So how was your first 1000 or so words?
Go ahead, share and gloat!
2909 words written from 12-2:30. I'm at a part that has no outline and I don't know what's going to happen next! The next part of the outline I have can't happen yet!
(This isn't edited obviously)
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It seemed like any other day, though when Eian woke up, he just knew something wasn't right. In a panic, he started to kick and scream. He was trapped. There was no light where he was. It seemed to be a small room, no, not a room, a small box that went the length of Eian's body. What was going on? Eian almost swore he couldn't breathe, because there had to be no air in such a small space. When he realized that air wasn't a problem at all, the man became confused.
What's this? He asked himself. He paused all movements. His knuckles were starting to bleed from slamming them against the box. I'm not in any pain. At least not the kind of pain I should be in. That was the truth. Even though his knuckles were completely rubbed free of all skin, and he was bleeding, Eian only felt a prin prick of pain as if someone had poked him with the tip of a pen.
Eian tried to sit up in the small amount of space he had; his head smashed right into the box above him. This did it; he started to panic again. There was no way out and even though he wasn't dying from lack of breath as he should be, he felt like he was going to any moment. He was terrified.
“He's awake,” Eian heard a small voice coming from the other side of the box.
“You take that end, I'll take this end,” another voice ordered.
Suddenly light glared into Eian's eyes. He blinked, trying to see through the brightness. Around him stood a strange group of people. Eian looked around at them, and then around at the room he was in. He glanced down at the box he had thought he was lying in, his eyes going wild when he realized the box was a coffin.
Why would somebody put him inside a coffin? Was this some kind of sick joke? Eian rubbed at his eyes. Maybe everything was a dream. It had to be. It wasn't normal to wake up in a coffin. Only Shadows did that. Eian wasn't one of those undead creatures. They were evil, weren't they?
Besides, Eian figured he'd remember if he died. How could you forget something like that? Though in the back of his mind, something awful tugged at his memory, something he couldn't remember fully, and something he probably never wanted to remember.
“Where am I?” Eian asked, finally finding his voice.
The strange group of people stared at Eian, a mixture of emotions behind their eyes. Eian mostly saw pity. The smallest of the group walked toward Eian. She had to be no more then five years old. Her smoky gray eyes were eerie. Eian shuddered when he looked into them. There was innocents there, though far too much intelligence for a child.
Eian suddenly had the biggest shock since he had woken up. He rubbed his eyes again, as if checking to see if this were a dream for the second time. He could see. Eian had been born blind. All his life he had seen with his other senses, never with his sight.
The child in front of Eian raised an eyebrow. She seemed to know what Eian had realized.
“You'll get used to it,” the girl said. “I was mute and deaf before.” She spoke as if she were years older, yet her voice was still sweet and child-like.
“I don't know what's going on,” Eian said. He looked from the little girl to the other people. “Who are you?”
“Don't be alarmed,” one of the older looking males gently told Eian in a calm voice. “We're friends. You've got to trust what I tell you. We. Are. Friends.” He put his hand over Eian's. Eian flinched at how cold his hand was, though he didn't say anything or pull away.
“I'm known as Syder,” the man continued. He had kind blue eyes. Eian had trouble not trusting him. His eyes were just so kind.
“I'm Lana,” the little girl said. She tilted her head to the side, winking at Eian.
“Lana, Syder,” Eian repeated. He looked at the rest. There was an older woman with long black and gray hair, and a young man with strawberry blond hair, and then there was a young teenager with sandy blond hair. Why had this group came to meet him?
Finally, Eian whispered in a shuddery voice, “am I dead?” That was the only thing that made any sense. He had awoken inside a coffin, he barely felt any pain when he bled, and the scariest thing, Eian didn't think he was breathing.
Lana put a small hand on Eian's shoulder. She had to stand on her tip toes so that she could do this. She was so small.
“Calm down,” Syder said.
“How can you say that?” Eian demanded. He wanted to cry, to scream, but he couldn't find the strength to react at all. He was dead, he was dead, yet he still moved. How could he have died? How could he have become a Shadow? An evil undead being the world hated. Not much was known about the undead race of humans except for their evilness. Eian didn't want to be evil.
“Leave me alone,” Eian said, shifting away from Lana and Syder's hands. He shook, his whole body seeming to spasm, as if he were having some kind of fit.
“We can't do that,” the girl with dark hair said. Her voice was wise and full of understanding.
“Cidney,” Syder addressed the woman, “he's in shock.”
Cidney frowned; Eian just glared at Syder. He wasn't in shock. He knew just what was happening; he just didn't like it.
“You're one of us now,” Lana whispered thoughtfully. “Family.”
Somehow Eian knew this was true and it terrified him.
“What happened to me?” Eian whispered. How had he died?
“That's not important,” Syder said firmly. He had no idea how this boy died anyway. “The important thing is figuring out how you're going to spend your second chance.” He reached out for Eian, offering assistance in getting him out of the coffin. Eian pulled back from Syder at first, fear clearly written in his body language, though he finally let Syder pull him out.
“I don't know. What about my family?” Eian asked. If he really was a Shadow, then his family would fear and hate him like everyone else. He was a being that nobody understood; only a small percentage of humans became a Shadow after their death. Why was he chosen? Just why was he being punished?
“You have to forget them,” Syder said as kindly as he could. His voice slightly choked. Finding a new born was never easy. There was so much they had to learn; so much they had to give up. “We're your family now.”
“You have nobody else,” the young man with strawberry blond hair said, speaking for the first time.
“Robert, don't tell him that,” Lana said, swatting at the man as if she were his mother. It was the most unusual sight Eian had ever seen... not that he had ever really seen anything before this day.
“But he doesn't,” Robert said quietly, though Eian could hear him just fine.
Everything hit Eian hard in the gut and he was finally able to cry. Syder patted him awkwardly on the back, surprised when Eian leaned against his chest, hugging him as if he were a young, frightened child; in a way he was.
---
Syder lead Eian into a large room. It was bare, except for two beds, two nightstands, and a mirror. The walls were white, and the carpet was light green. The room felt depressing.
“This will be your room,” Syder said. “You'll have a roommate, though right now, you will live alone.” He walked over to one of the beds and set down. “This house is funded by silent supporters,” Syder explained. “Believe it or not, there are some who believe we are mistreated and want to help protect us.”
Cidney walked into the room. Her long dark hair was pulled up in a grandmotherly bun. She set some clothes on top of a dresser and then turned to Eian. “We have no need to eat,” she said, “though we do have a fully stocked kitchen. Eating for pleasure is the only reason any of us eat.”
Eian barely paid attention to Cidney; he didn't care about any of that stuff. Everyone he had met so far seemed kind and decent, but what about the reports saying all Shadows were evil, blood thirsty creatures?
“Am I evil?” Eian whispered, though he was really just talking to himself.
With a sigh, Syder glanced up at the ceiling. “Shadows are the same as they were before they re born. We're just like everyone else. Some are good, some are bad. You are what you want to be, Eian. Whatever you choose. Okay?”
He felt as if he understood, but Eian didn't get something. If Shadows were just like everyone else, then why did all the reports on the news say they were evil? Why were there hunts for the undead if they weren't harming anyone?
Going over to the bed Syder was sitting on, Eian set down beside him. He sighed, before looking down at his hands. They were so pale. “Why does a person change so much when they come back?” Eian questioned.
“I don't really know, but I do know that when a Shadow comes back, they are whole. You were blind, now you see, the same with Lana; she was deaf and mute, and as you've noticed, she doesn't ever stop talking now.”
“Angel, the dark haired teenager,” Cidney started, “he had a very destructive personality before he became a Shadow, and now he's a very cheerful, well manured guy.”
“Everyone changes in other ways,” Syder explained. “You might notice something later on about yourself. I think our abilities are one of the biggest reasons the leaders of this world spew such lies about us. They're scared we're more powerful then them.”
“Abilities?” Eian blinked. There wasn't anything in the news about Shadows having super powers. “What can you do, Syder?”
“I can see,” Syder said mysteriously. Eian gave him a blank look. “To be more clear, I see, I know when someone is going to wake up. That is why we were there waiting for you, Eian. I knew you were waking. Sometimes I even see when someone dies, though I know nothing about your death.”
Cidney frowned, silently leaving the room, though nobody noticed her.
“This feels like some messed up fairy tale,” Eian groaned. “Honestly, I might have super powers, I'm dead and the world hates me.”
Syder patted Eian on the head, “we don't like calling them super powers; nobody can fly or walk through walls. Things get easier, I promise. The hardest thing I guess is learning to cope with keeping to our kind only. Every day, it seems as if new hunters are let loose on the street.”
“Oh great, now I have to fear for my life, excuse me, my un-life.” Eian crossed his arms. He was clearly sulking. Syder just gave him an amused look. Eian was taking to this better then others at least.
“Come on, get comfortable, Cidney and I will bring you the things you will need.” Syder stood up and left Eian alone with just his tormented thoughts.
Walking over to his window, Eian looked out. When the others had brought him to this place it had been dark. He had no idea where he was, nor what this house looked like. He felt shocked when he saw how big the yard was; the property was well hidden behind a forest of trees. That made him feel safe at least. Eian opened the window, trying to lean out to see what the building looked like.
“This isn't a house, it's a fortress,” Eian said in awe. From what he could see, the so called house was larger then four houses put together. There was window after window on the side Eian was looking at. “I live in a mansion?”
“You have no idea how big this place really is.”
Eian turned around to see Angel. He never spoke to him before. “How can we afford a place like this if we're not even supposed to exist?” Eian asked.
“I'm sure Syder told you, by silent supporters, mostly very, very rich folks who've been around long enough to know a thing or two.” Angel set down on Eian's bed. “At first when Cidney founded a safe haven for Shadows, she only had an abandoned building to use. How we went from that to this, I have no idea.”
“So she's really old?” Eian asked.
“Depends on what you mean by old. She is the oldest Shadow, at least local to this region. She's been one for twenty years.” Angel glanced over at Eian, watching as the other's eyes widened. It was no wonder that Eian was surprised.
“She seems very wise,” Eian said, because he had no idea what else to say. He felt awkward around everyone.
“She was not yet 40 when she died,” Angel said as he stood up. “You'll learn as you go. Cidney is the founder of this safe haven, though Syder now leads us by a group vote, including Cidney's vote.”
“Oh,” was all that Eian said. Angel got up, patted Eian on the head, and then he left him alone once again. With a sigh, Eian went back to the window. How was he supposed to survive? He had to live in secret, and when he thought about it, he wasn't really living at all. Not like his parents were, not like his siblings.
He placed a hand over his heart, a frown coming to his face when he felt nothing. Was his heart even inside his chest anymore? He had awoke inside a coffin, did that mean his organs had already been taken? But he had bled, right? How could a dead creature bleed? Nothing made any sense. He had no reason to breathe, yet he still made the motion to sigh; he still cried, his chest heaving in and out as if he was going to loose his breath. But he didn't.
Can a human really tell the difference between them and a Shadow? Eian wondered. He held up his hands to the light, taking in the pale appearance. He looked like a ghost. What did the rest of him look like? He had no idea.
It was with that thought in mind that Eian walk over to the mirror. He braced himself for the worst, before he looked at his reflection. He only saw a frightened face of a stranger boy looking back at him. His face was ghostly pale, and his eyes wide and haunted. They were still green, though now they were very pale green and red rimmed.
Come to think of it, everyone was pale, with red rimmed eyes. That had to be what marked someone as a Shadow.
What about these abilities though? Eian focused, trying to make something happen. Of course nothing did and he just felt stupid. Maybe he would be someone who had no ability at all. What a waste. To come back and have to face all this and be unable to do anything amazing.
“I should at least be able to move things with my mind,” Eian grumbled, “or make things shatter.”
I could if I threw the mirror, Eian morbidly thought, though he stifled that thought. He might have been frustrated with his new situation, but he wasn't going to destroy the place. It would have felt nice to break things though...
“What will my family think when they realize I dissapeared from my coffin,” Eian mumbled to himself. He knew it wasn't a good thing to talk to himself so much, but he just didn't feel comfortable venturing out into the rest of the house. The others still creeped him out, especially the little girl. He wondered what Lana's story was.
How long had the child been a Shadow? How old was she? Her wise personality was unsettling.
Eian shuddered.
Maybe that in itself was her ability.
“I'm going to go crazy if I try and analyze everyone I've met so far,” Eian said, scolding himself. He walked to his door, glancing out. The hallway was clear thankfully. Eian wasn't ready to meet anyone quite yet, though he was tired of being cooped up in a room all alone. Strange way of thinking.
Eian walked softly through the hallways, trying to find the way outside, though he had no idea where he was going. The house really was huge. It felt like he was going in circles, though finally he saw light at the end of the tunnel, so to speak.
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16,339 / 50,000
Nov 1, 2009 - 07 42
Good start so far. I like where you started the book, just having him wake up. It is a great way to introduce us to all the characters. You seem to have the start of an identity novel (which is just what I think of when I see characters searching for their identity). If you can edit the title of this thread, I think it might be better if we post our stories in our own individual threads (if we want). Then we can post our stories and look at the feedback AFTER nanowrimo.
Anyway, here are my comments. If you do NOT want me to do this, then I can remove them or quit commenting. Feel free to say so because I am not sure if you want them. These things you may want to do after NanoWriMo as you have the foundation for a good story.
It might require some editing as I could only follow because I knew what your story was about before I started reading. The idea and grammar seem to be there though. ;) Eian seems sympathetic but you have written it (in my seeing opinion) from the point of view from someone who has always seen. If Eian was blind his whole life, brightness and color should be foreign to him. This also might help you get away with describing things in deep detail. Visually you can because of the surprise (although what colors something is you might have a character teach Eian off-screen). The other senses you can describe in more detail because that is was Eian is used to. In fact, his other senses could dull (or not), either way would be "realistic" for a supernatural novel. Let us feel his awkwardness and confusion. :D Right now, I assume your shadows look human, but I think you mentioned they have distinctive characteristics that are not human. Then again, I haven't been in the outlining sessions in a few weeks.
50,583 / 50,000
Nov 1, 2009 - 08 47
hey, i got my first 2000 words written this morning. it feels great. i was a little worried, hesitated getting started, but once i did, the words just flew by. hope that continues!
50,179 / 50,000
Nov 1, 2009 - 09 07
I was up until about 4 am and got just over 3,000 in by then. I didn't get started until about 1 am because I had forgotten to make the playlist for my mp3 player! I'm enjoying my husband's day off today. (I get to hide from the kids!)
It was amazing how quickly the words started falling into place once I started. I hope it all goes this well!
Good luck everyone!
Audrey
50,059 / 50,000
Nov 1, 2009 - 09 18
Well, I lost my voice last night, and went to bed super early. But I started writing at six, and this is what I have (also, anything not in quotes is in her head and /should/ be in italics...but they don't work here...):
“Ah. So our guest has finally woken up. You have caused us quite a bit of trouble, Eleanor Murray. Or should I call you Irina? Or Lilka?”
Where am I? Is this an interrogation room? God, it looks like the set up from a bad black and white movie! What the hell is he even talking about?
“Who…who are you people? What do you want with me?”
“That’s cute. This is an interrogation. You aren’t the one asking questions here. But…I think I’ll humor you on this one. We are something like a Border Patrol. We try to keep all of the worlds separated and ignorant, to prevent wars and the loss of cultures.”
Wonderful. I’ve definitely been kidnapped. And not even just kidnapped. Kidnapped by a bunch of nut jobs posing as a government authority. I guess that kid that showed up last week must have been in line with them. A scout or something…
“We do a pretty good job of keeping interworldly traffic to a minimum. Every once in a while, someone who has the ability to travel between worlds is discovered, and hired. But somehow, you slipped under our radar.”
On one hand, keeping him talking gives me more time to untie this rope and maybe escape. On the other hand, I’d rather avoid stereotypical villain-esque monologues and just have him get to the point.
“Yeah, ok. But that doesn’t explain why I’m tied to a chair listening to you ramble.”
“And you have a lot of balls for someone tied to a chair and at our mercy. But playing innocent with us is pointless. We’ve been watching you, and know what you’ve been up too.”
Oh, now that’s just creepy. What a wonderful time to find out that I have a stalker, isn’t it?
“We know about your little forays into the other worlds, and of course, all the trouble you’ve caused in them. It took us a while to connect the dots, and even longer to find you, but now that we have, it’s only a matter of cleaning up the mess. However, it was decided that before we kill you, we wanted to hear why you had done these things.”
They’re going to kill me!? God, what a morning. Okay, think Ellie, how are you going to get yourself out of this one? I don’t have anything to tell these weirdos. I’ve never been to any other worlds, supposing that they do exist. The ropes tied to tightly for me to work it loose and I can’t reach my cell phone. I really am stuck in a bad movie, aren’t I? The start off to some Detective Flick. Right? No, Ellie. Trying to deny this is not going to make it go away. Just gotta stall them. Keep them talking for as long as possible. Tell stories. Like…the Arabian Nights or something. If I make it out alive I will have a new appreciation for that book.
“Well, I’d love to help you ‘clean up the mess’ but I really don’t know anything at all. I don’t know anything about these other worlds, or going to them…unless I’m doing it in my sleep.”
“Yeah, sure you don’t. We have very nice reports from each of the worlds you’ve been too. There is no chance that the person on them was anyone other than you, even though you were at least smart enough to use a different name on all of them. That’s actually pretty impressive for a five year old.”
Five! But when I was five…wasn’t that when…?
“When I was five I was kidnapped for a month. At least that’s what we assumed, because when I was returned home, I had no memories of what happened.”
“Sure. Kidnapped. Wrong. At that time, you were living on the world of Sonnagh, as Aileen O’Marly. And starting wars. You must have been one impressive little girl, right?”
“I’m telling you, it wasn’t me! And what five-year old would be able to start a war anyway? That’s insane!”
All of these people are insane! But if they’re not…then these “forays” would take place during my amnesiac episodes…which actually makes sense. But…if that’s the case, it means that these people are justified, and then…that boy that came looking for me last week was telling the truth. In theory, doesn’t that mean I could escape this by jumping to some other world? I don’t actually know how to do that. Crap. What is it, like multiple personality disorder? My life was complicated enough with just the amnesia! But if it is some destructive personality, wouldn’t escaping to another world cause it to come out? No. What happens will happen. At any rate, it’s still better than being killed right? Even if I cause the deaths of countless- No. Stop this. Just focus on escaping, right? That’s all I need to do is get away. I can figure shit out from there. Just gotta keep them talking…
“We know it was you. We do research all problems extensively so that we can learn how to take care of them, and of course to prevent them from happening again. That is why we are talking to you now. We know what you did, and some of how you did it. But we need to know what to look out for.”
“I can’t tell you anything. I don’t know anything. I don’t remember anything about other worlds, even supposing it is me, and I still wouldn’t be of any help.”
“We already know you were diagnosed with amnesia, it’s in your file. However, anyone can pretend that they’ve forgotten something important like that if it will save them.”
How insane can you get? Okay, they have a file on me. So this fits in the whole stalker thing, but still, I doubt this day can get much creepier. And if they do have a file, don’t you think that they would listen to it? They already know that I have a disorder and they’re still putting me through this? Jerks.
“I’m not faking it! If I can’t remember then I can’t help you.”
“Even if I were to choose to believe that you really have amnesia, we have ways of making you remember, and ways of making you talk. Don’t worry. I’m sure you’ll be telling us all about these events soon.”
That sounded ominous. They aren’t going to torture me are they? Wouldn’t that just take the cake. Alright, calm down. Maybe they are just going try and hypnotize me or something…I’ve heard that can work for memory, although it never really worked for me before. God, after this day is over I am going to need so much therapy. Actually, I doubt it would help, and even if it could, who would believe this? They’d lock me up in a straight jacket. I’ve had enough of that treatment! Right now I’m really hoping for the “Then she woke up and it was all a dream” ending. A total cop-out, but way better than realizing that all of this is actually happening! Oh god, he’s coming back in...Is that a syringe! Oh no, no. Not drugs. Now that’s just not fair!
“Hey! What is that!? I object to strange drugs being in my system.”
“Oh it won’t hurt you at all. It just puts you in a more lucid state. Something like hypnotism, but guaranteed to actually work. Now hold still, Aileen…”
~
Silly story is silly. But also fun~
80,053 / 50,000
Nov 1, 2009 - 09 51
Thank for the commenting Titus. I'm not really writing it as if he were blind before.. :/ That's one detail I keep forgetting! Thanks for pointing it out. Come December I'll have a lot to edit!
I don't know how to edit my title, so I guess I'll just make another one?
Everyone who wants to can make their own story thread too!!!!!
5K and going! yay!
Cougati, thanks for posting yours! If you want you can make your own thread like Titus suggested!
----------http://marchnovelwriters.proboards.com/index.cgi
Nanowrimo in March. Check it out, don't be shy. We don't bite, unless asked nicely!
50,059 / 50,000
Nov 1, 2009 - 10 03
Hahaha no problem. I guess I'm not shy about sharing my silly cliche filled writing!
But I may do that once I have a little bit more to post, yeah?
16,339 / 50,000
Nov 1, 2009 - 11 05
Thank you both for putting in your own thread. That makes it easier for me at least.
I made it almost to three grand today. That was two chapters with a little research. If anyone cares to read mine, it will be my excerpt on my profile. I may post it later. I am not sure. There are four chapters on my profile but the first two were written prior to Nano so I am not counting them towards my word court. Any feedback is welcomed via nanomail.
Cougati, I think your story so far is very coherent despite the subject of the story. Make sure the story stays clear as you shift. I do have a question though, is the current setting on Earth? As a reader, a few questions came up in my mind. Is the whole earth shifting just a trick played on a gullible kid (unlikely but still possible)? If not, then there are other questions. What is so different between these worlds? Why is it so important that people not travel between them? Who has the ability to travel between worlds? Why do most of them work for the border patrol? Don't take these questions as bad because you haven't answered them. A good reader and good author when matched generally do have questions. Taking the questions and making them unexpected can make your novel even more interesting... (Which is what I need to do for my villains...) Also, I'd like to see more of the setting. I'm not really getting the feeling of oppression as I should.
Oh and I am done commenting in this thread on whatever's posted here. That will clutter this.
CONGRATS TO EVERYONE! We are going to win nano as a team hopefully.
50,102 / 50,000
Nov 5, 2009 - 09 41
I'm at over 6,000 words! It's going pretty good. :D Here's the first 2,000:
Prologue
October 31, 1991
My name is Daniel Davis. But, it is Dan for short. I was born at the end of the first Great War on September 20, 1918 in Memphis, Tennessee.
I’m the 2nd oldest in a family of five (well four) children. But, I’m the oldest of the boys in my family. Thus, it was put on my shoulders to take care of everyone in the Davis household because my pa couldn’t work and my ma needed to stay home to take care of him and the rest of the children. I didn’t mind taking on the responsibility. In fact, I thrived with the work and nothing brought me any a greater joy than to take care of my family.
It was because of this great responsibility that I met someone who truly changed my life – for the better. I had never met anyone quite like her before this and I have not met a single person like her since then. Her name was Emily Wilde. Although we met only three times in our lifetimes our relationship lasted for decades.
This is a story of growing up. It’s a story of learning acceptance and of not judging a person. It’s a story full of love and hate, of happiness and grief, and of the gains and losses in life. This is the story of how we met. This is the story of how we connected and stayed connected. This is my story. This is Emily Wilde’s Story. This is your story. Will you join me?
Part One:
The First Meeting of Emily Wilde
Chapter 1: Looking for Work
The very first time I met Emily Wilde was as spring fades into summer. The year was 1934 and the Depression has been going on for the longest four years that I have ever experienced. The time just plodded along. Every minute seemed like an hour – every day seemed like a week.
----------And like time, I plodded down a stretch of railroad track down south in Marietta, Georgia. I am headed south and west for the great frontier. I didn’t know if I’d find anything, and frankly, I doubted I would find more than a job here and there. But all the same, I planned on trying to find something to do. Traveling the lands filled the time too. Trying was better than sitting around and doing absolutely nothing all day, all the while starving to death. At least, by making my way west, I found little jobs to make any money and I usually got some food and a place to sleep.
I’ve been lucky. “Too lucky”, some have said to me. I have had jobs all along my travels in these last four years while countless others have had no job to speak of and little food to eat. These jobs that I’ve had never last long – no more than a week or two – nor do I make more than a dollar a job. But, always I got a place to sleep, some food, and fresh water for drinking and washing up. Plus, I’ve gotten to see half of the good ol’ U.S.A. Not too bad of a life for a young guy like me, I’d say.
Now here I was, walking down that weed infested railroad with the sun searing the back of my neck. I found myself wondering where I might find my next job. It had been over a week since I had worked for any pay. I figure it was high time I found another job so that I could send some money back home. Thinking of home, I sigh as I think about my ma trying to scrape together the rest of the money I had sent two weeks ago so as to feed three children as well as her and my pa. I sit down and pull out a piece of wrinkled paper from my dungarees. Smoothing it out, I lay it across the knees of my dusty britches and then pull out a stub of a lead pencil as well as an envelope, which I scrawl Ma Davis and the whole Davis clan, 1220 3rd ST, Gourmand, TN, 2773 .
Dear Ma, I begin in a loopy handwriting and then I stop. Staring at the two little words written on the paper, I suck on the end of the pencil as I try to plan what to say next. A slight smile forms on my thin face as I continue the letter. I know precisely what I will write next.
I sure hope things are going good back at the farm. Is the weather decent? It sure is a scorcher down here in Marietta. The sun just beats down on top of the head in a constant flow of sunlight. Plus, there ain't no rain to speak of. I heard from a local that it hadn't rained since the end f April. I don't mind the heat or dryness. I kind of like the heat. A little rain would be refreshing, but I suppose it will come when it comes. I really don't mind the dryness either. It isn’t as bad as you might think.
Anyway, enough about the weather! I am doing good. Nice folks feed me in exchange for my handiwork and they let me take a rest in their home too. I sure am enjoying seeing all the different parts of the U.S.A. and helping all the nice folks I meet. I just hope that I can find a paying job soon enough so that I can send some money back home for you and the rest of the family to buy the necessities. You take care, ma. Tell Mary and Sam and Ben and Pa that I love them. I hope to be seeing you all real soon!
Love you,
Dan Davis
I folded the letter up as neatly as I could and stuff it into the envelope. Licking the glue part of the envelope, I seal the letter. I look at the envelope, which I had already stuck a stamp to, and wondered where I could find a mailbox to mail my hasty letter to my family.
Just as my luck would have it, I come up to the train depot. And there, besides a warped park bench is a big red, white, and blue mailbox. Jogging over to it, I pulled on the rusty handle and the door swings open. I stare down the mail shoots opening. It looks like the mouth of a giant monster, I think as I toss the letter into the opening and close it hastily back.
Not sure what to do, I sit down and look around me. This was as good of a time as any to rest. Plus, I liked to people watch. There are very few people milling around the train depot for me to watch, but it would do.
In fact, other than myself there is only an elderly couple as well as some man who appeared to work for the depot. He was dressed in dark blue pants and a matching jacket and hat. I notice the surly look on his face and the sweat bead up on his forehead. I bet that uniform ain’t comfortable in this heat, I muse as I wipe the sweat from my own brow. For several minutes, I just stare at the man, but after the only thing he does is tap his toe and check his watch, I find him uninteresting to look at and shift my gaze over to the elderly couple.
Now they were interesting folks! The lady part of the pair was dressed in an ankle length dress that was burnt orange in color and had tea stained, tattered lace around the collar and around the cuffs. Her hair (which was braided as well as in a bun) nearly matched the dress, except that there was steel grey streaks running through it. In her bony hands,, she held a large rag doll that was dressed in a cream flour sack dress and a shock of red yarn hair. The rag doll was surely a present for whomever she and her husband were waiting for.
The woman was turned away from me, so I couldn't tell what her face and features loked like. But, I could imagine what this elderly woman – Lady Teaberry, as I nicknamed her in m head – looked like. I wagered that she either had grey eyes, matching the steely grey streaks of her hair, or perhaps an emerald green color. Her nose, I reckoned, was long and thin to match her tall and scrawny form. And judging by her tattered clothes (which, in their prime, was quite lovely and elegant) her mouth would be pursed as if she had eaten one too many lemons. I could imagine that her face was all done up with face paint. Her lips were bright red – scarlet colored – and she would have her cheeks done up in the same color. To top it all off, her eyelids would be dabbed with an orangey brown. Wiping the sweat that had gathered on my tanned brow, I can't help but chuckle. The mental image I have painted reminded me of the clown ballerina I saw one time.
The male part of the pair was turned slightly so that I could see his profile. The man was shorter than his wife, but just as scrawny as she was. He was balding on the top of his head and the spot shined in the midday sun. I hope his shiny head won't blind the conductor. It would not be good if he missed his stop. No, it sure would not be good, I think.
The short and scrawny man had his tweed coat draped over his arm. His pants, which was a matching tweed color and were held up by a pair of dark green suspenders, were patched and frayed, but were in otherwise fine condition. He had on a pale green stripped, button down the front, long sleeved shirt which he had cuffed up too his knobby elbows. I found him to be quite nondescript (in fact he was the most nondescript of people that I had ever seen, and I had seen my share of nondescript people in my travels) except for one prominent feature. His eyebrows were by far the largest and hairiest and most unruly set of brows that I had ever seen. That, my readers, was saying something to. Because I have seen many nondescript people, and people in general, I have seen quite a few brows, too, and none of those were quite as hairy or large or even uruly as those upon Very Harry Teaberry (as I nicknamed him). Just as I was ready to study this man for a wee bit more time, the train's whistle drew me from my people watching.
I jump up with the sound. Not only did the blaring, echoing whistle startle me from what I was doing, it also made me realize that it was high time for me to go on my way and look for a job. Finding the back of my shirt sticking to, well, my sweaty back, I pull at the fabric so that it no longer was sticking there.
I stride away from the bench as well as from the depot. I can't help myself, however, and I turn back to see if I might catch a glimpse of who the elderly couple were waiting for. I figure that they or at least she would be just as interesting looking as the man and woman. Boy was I right! The girl that came up to the man and wife was short and quite pudgy. Her nose was broad and turned up and her lips were turned down as if she had smelt something horrible. Every chocolate colored rag curl on her head was perfectly place and she had on the largest green bow that I have ever seen. It looked more like a hat than a hair tie to be honest. The girl had her arms crossed over her the chest of her gingham pinafore and I noticed that she had on frilly white gloves.
“Oh boy,” I groan. Even though I dread to see how the girl (who was surely an inconsiderate brat) reacted to the gift of the rag doll, I could not get myself to turr away from the scene.
Faithless is he that says farewell when the road darkens.
J. R. R. Tolkien