So, for one of my last assignments for Christian Writer's Guild was to write a book proposal. So I did, and came up with this. Now I'm dying to finish this book. My goal is to be three-quarters of the way finished when school starts next year. (I'm a freshman in college!!) So, here's the proposal, tell me what you think of the idea.
The Last Generation
Proposal: I propose a fiction book of the science fiction/fantasy genre that will have Christian aspects and ideas incorporated into an original adventure that will enthrall those that read it. This book will be the first of a four part installment that will begin with a young girl walking into an unknown world, changing it forever, and end with her descendants finishing what she started. This book will show the meaning of dedication and leadership, reveal the intensity behind loyalty and courage, and tell of the hurts, pain, and difficulty experienced while setting one’s life according to God’s Will, all while divulging a intricate tale.
Form: Paperback, 100,000 words
Audience: I perceive the buyers to be:
Christian or secular teens who are eager for an original fantasy/science fiction book
Teens who think that they must be specially equipped with knowledge and/or talents in order to follow God’s Will and call.
Young adults or adults who desire to follow God’s Will, but believe they missed their chance to serve Him.
This book is geared toward teens and young adults but does not exclude adults and pre-teens.
Rationale: In the past few years, the hunger in teens for stories that were unreal, fantastical, and simply non-believable has grown into an enormous demand for more books that will take one’s imagination to places it’s never gone. Secular authors recognized this hunger and immediately started writing more science fiction and fantasy to quench their ravenous readers. Some Christian authors have also recognized this demand, and have broke the mold of Christian fiction by writing books of this genre, but more Christian writers need to be reaching the next generation with Christian truths, and one way to reach them is through this genre of books. The Last Generation will give this tough crowd the tales they want, while helping them learn important values and what it’s like to serve God – for real.
Qualifications: I am a first-time author, but I took several extra English and writing courses in high school, and am currently studying to be an English major with a minor in Creative Writing.
I have also had one-on-one experience with other teenagers and young adults who, like myself, enjoy the science-fiction/fantasy genre, and have collected information on what they desire most in a novel, observed the topics of the books they read, and have asked them their ideas of the perfect novel. I have many ongoing sources that I can use in the future when it comes to writing this series.
Marketing Research: There are two books similar to my topic:
The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe by C. S. Lewis (C.S. Lewis Pte. Ltd. 1950)
Summary: In the never-ending war between good and evil, The Chronicles of Narnia set the stage for battles of epic proportions. Some take place in vast fields where the forces of light and darkness clash. But other battles occur within the small chambers of the heart, and are equally decisive. At the core of each of the seven books in the chronicles is the magnificent lion Aslan--the powerful high-king whose wisdom guides all. Journeys to the ends of the world, fantastic creatures, betrayals, heroic deeds, and friendships won and lost all come together in an unforgettable world of magic. So open the door and enter a new world (Christianbook.com).
Difference: Mine has fantastical creatures and battles, but takes a more personal journey with the characters, seeing how they make their decisions, the struggles they go through, and the relief and joy and regretful heartache once they’ve made their decision.
Dragonspell by Donita K. Paul (Random House 2004)
Summary: Once a slave, Kale is given the unexpected opportunity to become a servant to Paladin. A small band of Paladin's servants rescue Kale from danger but turn her from her destination: The Hall, where she was to be trained. Feeling afraid and unprepared, Kale embarks on a perilous quest to find the dragon egg stolen by the foul Wizard Risto (Christianbook.com).
Difference: Mine is more in-depth and personal with the plot and the characters.
Distinctives: The following will make my book even more appealing:
A pronunciation guide in the back of the book
Five pages of discussion questions to do with friends or family
Promotional and Marketing Ideas: I have several ideas to help promote this book, and am aware of my responsibility as the author to help in this regard.
1.) Website promoting book and series – possibly start a public forum
2.) Visits to bookstores and libraries for readings and discussions
3.) Public speaking opportunities
4.) Sneak-peeks to upcoming books in series
5.) Donate a handful of books to choice libraries – for good circulation
Manuscript Status: A two page synopsis follows this proposal. I could have the manuscript ready in nine to twelve months.
Synopsis
Dakota O’Neill, a fifteen year-old girl with a sad past and a future that doesn’t look too bright, suddenly finds herself at a foster group home in the city of Alliance, Nevada after being reported for things that were not her fault by her last set of foster parents. Facing her problems with suppressed emotions and a hardened heart, Dakota reluctantly attends Alliance High, with the promise to herself that she would never get close to anyone again.
A few weeks into the school year, she meets the bubbly Charity and her overconfident friend, Reece, and saves a boy from getting beat up by two grown men. A week after helping the boy, she is pursued by one of the two men. She runs as fast as she can, but suddenly finds herself in another world, with no explanation as to how she got there.
Dakota sees things there that she never would have believed before. An ever-purple sky, three moons that are most visible during the day, feathery birds ranging from bug-size to behemoth size, dragons, giant, canopy-like trees, strange creatures that live in both the air and the water. There is simply no end to the unfamiliar. Dakota discovers that she landed in a very militaristically-minded country that is at war with its greatest enemy.
Dakota, while being taken on an orientation of the main building of the capital city, makes the mistake of touching one of seven colored stones on display, said to be Cinneia’s last line of defense in their time of greatest need. She drops the smallest stone, slightly cracking its shimmering pale green exterior. She puts it back, hoping no one notices her mistake, and continues on like nothing ever happened.
The next day, she is shown the animal nurseries and stables, which holds creatures that Dakota has never seen in her life. She meets a young dragon that can’t fly or talk (she also discovered that dragons can usually physically speak when they’re 2 or 3.) and has been considered handicapped. She instantly bonds with the dragon, whom she names Aerhan, after her older brother who disappeared when she was 11, and eventually, over a few months, teaches him to speak and fly.
Six months after Dakota meets Aerhan, the head general over all of the militaristic divisions and branches of the country picks her out from a crowd of people, and asks her to come with him. He tells her of the status of their country, and that they desperately need aid in fighting. He tells her that he believes in a God who’ll deliver them and help them in their greatest time of need; that his God had pointed Dakota out to him. He tells her of a legendary branch of the military, a special branch, designed specifically to protect the city and it’s people, whose time has come to be summoned again. He appoints Dakota the head of this division, the Dragonguards, a team of seven people and seven dragons. The general then tells her that this is the beginning of the last generation of the Dragonguards.
Dakota initially struggles with this responsibility, and keeps protesting that she isn’t the right person for the job. She can’t fight well, can’t ride a dragon very well at all after several attempts, has trouble making split-second decisions, and has never led anything or anyone in her life. She must first gather six others, along with six dragons. To her surprise, six teens that she knew from Alliance High, including Charity and Reece, show up looking lost and confused. A few days later, all of them somehow find their dragon; whether it be by the birth of a newborn or the retirement of an old farm dragon. Within two weeks, Dakota has everyone she needs.
The Dragonguards begin their training in flying, fighting, diplomacy, culture, and stealth in preparation for an upcoming attack of the enemy. They are also instructed by the general himself about the power and love of God, and how He can save us from harm, if we accept him. They learn that this belief is not prominent in the country anymore, and are often discriminated for believing it. One of the Dragonguards rejects it. Meanwhile, Dakota happens upon the realization with the aid of a friend that she is from and was born in this world. She finds out her mother is the queen, who was forced to marry the king’s son after her husband was murdered. Dakota learns that her mother sent her and her brother with her husband’s brother and his wife to live in a separate world, the world that Dakota knew. Dakota meets with her birth mother and finds out this information, but is forced out by her mother’s husband, and threatened.
Shortly afterwards, Misáraeh starts to endure attacks from all parts of the borders, and the Dragonguards are called on their first mission to help. They fight battle after battle, seemingly swatting away an endless stream of attacks. They are eventually called back to the capital city to stay on guard and protect the people there.
By this time a year and a half has passed since Dakota first laid foot in this country, and the Dragonguards are taken aside by the general and asked a hard question. He shows them their lives back in Alliance, their school, friends, and family. He even shows Dakota a home that wasn’t consumed by fire, a home where her parents were still alive and her brother had come home that one day. He asks all of them, in private, if they would like to return home, to the places that they’ve dreamed of returning to, instead of serving God and Misáraeh in the war. He presents to them a choice that will change their lives drastically in either way, with no judgment against them on what they choose.
Dakota struggles enormously, wanting desperately to go back to the family she’d lost so many years ago, to live like a normal, happy teenager, and not one that had been hurt and scarred so many times. With great longing in her heart she declines the offer, feeling that even though her mind wanted her family back, her heart was here, serving God. The other Dragonguards choose likewise.
The next day, the Dragonguards are sent to make an attack on a weak spot in the defenses of the enemy country. Dakota is knocked off of Aerhan during the battle, and falls within the walls of the city they’re attacking. She is captured, and thrown into a cell. Her cell guard is a man named Aleight, a young soldier who doesn’t treat her as roughly as the others do, and who always has a guarded expression. Dakota notices the way he looked disapprovingly at his superiors who promoted the beating of the prisoners, and his attitude toward the captives. When the day comes that she is scheduled to be interrogated, Aleight breaks her out and leads her out of the city, stopping dead in his tracks just fifteen feet away from the wall. Dakota persuades him to go with her, that he can defect and help her country fight for what is right. He concedes, and goes back to Misáraeh with her.
Over a period of three months, Aleight is thrown in prison by the king while Dakota protests his imprisonment, Aleight is released from the prison and set in active duty with the Neiran (firebird) Division by command of the general, and Dakota is reunited with her brother who she hasn’t seen in seven years who’d been in Misáraeh since the day he disappeared.
Two years later, when Dakota is nineteen, she and Aleight get married. Three weeks later, the corrupt king is killed in battle, with no successors or qualified candidates. A diplomatic battle ensues within the walls of the city over who is qualified. The general shocks everyone by bringing up Aleight as a candidate for king, a former enemy soldier. The general informs everyone that Aleight was not just a soldier, but one of the sons of a governor, and was instructed in the particular area of leadership. Aleight himself is reluctant to receive the throne, but is forced to when word comes that the capital city is under attack. He slips into his newfound position comfortably, and starts preparing everyone to evacuate. Dakota and the Dragonguards race to the walls of the city, and are shocked to see the destruction already wreaked. They fight tooth and nail, but are forced to retreat with the fleeing citizens as their city burns to the ground.
The homeless people journey to the coastal city of Nulla under the command of Aleight and the general. Their trek across the country is long, almost six months, and tests the emotional and physical stamina of all of the people. Some decide to break off and start anew elsewhere, some simply gave up hope and stopped walking;others struggled to hold a hope in their hearts that they would one day have a home again. Dakota encourages her husband to keep going, and to trust God, even when most of the people accuse him of the death of an overexerted child. They finally reach Nulla, with dead hopes restored to life. Dakota discovers that she’s pregnant with their first child, and takes leave from the Dragonguards. The story ends with a faint promise of hope for Misáraeh from God in the future.
Monday, June 22, 2009
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
I love to write...does anyone love to read?
Yeah, what the title says. I love to write, I just really wish more people loved to read. It's depressing how many people just despise reading and anything to do with books! I need someone to read my stuff and tell me if it's weird or funny or really inspirational or just plain freaky or if I need to consider another line of work! D: Anybody out there want to be my official "taste tester"? Please??
Okay..anywho.. another weird little blurb that I wrote for CWG. As usual, comments welcome.
We are a people without a country. We live everyday wondering whether or not we will live to see tomorrow. Ever since that scientist Carl Silentia experimented with the plant life here, we have been cut off from the rest of society, considered nothing more than casualties. It started with the unexplained deaths at the Silent Point, previously Omaha, the capital of the former state of Nebraska. Hundreds had suddenly died at 9:27 am August 16th; there were no explanations, no calm investigations, only instant panic, and a single surviving scientist standing in the midst of it all.
No one bothered to ask any questions; they simply quarantined the area along with a 100 mile radius of populated land, and told us to stay where we were until further instructed. It wasn’t long before they broadcasted a newscast declaring to the nation of America that our area, callously dubbed Silentia by the media, was a hopeless cause. About a week afterwards, we received news that they were building a wall around our “hopeless cause” that was to be guarded around the clock, so that nothing and no one could get in or out.
Soon after that, our power was cut off. There were no delivery trucks coming in to bring us food, water, or fuel. We were abandoned by our own people and left to fend for ourselves. We knew just as much as they did about the Silent Point and the deaths, yet in running safely away from their fear, they left us to face it on our own. We drew together in our common cause, the few of us that were left. They no longer call us Americans; before the communications died, they referred to us as the “Silentians”.
In the past few years our small group of fifteen has found more survivors of the Point Effect, the occurrence, the unknown cause of death that struck us. It has only happened three times in the past ten years; once when Carl Silentia doomed us all, the second time was five days after the initial Point, which wiped out most of the population of the 100 mile radius, and the third time was three years ago, when we had managed to build a new, independent society. The third Point only killed a select few, but still rattled us and made us realize that we were far from being safe from the danger. The worst part was that we knew nothing of our invisible enemy, that we have no way or means of striking back, or even defending ourselves.
We struggle to live our lives everyday, and find ourselves looking over our shoulders in fear. Some of out children have not known freedom from the clutches of fear; they have not been able to know what being safe is. We have known nothing of the outside world, which used to be proud to call us their brothers and sisters, but rejected us at a moment’s notice. We have all lost some family, some have lost all family. Those of us who remain hope and pray that we aren’t the last generation; we hope that we will be the ones who survive until the end. We are a people without a country, a world without a purpose.
Okay..anywho.. another weird little blurb that I wrote for CWG. As usual, comments welcome.
We are a people without a country. We live everyday wondering whether or not we will live to see tomorrow. Ever since that scientist Carl Silentia experimented with the plant life here, we have been cut off from the rest of society, considered nothing more than casualties. It started with the unexplained deaths at the Silent Point, previously Omaha, the capital of the former state of Nebraska. Hundreds had suddenly died at 9:27 am August 16th; there were no explanations, no calm investigations, only instant panic, and a single surviving scientist standing in the midst of it all.
No one bothered to ask any questions; they simply quarantined the area along with a 100 mile radius of populated land, and told us to stay where we were until further instructed. It wasn’t long before they broadcasted a newscast declaring to the nation of America that our area, callously dubbed Silentia by the media, was a hopeless cause. About a week afterwards, we received news that they were building a wall around our “hopeless cause” that was to be guarded around the clock, so that nothing and no one could get in or out.
Soon after that, our power was cut off. There were no delivery trucks coming in to bring us food, water, or fuel. We were abandoned by our own people and left to fend for ourselves. We knew just as much as they did about the Silent Point and the deaths, yet in running safely away from their fear, they left us to face it on our own. We drew together in our common cause, the few of us that were left. They no longer call us Americans; before the communications died, they referred to us as the “Silentians”.
In the past few years our small group of fifteen has found more survivors of the Point Effect, the occurrence, the unknown cause of death that struck us. It has only happened three times in the past ten years; once when Carl Silentia doomed us all, the second time was five days after the initial Point, which wiped out most of the population of the 100 mile radius, and the third time was three years ago, when we had managed to build a new, independent society. The third Point only killed a select few, but still rattled us and made us realize that we were far from being safe from the danger. The worst part was that we knew nothing of our invisible enemy, that we have no way or means of striking back, or even defending ourselves.
We struggle to live our lives everyday, and find ourselves looking over our shoulders in fear. Some of out children have not known freedom from the clutches of fear; they have not been able to know what being safe is. We have known nothing of the outside world, which used to be proud to call us their brothers and sisters, but rejected us at a moment’s notice. We have all lost some family, some have lost all family. Those of us who remain hope and pray that we aren’t the last generation; we hope that we will be the ones who survive until the end. We are a people without a country, a world without a purpose.
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
One down!! Just...five more...to go...
Okay, as promised, here is my CWG lesson 24!
Whose Eyeglasses?
Point of View
1.) Rewrite the first scene (250 to 500 words) for a mystery story in first-person point of view.
A. “Who could’ve done this?” I murmured to myself as I crossed my trembling arms and leaned against the wall across from my locker; or, what used to be my locker. I rolled my eyes and sighed deeply, just as I’d done many times after I had discovered my books in shreds and my belongings crudely spray-painted, thrown to the floor like they were meaningless garbage. There was never a person I met throughout my life that didn’t like me, so why was someone doing this to me now?
I turned, and in a flurry of anger, drove my fist into the brick wall beside me. Pain hurtled through my wrist and traveled well up into my arm, but I didn’t care. I wanted to know why the person trashed my locker. With a scoff, I stared at my stuff all over the floor of the hallway; I felt my face growing red as the anger inside me rose.
Without warning, something gently touched my shoulder. “Hey, calm down. It was probably just a random hit.”
I woke up out of my mounting resentment and turned toward the familiar voice. My old friend, Charity Jenkins, had evidently caught word of what happened. I looked down at her encouraging expression.
“Hey, Charity.” I took a breath and did my best to look like I had it all together. “How’s it going?”
She nodded slightly and gave me a small knowing smile; her teeth glared white against her dark skin. “So, are you going to listen to what I said, or are you just going to change the subject and not deal with it?”
“I’m dealing with it!” I sighed at Charity’s “Yeah, right” look and ran a hand through my thick hair. “Okay, maybe I’m not, but come on! What do you expect?”
“Reece, I expect you to calm down and let me help you out. Okay?” Charity’s brown eyes drilled holes into mine.
I nodded; that little spark of anger was still there. “Alright, then. What do you suggest we do?”
Ignoring my sarcastic tone, Charity pointed to something within a crowd of students that were gathered around…me.
Charity headed for the crowd and dove into it. I stood stunned, watching all of the kids who in turn were staring at me. This is awkward…
I felt a nudge against my shoulder; I instinctively whirled around to tell the person to watch where they were going. Charity’s friend, Dakota O’Neill, stood next to me. I closed my mouth and swallowed the words I had almost thrown in her face. Dakota was a shy girl, but that was understandable because she was new to the town. What I didn’t understand was the fact that she rarely said anything.
“Hey Dakota,” I said, turning my back to her.
“I know who did it.” A whisper barely touched my ears.
I jerked around. “What did you-…?”
Dakota opened her mouth, but stopped, eyes wide, as she crumpled to the floor in a heap.
2.) Rewrite the scene, using third-person limited viewpoint.
A. Reece McCauley stared at the mess that littered a small section of the hallway. Papers with notes he’d written and books for his many classes were scattered left and right; his locker door had been ripped off of its hinges and thrown to the floor. With a groan, Reece crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, giving the convincing illusion that he had it all together, when in truth, he was about to flip out.
Pictures of friends were torn in half and crumpled, the football magnet that made its home on his locker door was on the floor; red spray paint covered everything to a point beyond recognition. Reece clenched his fist and resumed gazing hard at the destruction; he sensed movement around him, but that didn’t matter.
Without warning, Reece whirled around and punched the brick wall he had been leaning against with a fierce rage. He inhaled sharply as he drew his hand back, and diverted his eyes down to his defaced belongings on the floor. He could feel his face growing red as the anger built up. Whoever did this was asking for it.
He felt a slight tap on his shoulder and a soft voice filled the air. “Hey, calm down. It was probably just a random hit.”
Waking up out of his trance, he turned around to face the familiar voice. His best friend Charity Jenkin’s soft, brown face filled his vision. His heart lifted a little at the sight of her concerned expression; many years of friendship with her taught him that she would always stick by him, no matter what.
“Hey, Charity.” He drew in a breath, trying to look composed. “How’s it going?”
Charity nodded and gave him a small smile that said she didn’t believe him. “So, are you going to listen to what I said, or are you just going to change the subject and not deal with it?”
A flare of anger jumped up in Reece; Charity also knew how to push his buttons. “I‘m dealing with it!” He protested. With a sigh at the doubtful look on Charity’s face, he ran a hand through his fiery red hair. “Okay, so maybe I’m not, but come on,” He threw his hands up. “What do you expect?”
“Reece, I expect you to calm down and let me help you out. Okay?” Charity looked at him seriously.
Reece finally gave in. “Alright then,” He said in a more than sarcastic tone. “What do you suggest we do?”
Charity gestured to her left, where a crowd of students stood clamoring and gaping at the destroyed locker. Reece blinked in surprise; where had they come from? They were all staring at him.
Charity left Reece’s side and strode straight into the mass of kids. Reece stood paralyzed. What should he do? Follow Charity?
He felt a gentle nudge against his shoulder; he instantly jumped back in surprise. Dakota O’Neill, a slender girl with bleach blond hair stood next to Reece, her gray eyes on him. A chill went down Reece’s spine at the sight of the girl who had just moved into town. There were some rumors that she had a criminal record, and that her goal was to burn down the school (which some kids wouldn’t mind). He shook off the thoughts; Charity had befriended Dakota, so she couldn’t be that bad.
“Hey Dakota,” He said, turning back to view the crowd.
A whisper that sounded more like a hiss met his ears. “I know who did it.”
Shock coursed through him at the comment. He whipped his around to see Dakota. “What did you-…?”
Dakota inhaled, then opened her mouth to speak; she suddenly went rigid, her eyes widened, and she fell to a heap on the floor.
3.) Then write the same scene using an omniscient viewpoint.
A. He had to make sure he had enough time. Without time, there was no pulling this off. He jogged down the hallway, his bag full of necessary supplies. He looked around nervously as he pulled a huge pair of clippers out of his bag. Time was one supply that he didn’t have much of. He had to get the job finished, or he wouldn’t get his reward.
Dakota O’Neill strode through the hallways, taking her own sweet time to get back to her class. She didn’t want to be here, she never did; why would she want to be four hundred miles from her real home? She sighed and shoved her hands into the pocket of her hoodie. There were so many people here, so many who thought she was a murderer or something. Dakota hated it. Just because she had gotten into trouble one time didn’t mean she was a criminal mastermind.
She rounded the corner of the hallway, but soon stopped in her tracks. Someone was down at the other end of the long hallway, ripping papers and books out of a locker. Dakota squinted, trying to see what exactly the person was doing. She backed behind the corner of the wall and peeked around it. She exhaled sharply; she recognized him!
He backed up and admired his work. There! It was a masterpiece! The lanky figure grinned as he shook the canister of spray paint and squirted one last blast onto the locker door. “Finally, that hotshot Reece McCauley will get his!”
Dakota’s heart skipped a beat at the guy’s violent outburst. What could he possibly have against Reece? Everybody liked him; as far as Dakota knew, there wasn’t a single person in the school who had a grudge against Reece. She breathed slowly and deliberately. I’ve got to warn him.
Reece McCauley stared at the mess that littered a small section of the hallway. Papers with notes he’d written and books for his many classes were scattered left and right; his locker door had been ripped off of its hinges and thrown to the floor. With a groan, Reece crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, giving the convincing illusion that he had it all together, when in truth, he was about to flip out.
Pictures of friends were torn in half and crumpled, the football magnet that made its home on his locker door was on the floor; red spray paint covered everything to a point beyond recognition. Reece clenched his fist and resumed gazing hard at the destruction; he sensed movement around him, but that didn’t seem to matter.
Charity Jenkins pushed her way through the crowd that was increasing in size. Word had made it all across to the other side of the building where she was having her chemistry class that Reece’s locker had been sacked. She had to get to Reece before his temper got the best of him.
She emerged on the other side of the river of students; before her was a mess that looked like Reece’s locker exploded. She quickly scanned the area and picked out Reece. She was just in time. He was holding his wrist to his chest and his face was turning a queer shade of brick red.
She walked up behind him and touched his shoulder. “Hey, calm down.” She nodded toward the disarray. “It was probably just a random hit.”
She watched Reece blink a few times, then finally grin in recognition. “Hey, Charity,” He took a deep breath; his shoulders slumped as if he’d just lost a battle. Charity’s heart melted at the sight. She hated seeing her friend like this.
Reece cleared his throat. “How’s it going?” It took him some effort to curl his lips into a smile.
Charity restrained herself from just giving him a big hug. She was pretty sure that he wouldn’t exactly appreciate her doing that in front of all of the students. “So, are you going to listen to what I said, or are you just going to change the subject and not deal with it?” She felt kind of mean, but she knew she had to get him out of it, somehow.
Reece’s green eyes flashed at her, but subdued themselves immediately. “I’m dealing with it!” His fierce look was quickly chased away by uncertainty. “Okay, so maybe I’m not, but come on,” He threw his hands up in exasperation. “What do you expect?”
If we were the only ones here, all I would expect of you would be to tell me how you really feel. Charity tried to catch his gaze, and transfer her underlying message. “Reece, I expect you to calm down and let me help you out. Okay?”
Reece rolled his eyes and put on his sarcastic tone that he was all too fond of. “Alright then, what do you suggest we do?”
Charity looked over into the crowd and saw the principal wading through. She gestured to the crowd, signaling for Reece to follow her. She headed off to catch up with the principal, if anything; she could help them get everything sorted out.
Dakota hesitated as she reached for Reece. She had to tell him; but as far as she knew, Reece would just bat her off like a fly and wouldn’t believe her. Summoning her will, she set her finger down on his shoulder. To her surprise, he whirled around almost immediately. She stepped back slightly. The hard expression on his face softened when realized it was just her. “Oh… hey Dakota.”
She took a deep breath, and looked around; she hoped no one would hear her. “I know who did it.”
Reece jerked around to face her once more. “What did you-…?”
She opened her mouth to speak, but an enormous pain struck her from the back. All of her muscles stiffened, and she fell to the floor. The last thing she saw was the shocked look frozen on Reece McCauley’s face. I didn’t get to tell him…
Whose Eyeglasses?
Point of View
1.) Rewrite the first scene (250 to 500 words) for a mystery story in first-person point of view.
A. “Who could’ve done this?” I murmured to myself as I crossed my trembling arms and leaned against the wall across from my locker; or, what used to be my locker. I rolled my eyes and sighed deeply, just as I’d done many times after I had discovered my books in shreds and my belongings crudely spray-painted, thrown to the floor like they were meaningless garbage. There was never a person I met throughout my life that didn’t like me, so why was someone doing this to me now?
I turned, and in a flurry of anger, drove my fist into the brick wall beside me. Pain hurtled through my wrist and traveled well up into my arm, but I didn’t care. I wanted to know why the person trashed my locker. With a scoff, I stared at my stuff all over the floor of the hallway; I felt my face growing red as the anger inside me rose.
Without warning, something gently touched my shoulder. “Hey, calm down. It was probably just a random hit.”
I woke up out of my mounting resentment and turned toward the familiar voice. My old friend, Charity Jenkins, had evidently caught word of what happened. I looked down at her encouraging expression.
“Hey, Charity.” I took a breath and did my best to look like I had it all together. “How’s it going?”
She nodded slightly and gave me a small knowing smile; her teeth glared white against her dark skin. “So, are you going to listen to what I said, or are you just going to change the subject and not deal with it?”
“I’m dealing with it!” I sighed at Charity’s “Yeah, right” look and ran a hand through my thick hair. “Okay, maybe I’m not, but come on! What do you expect?”
“Reece, I expect you to calm down and let me help you out. Okay?” Charity’s brown eyes drilled holes into mine.
I nodded; that little spark of anger was still there. “Alright, then. What do you suggest we do?”
Ignoring my sarcastic tone, Charity pointed to something within a crowd of students that were gathered around…me.
Charity headed for the crowd and dove into it. I stood stunned, watching all of the kids who in turn were staring at me. This is awkward…
I felt a nudge against my shoulder; I instinctively whirled around to tell the person to watch where they were going. Charity’s friend, Dakota O’Neill, stood next to me. I closed my mouth and swallowed the words I had almost thrown in her face. Dakota was a shy girl, but that was understandable because she was new to the town. What I didn’t understand was the fact that she rarely said anything.
“Hey Dakota,” I said, turning my back to her.
“I know who did it.” A whisper barely touched my ears.
I jerked around. “What did you-…?”
Dakota opened her mouth, but stopped, eyes wide, as she crumpled to the floor in a heap.
2.) Rewrite the scene, using third-person limited viewpoint.
A. Reece McCauley stared at the mess that littered a small section of the hallway. Papers with notes he’d written and books for his many classes were scattered left and right; his locker door had been ripped off of its hinges and thrown to the floor. With a groan, Reece crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, giving the convincing illusion that he had it all together, when in truth, he was about to flip out.
Pictures of friends were torn in half and crumpled, the football magnet that made its home on his locker door was on the floor; red spray paint covered everything to a point beyond recognition. Reece clenched his fist and resumed gazing hard at the destruction; he sensed movement around him, but that didn’t matter.
Without warning, Reece whirled around and punched the brick wall he had been leaning against with a fierce rage. He inhaled sharply as he drew his hand back, and diverted his eyes down to his defaced belongings on the floor. He could feel his face growing red as the anger built up. Whoever did this was asking for it.
He felt a slight tap on his shoulder and a soft voice filled the air. “Hey, calm down. It was probably just a random hit.”
Waking up out of his trance, he turned around to face the familiar voice. His best friend Charity Jenkin’s soft, brown face filled his vision. His heart lifted a little at the sight of her concerned expression; many years of friendship with her taught him that she would always stick by him, no matter what.
“Hey, Charity.” He drew in a breath, trying to look composed. “How’s it going?”
Charity nodded and gave him a small smile that said she didn’t believe him. “So, are you going to listen to what I said, or are you just going to change the subject and not deal with it?”
A flare of anger jumped up in Reece; Charity also knew how to push his buttons. “I‘m dealing with it!” He protested. With a sigh at the doubtful look on Charity’s face, he ran a hand through his fiery red hair. “Okay, so maybe I’m not, but come on,” He threw his hands up. “What do you expect?”
“Reece, I expect you to calm down and let me help you out. Okay?” Charity looked at him seriously.
Reece finally gave in. “Alright then,” He said in a more than sarcastic tone. “What do you suggest we do?”
Charity gestured to her left, where a crowd of students stood clamoring and gaping at the destroyed locker. Reece blinked in surprise; where had they come from? They were all staring at him.
Charity left Reece’s side and strode straight into the mass of kids. Reece stood paralyzed. What should he do? Follow Charity?
He felt a gentle nudge against his shoulder; he instantly jumped back in surprise. Dakota O’Neill, a slender girl with bleach blond hair stood next to Reece, her gray eyes on him. A chill went down Reece’s spine at the sight of the girl who had just moved into town. There were some rumors that she had a criminal record, and that her goal was to burn down the school (which some kids wouldn’t mind). He shook off the thoughts; Charity had befriended Dakota, so she couldn’t be that bad.
“Hey Dakota,” He said, turning back to view the crowd.
A whisper that sounded more like a hiss met his ears. “I know who did it.”
Shock coursed through him at the comment. He whipped his around to see Dakota. “What did you-…?”
Dakota inhaled, then opened her mouth to speak; she suddenly went rigid, her eyes widened, and she fell to a heap on the floor.
3.) Then write the same scene using an omniscient viewpoint.
A. He had to make sure he had enough time. Without time, there was no pulling this off. He jogged down the hallway, his bag full of necessary supplies. He looked around nervously as he pulled a huge pair of clippers out of his bag. Time was one supply that he didn’t have much of. He had to get the job finished, or he wouldn’t get his reward.
Dakota O’Neill strode through the hallways, taking her own sweet time to get back to her class. She didn’t want to be here, she never did; why would she want to be four hundred miles from her real home? She sighed and shoved her hands into the pocket of her hoodie. There were so many people here, so many who thought she was a murderer or something. Dakota hated it. Just because she had gotten into trouble one time didn’t mean she was a criminal mastermind.
She rounded the corner of the hallway, but soon stopped in her tracks. Someone was down at the other end of the long hallway, ripping papers and books out of a locker. Dakota squinted, trying to see what exactly the person was doing. She backed behind the corner of the wall and peeked around it. She exhaled sharply; she recognized him!
He backed up and admired his work. There! It was a masterpiece! The lanky figure grinned as he shook the canister of spray paint and squirted one last blast onto the locker door. “Finally, that hotshot Reece McCauley will get his!”
Dakota’s heart skipped a beat at the guy’s violent outburst. What could he possibly have against Reece? Everybody liked him; as far as Dakota knew, there wasn’t a single person in the school who had a grudge against Reece. She breathed slowly and deliberately. I’ve got to warn him.
Reece McCauley stared at the mess that littered a small section of the hallway. Papers with notes he’d written and books for his many classes were scattered left and right; his locker door had been ripped off of its hinges and thrown to the floor. With a groan, Reece crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, giving the convincing illusion that he had it all together, when in truth, he was about to flip out.
Pictures of friends were torn in half and crumpled, the football magnet that made its home on his locker door was on the floor; red spray paint covered everything to a point beyond recognition. Reece clenched his fist and resumed gazing hard at the destruction; he sensed movement around him, but that didn’t seem to matter.
Charity Jenkins pushed her way through the crowd that was increasing in size. Word had made it all across to the other side of the building where she was having her chemistry class that Reece’s locker had been sacked. She had to get to Reece before his temper got the best of him.
She emerged on the other side of the river of students; before her was a mess that looked like Reece’s locker exploded. She quickly scanned the area and picked out Reece. She was just in time. He was holding his wrist to his chest and his face was turning a queer shade of brick red.
She walked up behind him and touched his shoulder. “Hey, calm down.” She nodded toward the disarray. “It was probably just a random hit.”
She watched Reece blink a few times, then finally grin in recognition. “Hey, Charity,” He took a deep breath; his shoulders slumped as if he’d just lost a battle. Charity’s heart melted at the sight. She hated seeing her friend like this.
Reece cleared his throat. “How’s it going?” It took him some effort to curl his lips into a smile.
Charity restrained herself from just giving him a big hug. She was pretty sure that he wouldn’t exactly appreciate her doing that in front of all of the students. “So, are you going to listen to what I said, or are you just going to change the subject and not deal with it?” She felt kind of mean, but she knew she had to get him out of it, somehow.
Reece’s green eyes flashed at her, but subdued themselves immediately. “I’m dealing with it!” His fierce look was quickly chased away by uncertainty. “Okay, so maybe I’m not, but come on,” He threw his hands up in exasperation. “What do you expect?”
If we were the only ones here, all I would expect of you would be to tell me how you really feel. Charity tried to catch his gaze, and transfer her underlying message. “Reece, I expect you to calm down and let me help you out. Okay?”
Reece rolled his eyes and put on his sarcastic tone that he was all too fond of. “Alright then, what do you suggest we do?”
Charity looked over into the crowd and saw the principal wading through. She gestured to the crowd, signaling for Reece to follow her. She headed off to catch up with the principal, if anything; she could help them get everything sorted out.
Dakota hesitated as she reached for Reece. She had to tell him; but as far as she knew, Reece would just bat her off like a fly and wouldn’t believe her. Summoning her will, she set her finger down on his shoulder. To her surprise, he whirled around almost immediately. She stepped back slightly. The hard expression on his face softened when realized it was just her. “Oh… hey Dakota.”
She took a deep breath, and looked around; she hoped no one would hear her. “I know who did it.”
Reece jerked around to face her once more. “What did you-…?”
She opened her mouth to speak, but an enormous pain struck her from the back. All of her muscles stiffened, and she fell to the floor. The last thing she saw was the shocked look frozen on Reece McCauley’s face. I didn’t get to tell him…
Monday, June 30, 2008
Christian Writer's Guild Assignment
Okay, so here's an assignment I did for CWG recently. I thought I did horrible on it, but apparently, according to my mentor, I did ok! WHEE! So, I just thought I'd post it since I'm kinda proud of myself right now. :)
A. Sonnet #30 – By: William Shakespeare
When to the sessions of sweet silent thought
I summon up remembrance of things past,
I sigh the lack of many a thought I sought,
And with old woes new wail my dear time’s waste:
Then can I drown an eye, unused to flow,
For precious friends hid in death’s dateless night,
And weep afresh love’s long since cancelled woe,
And moan th’ expense of many a vanished sight,
Then can I grieve at grievances foregone,
And heavily from woe to woe tell o’er
The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan,
Which I new pay as if not paid before.
But if the while I think on thee, dear friend,
All losses restored and sorrows end.
A. I believe that Shakespeare’s Sonnet #30 was written to enunciate the importance of friendships in your life. As what occurred in the poem, having that special link with someone who cares for us will help us through any overbearing situation, no matter how awful the pain. Friends often keep us from being self-centered, and having friendships teaches us to incline our hearts to others when they need us instead of concentrating on ourselves. The writer himself could’ve been experiencing these feelings; maybe witnessing the erasure of his burdens by the appearance of a friend prompted him to share his testimony with others through a sonnet.
The writer’s objective concerning his audience was to show people who despair over things long past and out of reach that they were not alone, and that there was hope. I believe that he wrote this first of all, to thank his friend for pulling him out of his despondency and self-centeredness. But I also believe that he composed the poem to show others like him that they don’t have to grieve over things that happened long ago, that if in time of need, call, and a friend will come.
The speaker who spills his heart in the poem is one who has gone through trial after trial in his journey through life, and had spent most of it holding all of his emotions in. The person mostly concentrates and grieves on what happened in the past. Maybe he is someone who let the time escape him, and didn’t accomplish what he strived for because he was lazy or ignorant.
During a time of serene, silent thought, a person mourns over the time that’s gone and the imminent loss of the things he once strived for, but once he thinks of his friend, all worries cease. The speaker tells of his feelings, why he’s upset, and how it’s been a while since he’s cried over these things; how he can’t make the hurt and the tears stop. He sheds fresh tears over things that he thought he was finished crying over. His thoughts dwell on the past in an unforgiving shadow. Until, his mind’s eye rests on his friend, and all of his grievances melt away.
The tone of the poem is overall very regretful, (“…I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought,” “…And moan the expense of many a vanish’d sight:”) with a touch of mourning for his friends (“Then can I drown an eye, unused to flow, for precious friends hid in death’s dateless night”), and the loss of love (“And weep afresh love’s long since canceled woe,”). The whole sonnet seems to carry a reiterated feeling to it, because he’s weeping over things that he’d wept over a long time ago (“…And with old woes new wail my dear time’s waste:” “…The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan, which I pay new as if not paid before.”). But the poem ends on a sweet note with the remembrance of his good friend (But if the while I think on thee, dear friend, all losses are restored and sorrows end.”).
The writer of the sonnet pulls you into the speaker’s pitiful plight, all the while making you wonder what happened in his life that’s causing him to suffer so much now. What happened between him and his love? Did his love leave him, or did she die? Why has he not wept in so long? Why has he held it all in until now? There are many answerless questions you could ask, but you get the answer to the most important aspect of the poem; no matter how bad the speaker’s past was, he has a friend to look forward to the future with him.
Viola.
A. Sonnet #30 – By: William Shakespeare
When to the sessions of sweet silent thought
I summon up remembrance of things past,
I sigh the lack of many a thought I sought,
And with old woes new wail my dear time’s waste:
Then can I drown an eye, unused to flow,
For precious friends hid in death’s dateless night,
And weep afresh love’s long since cancelled woe,
And moan th’ expense of many a vanished sight,
Then can I grieve at grievances foregone,
And heavily from woe to woe tell o’er
The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan,
Which I new pay as if not paid before.
But if the while I think on thee, dear friend,
All losses restored and sorrows end.
A. I believe that Shakespeare’s Sonnet #30 was written to enunciate the importance of friendships in your life. As what occurred in the poem, having that special link with someone who cares for us will help us through any overbearing situation, no matter how awful the pain. Friends often keep us from being self-centered, and having friendships teaches us to incline our hearts to others when they need us instead of concentrating on ourselves. The writer himself could’ve been experiencing these feelings; maybe witnessing the erasure of his burdens by the appearance of a friend prompted him to share his testimony with others through a sonnet.
The writer’s objective concerning his audience was to show people who despair over things long past and out of reach that they were not alone, and that there was hope. I believe that he wrote this first of all, to thank his friend for pulling him out of his despondency and self-centeredness. But I also believe that he composed the poem to show others like him that they don’t have to grieve over things that happened long ago, that if in time of need, call, and a friend will come.
The speaker who spills his heart in the poem is one who has gone through trial after trial in his journey through life, and had spent most of it holding all of his emotions in. The person mostly concentrates and grieves on what happened in the past. Maybe he is someone who let the time escape him, and didn’t accomplish what he strived for because he was lazy or ignorant.
During a time of serene, silent thought, a person mourns over the time that’s gone and the imminent loss of the things he once strived for, but once he thinks of his friend, all worries cease. The speaker tells of his feelings, why he’s upset, and how it’s been a while since he’s cried over these things; how he can’t make the hurt and the tears stop. He sheds fresh tears over things that he thought he was finished crying over. His thoughts dwell on the past in an unforgiving shadow. Until, his mind’s eye rests on his friend, and all of his grievances melt away.
The tone of the poem is overall very regretful, (“…I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought,” “…And moan the expense of many a vanish’d sight:”) with a touch of mourning for his friends (“Then can I drown an eye, unused to flow, for precious friends hid in death’s dateless night”), and the loss of love (“And weep afresh love’s long since canceled woe,”). The whole sonnet seems to carry a reiterated feeling to it, because he’s weeping over things that he’d wept over a long time ago (“…And with old woes new wail my dear time’s waste:” “…The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan, which I pay new as if not paid before.”). But the poem ends on a sweet note with the remembrance of his good friend (But if the while I think on thee, dear friend, all losses are restored and sorrows end.”).
The writer of the sonnet pulls you into the speaker’s pitiful plight, all the while making you wonder what happened in his life that’s causing him to suffer so much now. What happened between him and his love? Did his love leave him, or did she die? Why has he not wept in so long? Why has he held it all in until now? There are many answerless questions you could ask, but you get the answer to the most important aspect of the poem; no matter how bad the speaker’s past was, he has a friend to look forward to the future with him.
Viola.
Thursday, June 26, 2008
A Storybook Memo
Okay, as you've probably already guessed, I'm rooting through some of my writings to try and get them sorted out. Here's one that I wrote as an assignment for a creative writing class last year. The assignment was titled: A Storybook Memo.
Dear Mistress Elvira Little Pig,
Having already contacted your brothers, Seth and Gable Little Pig, who both blatantly refused to pay any mind to my letters of notice, I chose to turn to you as a last resort. You’re pleasantly charmed to be graced with my words of importance, I’m sure.
I have petitioned the towns and villages around the forest, as well as the forest itself on the matter of the eviction of your family from our beloved land of Pigsbane. I’m sorry to say that the vote was unanimous.
I should warn you not to resist, for we sent a legion of our best exhalation artillery to your first brother, Gable. He was apprehended and thrown into the dungeon after our forces found him huddled in the furthest corners of his straw-clad home. The destruction of his domain was swiftly carried out. The same happened with your other brother Seth and his pathetic stick house.
I hope you wisely choose to comply with our requests, or the fate of your brothers may fall upon you and your brick abode.
Sincerely,
Cletus O. Big Bad Wolf
General of the High Exhalation Army
President of the Big Wind Committee
...I know; I'm weird.
Dear Mistress Elvira Little Pig,
Having already contacted your brothers, Seth and Gable Little Pig, who both blatantly refused to pay any mind to my letters of notice, I chose to turn to you as a last resort. You’re pleasantly charmed to be graced with my words of importance, I’m sure.
I have petitioned the towns and villages around the forest, as well as the forest itself on the matter of the eviction of your family from our beloved land of Pigsbane. I’m sorry to say that the vote was unanimous.
I should warn you not to resist, for we sent a legion of our best exhalation artillery to your first brother, Gable. He was apprehended and thrown into the dungeon after our forces found him huddled in the furthest corners of his straw-clad home. The destruction of his domain was swiftly carried out. The same happened with your other brother Seth and his pathetic stick house.
I hope you wisely choose to comply with our requests, or the fate of your brothers may fall upon you and your brick abode.
Sincerely,
Cletus O. Big Bad Wolf
General of the High Exhalation Army
President of the Big Wind Committee
...I know; I'm weird.
A Story! *gasp*
Here's a lame short story that I wrote forever ago... Comments welcome...
Get away…
A girl sprinted through the woods; weaving in and out of the trees. Her platinum blond hair, pulled back into a ponytail, bounced against her back.
She glanced over her shoulder, only to greet a surge of fear that streaked through her very being. She quickly snapped her head back to the overgrown path before her, urging her overworked legs faster.
Don’t look back…
Her lungs screamed for air as she struggled to regulate her breathing and set it in tune with her stride. With every step, her legs grew heavier; they began to feel more and more like dead weights, oppressing her free movement.
She kept running, branches slapping and scratching her face and arms. Her usually serious gray eyes were now wide and fearful, watching the shadows close in around her.
Her foot caught on an exposed root, bringing her down. Hitting the ground with a thump, she rolled to a stop. A stabbing pain pierced her right arm.
She clutched her arm and winced at the pain. Pressing it against her chest, she stumbled to her feet. She held her other arm out to balance herself; only to collapse for lack of energy.
She coughed and sputtered; her throat was dry and lips parched, her lungs felt like they were about to explode. A wave of hopelessness seemed to pull her under; where she couldn’t see or breathe. Shivering, she stared down the path, the light at the end seemed to grow smaller and the path grew longer. I’m not going to survive this, she thought, her eyes slowing closing, hypnotized by her slowing heartbeat.
Don’t give up…
The girl forced her eyes to open. She could barely hear the voice; it faded into a soft echo, soothing her mind. At first she believed that the words were her own thoughts, but she realized that they weren’t.
She propped herself up on her knees, unsteady and in pain. A gust of wind blew past her, penetrating her already threadbare clothes. Rips in her jeans and hoodie revealed deep scratches and abrasions. The jean material around her knee was bloodied and caked with mud. Exhausted, she exhaled sharply and leaned into the wind.
Don’t stop now…
The voice resonated throughout her mind, jolting her awake. She groaned, uncurling her stiff legs. Slowly standing to her feet, she took a step toward the path, trudging through the sticks and leaves.
A crack sounded in the distance, startling her. She started to look back, but stopped as she remembered the faint words. She stiffened; her heart pounding in her ears. The wind picked up speed; dulling her senses.
Run…
Like a whisper carried to her on the wind she heard the order. Squinting, she tried to glimpse the path, the wind obstructing her view.
Run…
Hearing it again, she cried out. There was no doubt about it; the path in front of her was gone, there was nowhere to run.
RUN!
The sudden outburst of the voice stunned her, making her snap back to the moment. Adrenaline coursed through her veins, renewing energy throughout her body. Her heart beat faster and her vision grew sharper. Her sharp facial features, smudged with dirt and grime, showed fear. Her eyebrows creased with effort as she tensed all of her weary muscles in spite of the excruciating pain.
She started to run, faster than she’d ever run before. The shadows crept in closer. She heard pounding footsteps behind her; she knew that if she even slowed down a little bit, she wouldn’t survive. Without warning, the rains started to fall. The raindrops stung her face as she ran; rinsing the grimy filth blemishing her complexion. Her hair had caught on a branch and wrenched it out of the ponytail.
She kept running; her spirits rose when she saw the exit flooded with daylight.
She pressed forward; she could feel something right behind her, right at her heels.
Her heart suddenly began to beat faster, and fear overwhelmed her once again.
Fifty yards left…
Something touched her free arm, something colder than ice itself. Gasping, she jerked away; never taking her eyes off the opening. Her hair, now wet and stringy, stuck to her face and neck.
Just twenty yards…
A shrill, bloodcurdling screech sounded right behind her; too frightened to scream, she held her breath and sprinted with what was left of the little energy that she had.
Come on…
The opening right in front of her, she coiled her legs and dove through to the other side.
The girl awoke with a start; her mind reeled with so many thoughts, so many questions. Her eyes still shut, she lay there for a short moment. She recalled all that had happened; thankful that she made it, she reveled in the peace of the calm and serene moment.
She could feel the warmth of the sun on her skin and face; it lulled her into a trance, soothing every muscle. Opening her eyes, she blinked; the sun was blinding compared to the darkness she had just traversed through.
She propped herself up, and scanned her surroundings. She was in the middle of a field; the grass that surrounded her was a little above her ankle. The meadows stretched as far as the eye could see; the distant fields seemed to ripple like water because of the grass waving in time with the gentle breeze.
She looked up at the sky; not a cloud obscured it. The sky had a violet tint to it, even though judging by the position of the sun, it was mid-day. She patted the ground beside her. The ground was dry and covered with fresh, healthy grass. I guess it didn’t rain here… Suddenly thinking of something, she felt her face; none of the scratches were there, but the dirt was still smudged on her skin. She cautiously lifted her arm; no pain shot through it. Her jeans were still mud-caked, bloodstained, and torn; but the cuts and abrasions on her knees were gone as well. Her almost-white hair was dry and hung loose around her shoulders. Her gray eyes, now calm and observing, analyzed every detail that was set before her.
She glanced behind her; the forest that she had come out of was no longer there.
Where am I? She thought, pushing herself up. She stood and gazed at the never-ending plains.
....The End.
Get away…
A girl sprinted through the woods; weaving in and out of the trees. Her platinum blond hair, pulled back into a ponytail, bounced against her back.
She glanced over her shoulder, only to greet a surge of fear that streaked through her very being. She quickly snapped her head back to the overgrown path before her, urging her overworked legs faster.
Don’t look back…
Her lungs screamed for air as she struggled to regulate her breathing and set it in tune with her stride. With every step, her legs grew heavier; they began to feel more and more like dead weights, oppressing her free movement.
She kept running, branches slapping and scratching her face and arms. Her usually serious gray eyes were now wide and fearful, watching the shadows close in around her.
Her foot caught on an exposed root, bringing her down. Hitting the ground with a thump, she rolled to a stop. A stabbing pain pierced her right arm.
She clutched her arm and winced at the pain. Pressing it against her chest, she stumbled to her feet. She held her other arm out to balance herself; only to collapse for lack of energy.
She coughed and sputtered; her throat was dry and lips parched, her lungs felt like they were about to explode. A wave of hopelessness seemed to pull her under; where she couldn’t see or breathe. Shivering, she stared down the path, the light at the end seemed to grow smaller and the path grew longer. I’m not going to survive this, she thought, her eyes slowing closing, hypnotized by her slowing heartbeat.
Don’t give up…
The girl forced her eyes to open. She could barely hear the voice; it faded into a soft echo, soothing her mind. At first she believed that the words were her own thoughts, but she realized that they weren’t.
She propped herself up on her knees, unsteady and in pain. A gust of wind blew past her, penetrating her already threadbare clothes. Rips in her jeans and hoodie revealed deep scratches and abrasions. The jean material around her knee was bloodied and caked with mud. Exhausted, she exhaled sharply and leaned into the wind.
Don’t stop now…
The voice resonated throughout her mind, jolting her awake. She groaned, uncurling her stiff legs. Slowly standing to her feet, she took a step toward the path, trudging through the sticks and leaves.
A crack sounded in the distance, startling her. She started to look back, but stopped as she remembered the faint words. She stiffened; her heart pounding in her ears. The wind picked up speed; dulling her senses.
Run…
Like a whisper carried to her on the wind she heard the order. Squinting, she tried to glimpse the path, the wind obstructing her view.
Run…
Hearing it again, she cried out. There was no doubt about it; the path in front of her was gone, there was nowhere to run.
RUN!
The sudden outburst of the voice stunned her, making her snap back to the moment. Adrenaline coursed through her veins, renewing energy throughout her body. Her heart beat faster and her vision grew sharper. Her sharp facial features, smudged with dirt and grime, showed fear. Her eyebrows creased with effort as she tensed all of her weary muscles in spite of the excruciating pain.
She started to run, faster than she’d ever run before. The shadows crept in closer. She heard pounding footsteps behind her; she knew that if she even slowed down a little bit, she wouldn’t survive. Without warning, the rains started to fall. The raindrops stung her face as she ran; rinsing the grimy filth blemishing her complexion. Her hair had caught on a branch and wrenched it out of the ponytail.
She kept running; her spirits rose when she saw the exit flooded with daylight.
She pressed forward; she could feel something right behind her, right at her heels.
Her heart suddenly began to beat faster, and fear overwhelmed her once again.
Fifty yards left…
Something touched her free arm, something colder than ice itself. Gasping, she jerked away; never taking her eyes off the opening. Her hair, now wet and stringy, stuck to her face and neck.
Just twenty yards…
A shrill, bloodcurdling screech sounded right behind her; too frightened to scream, she held her breath and sprinted with what was left of the little energy that she had.
Come on…
The opening right in front of her, she coiled her legs and dove through to the other side.
The girl awoke with a start; her mind reeled with so many thoughts, so many questions. Her eyes still shut, she lay there for a short moment. She recalled all that had happened; thankful that she made it, she reveled in the peace of the calm and serene moment.
She could feel the warmth of the sun on her skin and face; it lulled her into a trance, soothing every muscle. Opening her eyes, she blinked; the sun was blinding compared to the darkness she had just traversed through.
She propped herself up, and scanned her surroundings. She was in the middle of a field; the grass that surrounded her was a little above her ankle. The meadows stretched as far as the eye could see; the distant fields seemed to ripple like water because of the grass waving in time with the gentle breeze.
She looked up at the sky; not a cloud obscured it. The sky had a violet tint to it, even though judging by the position of the sun, it was mid-day. She patted the ground beside her. The ground was dry and covered with fresh, healthy grass. I guess it didn’t rain here… Suddenly thinking of something, she felt her face; none of the scratches were there, but the dirt was still smudged on her skin. She cautiously lifted her arm; no pain shot through it. Her jeans were still mud-caked, bloodstained, and torn; but the cuts and abrasions on her knees were gone as well. Her almost-white hair was dry and hung loose around her shoulders. Her gray eyes, now calm and observing, analyzed every detail that was set before her.
She glanced behind her; the forest that she had come out of was no longer there.
Where am I? She thought, pushing herself up. She stood and gazed at the never-ending plains.
....The End.
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