mess. The Dr. smiles lightly.

"Yes, girl. It's a myth. But like all good stories, it's based on a truth." The fire from the torches embedded in the sand reflects in his eyes. The way the shadows twist his face makes him look almost frightening "The fan was never owned by Florin. It never passed through twelve bombings unscathed. All it is is an ordinary map concealed in a lady's accessory. But it is real."

Before I realize it, my hand jumps to where my dress pocket should be. I can almost feel the heavy fan bobbing against my side as it did the night before. But I'm in trousers now. My heart begins to race. On the ship. My dress is on The Augusto. I'm about to tell Aurora to stay put when the clicking of a gun being cocked sounds behind us. A sand-smeared pirate with a crimson scarf tied around his face holds a pistol to Dr. Charelyn's head.

"Drop your sword." He says and my heart skips a beat. I'd know those eyes anywhere.

"Father!" Aurora gasps. The pirate tugs his bandanna off, releasing puffs of sand, and tries to smile reassuringly at his daughter. But I can see his hand shaking slightly as he repeats his threat to the Dr. "I said drop your sword, man!"

Aurora runs into his arms and gently lowers his gun,

"He helped us escape, father." Everly eyes the Dr. for a moment before nodding curtly. He then takes Aurora's face in his hands, soaking her in as if he'll never see her again.

I realize this is my time to exit. The Augusto sways menacingly on the water like a giant, abandoned tortoiseshell. As I crawl away, I turn in time to see Everly on his knees embracing Aurora. "Goodbye," I whisper and slide-crawl to the next cluster of bushes.

The sand is warm and itchy. I watch from my position behind the trunk of a palm tree, weighing my options. Except for a few drunken stragglers, most of the pirates are further up the shore. I can hear their rallying calls and anger-driven shouts. I spot a small rowboat that bobs by the shore but it's too near to the group. I'm considering swimming for it when I spot an oar only a few yards ahead of me. It's better than nothing.

The water is colder than I'd expected. I inhale sharply as it splashes me in the face. Now that I'm in the water, the ship looks even more terrible. The nearer I swim the further the boat seems to be but my desire never to set foot in it again is so strong I don't really care.

By the time I reach the belly of the ship, I'm fatigued. I dog-paddle to the chain of the anchor and find I can barely pull myself up. I stop to catch my breath. Why am I doing this? Sure, I'd like it if the pirates were defeated, but I wouldn't put myself in danger for that. I would've reported the fan’s whereabouts to someone else. And then it hits me. Everly and Aurora. They've dug a place into my heart. In spite of all the ways I tried to shield it. It feels strange to be doing something for someone I love again. I can’t tell whether or not Elijah was ever truly dear to me. But it doesn’t matter anymore. He’s chosen his place and I’ve chosen mine. Hanging off the belly of a ship.

I manage to claw my way into a window, barely avoiding falling back into the water. The ship is completely silent. A few lanterns sway with the water, warping shadows. I scan the room, crouched beneath the stream of moonlight that’s flowing from the window. Nothing but a few barrels of gunpowder and crates of hardtack and rope. Still, I shuffle as quietly as I can to the door, praying the call to join the riot has coaxed every last pirate off.

On the other side of the deck, I can see the shed of a room where Aurora and I were put and my heart speeds up. The fan is in there. I have to slow myself down, as it’s hard to believe I’m the only one who knows about it. Despite how careful I’m being, the slippery boards groan beneath my feet.

I reach the room feeling more unnerved that I haven’t seen a sailor yet. Everything is just as we left it. The cot where I lay is still unmade, Aurora’s ribbon strewn across the covers. I spot the midnight blue folds of my dress, crumpled in the corner between a barrel and the wall. I’m there in a flash, tearing through the fabric, shaking it, ripping seams. My breath catches in my throat when I hear a thud. The ship gives an unexpected shift and Florin’s Fan slides harmlessly to my knees.

Gingerly, I spread it open. The blue silk seems to shimmer in the moonlight. I touch the painted images lightly, as I would handling a butterfly. A smile is just spreading across my lips when I study the pictures more closely. First, there is a dead, leafless tree sitting half in sand and half in water. A crescent moon shines down on it, illuminating a gaping opening in its front. Next is an image of a naked man stepping into the trunk. He stares at the walls of his wooden cage and suddenly changes. His eyes roll back into his head and his body hunches. His hands form crooked claws and his tongue lolls out of his teeth.

I throw the fan from me, prickles running up my arms. It has unsettled me so much I don’t hear the creak of the floorboards behind me.

“Halt.”

The voice doesn’t make me jump. Instead, it turns my insides to ice that feels as though any move could shatter me into a thousand pieces. I force myself to pick up the fan and turn to face him. His velvet blue eyes have lost none of their lusters. They widen at the sight of my face. I feel myself shaking and inexplicably warm. Elijah lowers his pistol but does not move. A breeze from the sea whispers through the window, picking up his black hair.

“Let me go, Elijah,” I say and I take a step towards the small window. “You must let me go.” I realize I care more about whether or not the pirates get what they want than I thought. I’d rather see the treasure rust beneath the ocean than fall into Havelock’s hands. He’s the one who changed Elijah from the wonderful, warm man I knew.

Elijah lowers his head. But I’m ready to jump if need be. I glance again at the window, gripping the fan so tight my knuckles blanch.

“Oh Clare,” Elijah’s looking into my eyes now, such pain radiating from them I start to shiver. “Can you f-”

The sound of a cannonball ripping through the ship is so loud, it hurts my teeth. The last thing I see is Elijah’s hand stretched out to me, an unholy cloud of fire bursting around him, swallowing him up.

The sky is on fire. I’m flying, unscathed. The blistering heat cannot touch me. I reach my hand up as if to touch the flames that bloom like flowers and realize I’m not in the sky but in the water. Tiny bubbles tickle my face and play with my hair. Debris from The Augusto makes the water shiver around me. Slowly, my ears begin to ring, louder and louder until I can barely stand it. I’m swimming now, hard. I have to get away because everything around me screams danger. I know Elijah is swimming too. He’ll be with me when I make it to the beach.

I crash from the water and drag myself onto the sand. I’m so, so heavy. The ringing has not stopped and I find I cannot focus my eyes. I retch and gag, expelling warm water from within me until I collapse. Painful thumping sounds all around me and I see the feet of sailors running to the aid of what is already lost. With my first breath of air, everything comes back to me.

I saw Elijah. I found the fan. I saw Elijah. I read the fan. I saw Elijah.

I reach out, expecting to find him sprawled on the beach next to me. Instead, I grab a fistful of sand. This is enough to clear my head. It takes enormous effort to turn around but I do.

There is no ship. There is no fan. There is no Elijah.

I don’t feel anything. A wave of numbness envelopes me and I indulge it. Because feeling would hurt too much. Instead of screaming his name I fall back and stare at the sky. The stars have come out and are staring down at me like children with wide, unknowing eyes. Vaguely, in the recesses of my mind, I hear my name being shouted. Again and again.

Horses have begun tearing at the sand around me. No one seems to notice me as I lay there, silently crying. At least I think I’m crying, I can’t tell. I hear my name again.

“Clare!”

Perhaps if I lie here long enough, the tide will take me away.

“Clare! Where are you?” My eyes shoot open. I lift my head and search the hell that’s spread before me for Everly’s voice. Men scramble over each other to flee into the woods. Already, bodies litter the sand, tainting the foam waves red. General Seeley rides on his silvery horse, slashing with his sword like a madman.

“Clare!” Everly is running toward me, shoving people out of the way. Aurora stands half concealed by the trees with the Doctor.

“I’m here!” I try to yell by my voice is nothing but a wheeze. I suddenly notice that my throat is on fire. I must have screamed a lot when the ship erupted. I start to tug myself along the beach, just managing to duck my head when a soldier leaps over me. I’m halfway there when every strand of hair I have sears in pain. For a moment I think my head has caught on fire but then I’m lifted from the sand and I see Captain Havelock standing over me.

“You brought them here!” He shouts, bloody spit flying from his mouth. He shakes me and I feel a clump hair come loose in his fist. “You brought them here to kill us, you mewling harpy! I’ll kill you! I’ll-” He stops, but does not release me. His bloodshot eyes glaze over as he looks up. I take this moment of distraction to kick him in the gut. He releases me and I frantically push away.

“You!” He says, pointing at Everly who now aims a gun at the Captain. “It’s y-” The bullet drives through his chest and out his back and he collapses, gasping. A bright red stain blooms across his chest.

I stumble into Everly’s arms.

“Where did you go? I was looking for you everywhere!” He says, petting my shaking head. I look up, confused.

“For me?” I ask. He nods.

“We’re a family,” he says, holding my face. I don’t have time to react before he takes my arm and leads me into the trees. Dr. Charelyn checks my pulse and looks me in the eyes.

“She’ll be fine. Mild concussion.” He says. “Lucky measle.”

“What happened?” I ask.

“General blew up the ship,” he answers, leading us into the trees. Aurora wraps her arms around me and I hold her too.

“I thought you died!” She says. I feel her tears on my neck.

“You heard Dr. Charelyn. I’m one lucky measle.” we laugh wetly and when I stand Aurora keeps hold of my hand.

Through the trees, I can see the General driving the pirates further up the shore, Captain Havelock unmoving in the water.

“The Captain,” I say to Everly, “he knew you.” His jaw clenches. “How?” I press. He seems to be avoiding my eyes. Sensing the tension, the Dr. draws his sword and volunteers to keep watch, crouching in the bushes a few feet away.

“Yes.” Says Everly, “I knew him. But he did not know me.” He picks up a branch and twists his bandana around it. “He thought I was my father.”

“Grandpa Roeland?” asks Aurora, her nose scrunching. Everly shakes his head and pours the contents of a bottle over the newly made torch.

“No, darling. Declan Everly. He was a pirate hunter.” He disappears for a moment, leaving Aurora and me shivering in the wind, and returns, the torch on fire. “My father was very skilled at what he did.” The light sharpens the edges of his face. “He caught the ship Havelock was first mate on years ago. The Vespertine, I think it was.”

I didn’t have time to wonder before, but now it springs to my mind. I finish his thought for him,

“And on it, he found something very, very valuable.”

“Florin’s Fan, yes.” He says, sighing. “My father left it to me, but after his death, I could never find it. I finally concluded that he’d hidden it in greed, which was very likely.”

Suddenly, I’m remembering that very early morning. The General smashing his fist against the door. Everly’s exasperated yells.

“The General,” I say, “He wanted you to give it to him?” Everly smiles, halfheartedly.

“He and every other soul. I don’t know how he found out I had it, but after that, he wouldn’t leave me alone. Day and night he’d approach me, drooling for it.”

“Why?” I say, my throat beginning to contract at the memory of the insane man in the tree, “Who would sacrifice their sanity for gold?” The moment I say it, Everly’s hand is clasped over my mouth. I yell from shock but it’s muffled.

“No one.” He whispers, shaking my shoulders, “No one, can ever know you read the map.” I nod, too shaken to answer. “How? How did you find it!” He demands.

“I-it was in my dress pocket!” I blurt out, “I left it on the ship and I went back to get it!” My mind suddenly latches onto the memory of blinding light encasing Elijah's body. I want to claw it out, be rid of it. It plays again and again on vicious replay and now I know I will never be able to forget. Everly releases me without a word and takes the torch to an opening in the foliage, waving it left and right. A signal. Before long, two boats carrying a patchwork of men arrive.

"Come on. Get in." Everly ushers Aurora and me down the bank. Another canon blast howls, ripping the air in half. Aurora covers her ears. Dr. Charelyn offers his hand and I take it but he doesn't lead me to the boat. His grip suddenly tightens, crushing my shaking fingers. "Ouch!" I try to break free but he only holds tighter. "Let go of me!"

"Congratulations." He says, "You've just become the most valuable girl in the Atlantic."

It takes a moment for Everly to react and in that hesitation, the Dr. is already holding a gun to Aurora’s temple. The two men stand there, staring each other down, nothing but the boats beneath us move.

“Release her,” Everly says through gritted teeth. The Dr. laughs.

“Not gonna happen. Either you let me sail out of this bay, unharmed or you get to see what your daughter’s brains look like.” Aurora whimpers and I feel myself shaking. Everly opens his mouth to say something but I cut him off.

“No, Nathaniel,” My moment of happiness was short-lived. “I will go.” He tries to object, “No! It is my choice. Get back home.” I wrench my hand from the Dr.’s and turn to the second boat.

“Clare!” Aurora cries. I’m in real danger of crying now, about Elijah, about my family, and my fate. I feel my ribs shake and my heartache but I hold it in and turn to face them one last time. “Don’t follow me, do you understand?” I say to Everly. He nods slightly and that’s what scares me most. He won’t do nothing at all. “You can’t. They’ll kill you and Aurora will have no one.” I pray that is enough for him. He simply stares at me.

The Dr. keeps his pistol poised on them as another man ties my wrists behind my back. As soon as he’s done I walk to the other side of the boat, as far away from them as possible.

“Well?” the Dr. says, “Say goodbye to your family, girl. You’ll probably never see them again. Or if you do, you’ll be so deranged you won’t know it.”

I lock eyes with Charelyn but do not give him the satisfaction of breaking me down. If I’m to be their puppet, so be it, but I will not lose myself to it. Everly and Aurora stand there, still as statues, the wind blowing their hair. A fire has broken out in the woods behind them, burning their silhouettes into my eyes so that even when I close them, they’re there, side by side with Elijah.

“Let’s get out of here, Cyprian.” Charelyn tosses an oar or the other man and slowly, we sail away.

“I’ll miss you,” I say, quieter than a whisper, and turn away from them. Try to forget them. Because I now know, that I have only a little time before I go mad.

🌊  

Le Dame et Le Pauvre

May 1888

            A butterscotch glow draped everything within ten feet of the little café. With the sky so dark, the world looked as if it were upside down, the café the sun, and the foggy blue an ocean, tossing buildings back and forth. Edmund twisted in his wire chair, his eyes catching every carriage that passed by. A waiter in a white apron paused at Edmund’s table. His eyes glanced down his long nose at the empty chair as he refilled Edmund’s water.

“She’ll be here,” said Edmund. He downed the water in two gulps. The waiter disappeared, stepping into the café and leaving Edmund alone in the still street. The heavy clop of horse hooves sounded from behind. Edmund stood as a carriage door opened and lavender-colored skirts dripped onto the cobbled street. His insides felt as twisted as the wire chair and he suddenly regretted the last two glasses of water. He offered his hand to the lady and she took it. Delicate lace covered her fingers which twined with his, rough and raw from scrubbing. Edmund released his grasp, afraid of tainting the perfect gloves.

“I’m sorry. I know I’m frightfully late,” said Celine. She swept to her chair with glass spun elegance. “I couldn’t tell you how difficult it was to escape.”

“Not at all. The night is still young,” replied Edmund. Her deep green eyes caught the twinkle from the café lights like blades of grass catching fireflies. “Really, Celine, it is such a pleasure to see you again. I thought,” Edmund hesitated, “Well, I thought last time would be our last.”

“I did too.” Celine grasped his hands, rubbing lace on roughness. “Let’s enjoy tonight.” The white aproned waiter placed fragrant bread and steaming soup in front of them. “You look very smart. Have I seen that suit before?” asked Celine. Edmund looked down at the crisp black sleeves. The suit was a stark contrast to his old tweed. Now’s your chance. Tell her.

“This? Yes, I think you’ve seen it.” He drained his glass. Drat. The cravat was so starched he could feel it bounce against his throat with every heartbeat. The corner of Celine’s mouth lifted, setting her blush colored lips into a smirk. It’s no use old boy, she’s too sharp for your act. “Actually, no. It’s brand new.”

“You didn’t buy that just for dinner, did you?” her concern for his finances was, for once, misplaced.

“Oh, but I did.” Edmund’s insides felt as if they were dancing the can-can. “You see, there’s been a development.”

Celine’s expression was unreadable. She had stopped eating, giving him every ounce of her attention. Edmund’s mind was screaming at him to retreat, fall back at the last second, but he pushed on. “I got a job. A real job. Through Charlie’s friend, he told me about it. I didn’t expect it to go anywhere, but it did.”

Celine was still. Her face began to glow a pretty peach tone. Edmund took her hand in his, cupping it as gently as a butterfly. “You see, Celine, this means I can support you. That I’m worthy of you.”

“Edmund,” she began, shaking her head and sending her dark blonde curls into a dance.

“No, my darling, listen. I wouldn’t ask you before, because I couldn’t bear for you to have to live lower because of me. But I’m on the up now.” Her eyes were starting to glitter. Was that bad? “And I want you to be my wife.”

Silence. The late-night breeze sent the leaves on the flowers in the center of the table shivering. Edmund was shivering too. Or shaking. Celine broke her gaze, eyes batting at the tablecloth in disbelief. The clinking of dishes sounded from inside the restaurant. A voice yelled down the street.

“I wasn’t expecting-” she began. Edmund released her hand.

“I should’ve done it properly.” He placed his napkin on the table. Well done. You really charmed her proposing over cold soup. “I don’t even have a ring.” He gave an airy laugh.

“No, no it’s not that.” Celine shook her head; her jaw was sharp and resolute. “It’s my guardian. He w-won’t… approve.” She was struggling to speak. Perhaps she felt as giddy as he did.

Edmund’s chair scraped stone as he moved closer. “Yes, I’ve thought of that. I know Monsieur DeChangy is strict. But we should’ve told him long ago. I will tell him about my job, about our future.”

Celine placed her hand on top of his as a single tear escaped her lashes. She swept it away before it reached her chin. “I’m not sure it will work, Edmund.” Her brows were knit.

“Come now, what’s this?” He tapped the bottom of her chin. “What’s wrong? What has he done?”

“Nothing,” her eyes left his, looking down again, “It’s just- Edmund, perhaps we should wait. We’re so young,”

Ah, so that’s what he’s done. Edmund sat back in his chair, cold metal pressing his back. When he spoke, the tone of his voice surprised him. Jagged but soft, like distant thunder, “DeChagny told you how it would be then, did he? Living in a house with no drawing rooms, married to a man with no servants?”

Celine’s face hardened, seemed to turn to marble in an instant. She fixed him with her glittering eyes. “That’s not fair. Don’t use my status against me. We are different, Edmund, I admit. But has that stopped me from seeing you?” She looked wild when she was angry. Like a runaway mare, impossible to tame.

“No,” he admitted. Then pushing his chair out said, “It’s just stopped you from marrying me.”

“You cannot understand, even a little, my reservation? What are you doing?” Edmund fumbled for his pocketbook. He placed several crumpled bills on the table.

“Paying for dinner. That, at least, was not a disappointment.”

Edmund looked at Celine, her eyes shooting sparks, her hair on fire in the yellow light and he softened. Slipping the pocketbook back into his coat he said, “I will not force you to do something you are not comfortable with, Celine. This is goodbye.” Before her startled face or honeyed voice could stop him, his shoes were splashing puddles in the dips of cobbled stones.

“Eddie, no! Please don’t go!” Celine’s voice sounded distant. The world felt as though it were flooded. There was the sound of rushing water in Edmund’s ears, his legs resisted his every step and everything, everything moved in slow motion. A blurry impression of the world he knew before. The pinpricked stars turned to warbled smears and his heartbeats bled together. As he left the warm breeze and the butterscotch glow behind him, he felt as though he were lost in the upside-down sea of the city, drowning in the smog. And behind him, far behind him, sat the lavender crumpled in her petals at the little café.

Celine watched as Edmund’s black clad figure turned to smoke with the shadows, beyond the reach of the warmth of the café. Her head collapsed into her hands and she took no notice of the waiter clearing dishes. The wind picked up as the golden strip of lights above her went out one by one. Just like that, the magic of the café was gone, as if its soul had left for the night and nothing but a hollow shell remained.

the sleeping human

I miss Steven Moffat's Doctor Who. Everybody's thinking it, I'm just saying it. The latest season is positively disgraceful. It's so unfortunate that they should switch writers JUST as they decided to make The Doctor female. Now, it looks as though the series is weakened by this gender switch, which is not the case. Perhaps I will write a post on this to get my feelings out.

But for now, I have written something that reminds me of good ol' Doctor Who. There is a very special balance of the magic of fairytales, myths or legends, and the intense and baffling mystery of sci-fi in every episode of Doctor Who. That is what I tried to capture here. The concept (which I gave .3% thought to) is that some humans left to live on Mars, while others stayed on Earth. Eventually, the "Martians" returned to help Earth with their new knowledge, etc. to find that all the Earthens were dead except one. That one is asleep in Camber's living room. When things got very bad, the Earthens attempted to preserve their lives by sleeping in the pods until the Martians could return and save them; however, something went wrong (villainous sabotage? a fluke in the system? I don't know) and only the sleeping woman is left. I never finished it, but I imagined they would go on a great adventure together.

(quick note: I had an OBNOXIOUS time getting this to paste into blogger without all of the text going into one longggg line across my blog and into the white abyss of the internet. So if some of the formating is messed up, it is 50% because of Google Docs and 50% because I'm stupid.)

 

The Sleeping Human.

There's a woman asleep in my living room.
She's been there for a while. So long, in fact, that most days, I don't even see her. I rest my oatmeal on her face, and mother sets her tea on her knees. Before you call us names, you should know that she's in an immovable case made of titanium glass. It's basically indestructible. My family should know. She's been here for decades. Centuries probably! My parents have tried everything, but here she stays, asleep amongst all of our history. Sometimes I wonder if she's listening. If she can hear me through the glass. I put my face right next to it, and see if I can catch a flicker of an eyelid or a finger twitching. But she's always as still as stone, save for her chest rising and falling in a slow breath. A breath as slow as death. 

This morning, my parents kissed me goodbye and told me for the billionth time how to use the food dispenser, and not to forget to turn the solars on. They are going on a tour of the Old Landscapes. They're historians, and that means everything in our house is historic too. Old chairs, old paintings, old gadgets, and collectibles. We even have a sink! I like it. It makes me feel like an Earthen.
(Long story really short, my people are descended from the humans who were brave enough to venture to Mars, but years and years and years later, we came back to find that there were only a few Earthens left. We tried to help them, to heal them. But, they all died. Every one of them. Except the one in my living room.)

"Camber?"
I pull my eyes away from the sleeping woman's hypnotic breathing.
"Why don't you cover it up, or something?" My friend Lux says, standing at the edge of the living room, her feet rooted to the ground. I smile. Lux is terrified of the woman in the box.
"Because," I pause, thinking about it. "Because, I think she'd be lonely," I say.
Lux doesn't stay long. She and I play around with my projector, making shadow mustache's on Earthen art, and I think she's forgotten about the woman. But, when we eat our food packs, she continues to glance over her shoulder at the case until she mumbles something about homework and rushes off. I don't mind that Lux doesn't like the sleeping woman. Perhaps I would find her scary too if I hadn't grown up with her.

It wasn't until late that night, the eve of an old Earthen holiday called Christmuse, that I noticed something strange. Yes, it was very late. Yes, I ate close to ten A.M. food packs, but I know what I saw.

My head was bobbing as I sat slumped in the armchair watching the holovision. Flakes of snow cast shadows on the wall, like dozens of shadow fairies, (something I love about Earth is the seasons! There are four of them!) I followed one with my eyes as it danced down the wall, over the couch, and onto the sleeping woman's face.

That's when I froze.

The woman in the box. There was something different about her. Something very different. I squinted. In the dark, her hair looked dull, her clothes pale. Her chest rose and fell as it always had, but then I saw it. Her mouth. She was... smiling. A small smile, yeah, but she was smiling. I jumped up and tripped over the chair. My mind felt numb. I always imagined what it'd be like if she woke up, the things I'd ask her. But now, I just felt… scared. I didn't have time to think about it though, because no sooner did I stand up, than a hissing noise fill the room and the top of the case slide in on itself like one of those elveator doors. I think I screamed, but let's pretend I didn't. I know I stood there, rooted to the spot like Lux. A sort of mist dissipated from around the woman, and I could see her face clearly for the first time in my life. You could've heard my heart beating from the street. She was still, so still. Her white hair was long and twisty, her lips a purplish red. Nothing happened. She didn't move a micrometer. I looked at her clothing. She was dressed in jeans and a sweater that I was pretty sure was made of actual animal fur. Snowflake shadows twirled over her face, and as if they tickled her awake, her eyelids began to flutter. Okay, I admit it, I started to panic. I stepped back to the wall, hiding behind the solar lamp (not my best hiding place, I know.)

Her silver eyebrows fell into a frown.

"Oh…" she spoke. She actually spoke. Then, she coughed, "My mouth is so dry," She blinked, staring at the ceiling, swallowing millennia of dust bits. I considered running for it, but I honestly couldn't move. I was transfixed by her. Then, like a spring from a box, she sat up with a woosh, and looked right at me. All I could think was that her eyes were green. I'd always wondered what they'd be. Earthen's had a high rate of brown I think, but I'd dreamed of blue.

"Um… Hello," she said.

Imagine if your pet or your favorite doll just stood up and started talking to you. Something that you've known for a long time, but that's never known you. Now multiply that by one hundred. That's how I felt.

"H-hello," I stuttered from behind the solar lamp's pole.

"Sorry," she spoke with a strange accent. (If you're wondering how I could understand her, all students have to learn Old Earthen, A.K.A the single most boring subject I've ever taken. Now, I wish I'd paid closer attention. I hate it when school comes in handy.) "Could I have a glass of water, please?" she said.

"H-have at it ," I said in a tone at least two octaves higher than usual. I was actually afraid I was going to faint, "The kitchen…" I pointed weakly to it. The woman lifted her legs over the edge of her case and stood. She was taller than I'd expected. That is, until she fell over, sending an end table flying.

"Sorry! It's been a while," she pulled the table upright again, adjusting the now broken petals of mother's onyx mechrose. Then, she used the wall to stand again. She began bandy-legging to the kitchen, but I stayed in the living room, too shocked to move. The sleeping woman. She'd woken up! What would Lux say? What would my parents say? I watched the woman search through the cupboards. They would probably tell me she was dangerous. But they weren't there. I was. So, I followed after the woman, who had given up searching the cupboards and had placed her head under the faucet, gulping water.

"Yes, hello!" I said again, sounding stupid. "I've been waiting for you to wake up for ages!" She came up for air, the tip of her nose dripping.

"You? Waiting for me? What ever for?" she said, the wrinkles around her eyes deepening. I frowned too.
"Well, you've been asleep for a really long time, and I've been watching over you, I guess."
"Oh, I see. Are you a volunteer, then?" she said and then suddenly, her face darkened and her eyes darted to and fro as if she were seeing everything for the first time. "This isn't The Hold…" 

"No… It's my house," I answered. Without a word, she wobbled past me, looking up the staircase, out the windows, and up the chimney. She then began inspecting every inch of her case. I joined her, eager to see the inside.

M.

perspective in writing

 I was looking through my old scribblings today and came across something that has helped me a lot with my writing. Considering perspective.  It's like taking a picture of the same place during different weather. 

  
(not the same place. similar. best I could do)

What you write and how you write it depends on which character is seeing and experiencing it.

If you have a character who is generally positive and upbeat but has recently had something bad happen, they might be relating everything regrettably e.g.

"Persephone usually liked the sun, but today the open deck of the ship was sickeningly yellow. The sound of laughter set her teeth on edge and the shape of every cloud was 'blob'."
She is still noticing the sunshine, people's laughter, and the shapes of clouds, but it's rubbing her the wrong way because of whatever happened that upset her.

Or say you have someone who's on that same boat, and they feel amazing because it's a dream come true to be traveling to New York. They might find that nothing can ruin their mood and that everything is absurdly great. e.g.

"The alespotted floorboards smelled like musk and adventure. Neville leaned over the banister, the sun bore down on his skin with vicious rays; it reminded him of the fireside. And when the bitter seawater spilled onto his lap and soaked his trousers he shivered with excitement and hypothermic joy."

Or imagine you have someone who's on that same boat merely for business. They might hide away where they could focus and overlook the more beautiful parts of the trip. e.g.

"Violet folded her body into the corner where the wall cast a small pie slice of shade. Finally. She could shorthand without the sun in her eyes. If only the boat would stop swaying, then she might be able to keep her lunch in her stomach and her pen in her hand."

Characterization is something I find difficult. Trying to describe people's feelings is almost impossible for me because I can't even describe my own feelings! But this concept has taught me to stop and think about the differences between my characters.


M.