(Yay a chance to look through my Box of Randomness! I think this one is from third form or so...)
I have lived here for as long as I can remember. The only useful memories I have are of learning my way around the city. I know shortcuts everywhere. It is how I survive. This city gets tourists every day, even in Winter! I may not know why the places they want to see are so important but I know ways to get there. There are the ways that the Fancy folk take, I don't go those ways, Guards are paid to keep people like me out of those fancy streets. I don't bother them, but the poorer ones, those that claim they want to see the 'real city'. Them I can get a coin or two, or food, out of for directions, better if I guide them to it. The other thing I know is which of the inns are cleaner, which will cheat tourists and which are downright thieves. I get something for recommending inns sometimes. I get my revenge on those that don't tip at all, or are miserly without needing to be too. I send them to the worse inns, the ones where they will 'loose' things. I am working on getting some sort of job at one of the better inns, even if it's only something for showing customers to the premises. The owner knows I send folks to him. Well, he knows that one of us street-rat-come-guides is directing customers his way. All I need is for one of the Fancy-in-hiding's to want directions to an inn and then maybe I can get it sorted. I don't plan on being nothing for my whole life after all!
I am early this morning, there aren't many tourists yet, most won't get here till after noon, but everyone knows that, it's why I'm here now. Now I won't have to fight to show someone around, later I might. Now though, because they are rare, I have the pick of them. It makes my day longer, but what else am I going to do? I don't get to eat unless a tourist decides I am trustworthy. Horses! But these ones aint dressed as Fancys! “Would you be needing directions to an inn?” I ask as clearly and properly as I can manage. The man glances at the Lady, “That I do lad,” he says. I do not bother to tell him that I am a girl, on the streets it can be better to be thought of as a boy. “Any inn in particular or would you like me to suggest one Sir?” I ask. “You can suggest one boy.” says the Man. This is perfect! Exactly what I need! “I could take you there if you like Sir, the inn I believe would suit you is called the Dragon's Den.” I reply, careful not to sound too self-important. “That'd be good lad, do you know your way around the city?” he asked. “Yes Sir.” I reply, careful not to sound too hopeful. “Well, then I will have another job for you after this. I have some things I need to deliver.” I am going to get to eat tonight! “I will be happy to guide you anywhere you need to go.”
Wordcount 544
Showing posts with label Challenge 8. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Challenge 8. Show all posts
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Challenge 8: Japanese Dreams
Walking through her nightmare was like tumbling back into a scene from one of those old Japanese movies. Standing atop a barren hill in the moonlight, she wore a long, tattered dress, white once but now so thin it fluttered in the soft breeze. Her straight black hair tumbled forward, over her eyes, slightly damp. Her sword was long and thin, lethally sharp.
I clambered up through mud, feeling it squash and creep beneath my nails. The fog was rising. By her side, we were surrounded by moans, the crack of bones and scrape of feet dragging in the dirt.
“You’ve got to be kidding,” I whispered.
Glancing back, her large almond eyes were so innocent and trusting. “Charlie? I thought you were dead.”
That part was true. I was dead. How else would I be invading her dreams? But now wasn’t the time to be discussing something so trivial.
The zombies began to climb up, out of the mist, heads twisted to unnatural angles, tongues lolling, dribbling black saliva. There were her parents, faces just like in that faded photograph she hid at the bottom of her bag. Their skin was grey and clammy with blood oozing slowly from the bullet holes in their heads. Behind us, were other familiar faces; my own included - a long deep gash down the side of my face, crimson red eyes staring back, hungry.
“You sure have a morbid imagination,” I muttered, scanning for anything to could use as a weapon.
“I know.” She gripped her sword with both hands, closing her eyes. “Tadano himawari, dakedo watashi wa tsuyoi!”
I’m just a sunflower, but I am strong.
A sudden wind blew warm, dispersing the mist and leaving a faint scent of cinnamon in the air. Akiya opened her eyes, no longer sad, or innocent. Lifting her blade, she danced through the throng, each slice leaving only dust in its wake. Only at the end, did she stop, frozen. The shake of her shoulders was all that betrayed the buried emotion. I scrambled down, through the mud, to reach her. Sword thrown aside, clinging together, holding and kissing, her eyes were wide and shimmering.
“You will be gone with the morning.”
“But I will always be with you, I have been watching,”
She looked at me then, that almost forgotten humor on beautiful, pouting lips. “You’ve been watching me?”
I grinned, knowing what was coming and racing to forestall it. “Except in the shower…”
She stared, the silence widening.
“Or when you are getting changed,” I added hurriedly, when her expression did not change.
There was another silence as she examined my face, a slight crease above her brow annoyingly indecipherable. “Why not?”
Wordcount: 450
I clambered up through mud, feeling it squash and creep beneath my nails. The fog was rising. By her side, we were surrounded by moans, the crack of bones and scrape of feet dragging in the dirt.
“You’ve got to be kidding,” I whispered.
Glancing back, her large almond eyes were so innocent and trusting. “Charlie? I thought you were dead.”
That part was true. I was dead. How else would I be invading her dreams? But now wasn’t the time to be discussing something so trivial.
The zombies began to climb up, out of the mist, heads twisted to unnatural angles, tongues lolling, dribbling black saliva. There were her parents, faces just like in that faded photograph she hid at the bottom of her bag. Their skin was grey and clammy with blood oozing slowly from the bullet holes in their heads. Behind us, were other familiar faces; my own included - a long deep gash down the side of my face, crimson red eyes staring back, hungry.
“You sure have a morbid imagination,” I muttered, scanning for anything to could use as a weapon.
“I know.” She gripped her sword with both hands, closing her eyes. “Tadano himawari, dakedo watashi wa tsuyoi!”
I’m just a sunflower, but I am strong.
A sudden wind blew warm, dispersing the mist and leaving a faint scent of cinnamon in the air. Akiya opened her eyes, no longer sad, or innocent. Lifting her blade, she danced through the throng, each slice leaving only dust in its wake. Only at the end, did she stop, frozen. The shake of her shoulders was all that betrayed the buried emotion. I scrambled down, through the mud, to reach her. Sword thrown aside, clinging together, holding and kissing, her eyes were wide and shimmering.
“You will be gone with the morning.”
“But I will always be with you, I have been watching,”
She looked at me then, that almost forgotten humor on beautiful, pouting lips. “You’ve been watching me?”
I grinned, knowing what was coming and racing to forestall it. “Except in the shower…”
She stared, the silence widening.
“Or when you are getting changed,” I added hurriedly, when her expression did not change.
There was another silence as she examined my face, a slight crease above her brow annoyingly indecipherable. “Why not?”
Wordcount: 450
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Challenge 8: The imagination knows no bounds
I laughed, watching the small cat meowing and trying to catch the wool, which was rapidly unravelling. It tripped over a string, became distracted by a bird, and chased off, leaping up the wall.
The jade lawns stretched ahead, broken only by the tall brick fence and occasional cherry trees scattering snow-petals over even leaves of grass. I sat down gingerly on the long grey wooden bench. Below, where chair legs dug into the turf, sprang sprays of fresh daisies, bluebells, unknown strands of green clustered with dusty white clumps. The mid-afternoon’s sun donated a patch of light to my repose and refreshing warmth to the garden, peering with vague interest through sheets of steel clouds.
Silence; no movement disturbed the serenity until the approach of twilight, which was followed by a young man. “Mother says please come in before you catch a chill, dinner is ready if you want it, and she has heated water if you would like a bath instead,” he said, dropping a fluffy plaid blanket lightly on my lap, leading me inside to a room lit by a healthy fire.
A frying pan was hissing on the stove and an array of food laid out, just leaving room for the four places around the circular board. My brother sat in his place and the chubby cat perched on his plate. He lifted the feline, passing it to the man who entered the room through an inside door. The newcomer was middle-aged, solid in a plain, loose shirt with rolled-up sleeves, and baggy pants. The cat curled up in one of his arms, and the woman near the stove smiled. “How was your day?” The man washed his hands at the sink and sat. “Not bad at all. Looks like a good harvest this year. We can repay that loan soon. Good news,” he added, turning to us two. “We’ll be able to send you to study whatever you want. You can even be a lawyer if you insist,” he finished, with a curious look at his son.
The jade lawns stretched ahead, broken only by the tall brick fence and occasional cherry trees scattering snow-petals over even leaves of grass. I sat down gingerly on the long grey wooden bench. Below, where chair legs dug into the turf, sprang sprays of fresh daisies, bluebells, unknown strands of green clustered with dusty white clumps. The mid-afternoon’s sun donated a patch of light to my repose and refreshing warmth to the garden, peering with vague interest through sheets of steel clouds.
Silence; no movement disturbed the serenity until the approach of twilight, which was followed by a young man. “Mother says please come in before you catch a chill, dinner is ready if you want it, and she has heated water if you would like a bath instead,” he said, dropping a fluffy plaid blanket lightly on my lap, leading me inside to a room lit by a healthy fire.
A frying pan was hissing on the stove and an array of food laid out, just leaving room for the four places around the circular board. My brother sat in his place and the chubby cat perched on his plate. He lifted the feline, passing it to the man who entered the room through an inside door. The newcomer was middle-aged, solid in a plain, loose shirt with rolled-up sleeves, and baggy pants. The cat curled up in one of his arms, and the woman near the stove smiled. “How was your day?” The man washed his hands at the sink and sat. “Not bad at all. Looks like a good harvest this year. We can repay that loan soon. Good news,” he added, turning to us two. “We’ll be able to send you to study whatever you want. You can even be a lawyer if you insist,” he finished, with a curious look at his son.
***
I’d been watching my sister. She was surprisingly quiet all day; sitting on the broken plank stool in the untended backyard; laughing when the wind brushed through the flower-cadavers, rattling the vestiges of leaves, flinging them over the cracked railing; remaining there when the rain came tumbling down. When called to finish the household chores, wet washing dumped on her lap, she went to the cold kitchen and sat at the wobbly table without doing anything about dinner. Father arrived from the fields where we were working, and Yolande cheerfully ignored his protests at the lack of food, his tirade of “Your mother would never have let this happen!”
Finally, weary of father’s complaints at being unable to find work, his whining at my ambitions, I left. Perhaps, when mother was alive, things would never have gone this way, but I’ll be hanged before staying and listening to him insulting me and my sister. I walked out the back and stood a moment studying the broken tree trunk that adorned the buried garden path before jumping the fence and sitting dejectedly in the yellow sward.
I would be hanged before going in there again.
***
I smiled contentedly as mother sat next to me and asked, “Shall we eat?”
--------------------------------------------------------
Word count: 550
Based on a story written in 2003.
Challenge 8
Third to First
Rewrite a part of an old story of your that was originally in the third person in first person (or vice versa). When you're making this change, count the number of hes or shes (or Is) in the original piece. Reduce the number by half in the rewrite. Use a relatively small section of a story or novel.
Wordcount: 500 (+/- 10%)
Rewrite a part of an old story of your that was originally in the third person in first person (or vice versa). When you're making this change, count the number of hes or shes (or Is) in the original piece. Reduce the number by half in the rewrite. Use a relatively small section of a story or novel.
Wordcount: 500 (+/- 10%)
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