Category Archives: writing

Sometimes I write

I’m bored and have nothing to write about pertaining to school (because I’m on vacation!!!).  So, because I want to post something, here’s a bit from a novel I’ve been trying to write since forever.  It’s a retelling of my favorite fairy tale, Beauty and the Beast (because, and I say this with all sincerity, the world NEEDS more retellings.  I seem to have gone through them all and that makes me very sad).  So, read and let me know what you think:

 

Her name was Beauty, her father said.  The youngest of three daughters and the most pure-hearted of them al.  Where the elder girls begged the impoverished father to bring jewels and gowns for them, Beauty had merely asked for a rose.

The Beast looked forward to meeting a gil who valued flowers so.  Nature was one of his greatest consolations here.  Unlike his invisible servants, nature was there to be touched and smelled and experienced.  He’d spend years cultivating the gardens as best he could.  They were a little ragged, a little wild, but they were a riot of beautiful flowers and shrubs and trees.

At least she would like the rose garden.

“Where is she?” he demanded.  He rose from his place by the fire and paced.  “Is she tarrying on purpose?  She must have found the path by now.”

“She’ll be here,” the soothing voice of Mrs. Underwood sai off to the Beast’s left.  “Remember, she is coming to a life of imprisonment.  That’s not something one generally rushes off to.”

He felt a pang of conscience at that, but pushed it away.  “I will treat her as a guest.  She’ll have freedom…”

“The illusion of,” was the gentle correction.

He nodded in concession and forced himself to sit down.

The door trembled—a signal that someone was passing through it.  “She’s here,” Robert cried.  “She’s just come through the front gates.  Hurry!”

“I think I should stay here  Have her brought to me.  Firelight might be kinder…”

“No, master, for she sits poorly on her horse and is a sort of greyish white that tells me she won’t make it more than five steps.  We cannot help her, so you must go.”

He growled, but swept from the room.  Robert surely exaggerated. As a human, he’d always been prone to wild flights of fancy being turned invisible did nothing but increase his whimsy.

The Beast reached the courtyard just as the girl’s horse stopped at the steps of the castle.

The girl didn’t notice the Beast.  She was too busy struggling to dismount the horse.  She finally got a leg over and twisted until she law across the saddle on her belly.  Her short legs dangled several feet from the ground, and her hands were white-knuckled.

The Beast had just taken a step to help here when she let go of the saddle and fell into a heap on the dusty ground.

For a long moment, she sat there, head down, half hidden by the horse.  Then, one of the servants took the horse’s reigns and led it away.

The girl looked up just as the Beast took another step closer.

Her eyes widened and lips tightened.  She did not scream or panic or try to run.  She didn’t even stand.

As for her…

It wasn’t that there was no beauty to be found.  It was there, but buried underneath a death’s head.

Her skin was sickly grey, her eyes sunken with dark circles beneath them.  Her lips were parched.  Her hair was lank and dull.  Her arms were sticks and her collarbone stood out starkly underneath ashy skin.

This child was starving.

This was the merchant’s beloved daughter?  If this was how he treated her, how must the others fare?  Perhaps he should look on them and provide assistance if needed.

The pinched look of fear had disappeared from her face.  A look of peace had taken its place.

“Are you the Beast?”  Her voice was deepened and crackled with a cold.

“And you are Beauty.”

Her eyes cut away from his and she nodded.  A moment later, she coughed, deep and chest wracking.  When she was done, she climbed to her feet.

“Welcome to my home, Beauty.”  He bowed.

She looked surprised, but dipped into an uneven curtsy.  “I, um.  Thank you.”  She shivered violently, even though it was a temperate night.”

“We should go inside.  Will you take my arm?”

A look of wild fear crossed her face, but she nodded.  She stood still as he came to her side.  He offered his arm.

Hers was like a twig laying on his massive forearm.  He could feel heat radiating from her and it occurred to him that she wasn’t trembling from fear, but fever.

“Beauty,” he said, stepping forward.

She followed him.  Her foot touched the round, and her eyes rolled back in her head as she fainted dead away.

He caught her before she hit the ground.  His servants let out a cry and the dirt kicked up as they gathered around.

“What’s wrong with her?” Mrs. Underwood demanded.  “Is it fear?”

“No.  She is ill.  Gravely.”  He slid his arm under her knees and lifted her.  She lay like a feather, almost intangible she was so skinny.  “Bring water to her chambers.  Broth.  We must cool her down and get her to drink.”

Later, when she was well, he’d ask how she’d come to be in this state.  The merchant had been poor, yes, but not destitute  He’d spoken of his daughters as if they’d been comfortable.  One was even married to a famer; surely there was food enough.

This girl had not eaten well in months.  He suspected it would be a challenge to get her body to accept food.  But he must try.

He lay her on top of her bed.  The great satin comforter almost swallowed her.  He noticed the hem of her ragged dress was stiff with dirt.  There were holes in her shoes.  Her fingernails were black with grime.  Only her hair seemed to have been paid mind to, as if she’d taken special care to do it in practical braids.

“Step out of the room,” Mrs. Underwood said.  “I’ll get her out of those clothes and into a nightgown.”

“Should she wash?”

“I’ll take care of her.  Out.”

The Beast did as she said.  He closed the door behind him, all confusion.  After the merchant had left, Beast had used his magic to spy on the family.  He’d never gotten a good view of Beauty, but his impression of her had been different.  She’d been taller. Self-assured.  And health.  She and her sisters had been the pictures of health.

A tray carrying a pitcher and bowl floated past him and into the bedroom.  A moment later, tea and soup passed him by.  He watched, against wondering at the magic that could take something tangible, like the trays, and allow them to pass through walls in the hands of his servants.  A strange foresight of the magician who’d enchanted him.

The door trembled.  “She’s dressed, master,” Mrs. Underwood said.  “Clean and comfortable.  Well.  As comfortable as she can be.  She’s got a fever and a cough, and won’t stop moving her legs.”

“She need water and soup.”

“Are you…”

“Yes, I am.”  He opened the door and strode inside.

Beauty opened her eyes and immediately winced.  “It’s very bright,” she said, squinting.

The Beast went to the candles and blew them out, plunging the room into a twilight grey.

“You must eat something.”

She nodded and pushed herself up.  When a bowl of soup floated toward her, she flinched.  When it did nothing more than hang there, she reached for it.

The Beast caught the bowl before her trembling hands did.  “Sip.”  He brought the bowl to her mouth and tipped it.

She drank the soup.  Only a few sips before she pulled back, body convulsing.  She coughed a few times, gagged.  Tears rolled down her eyes.  Bu the soup stayed down.

“Have more.”

She shook her head, but leaned forward and drank some more.  Slowly, with many breaks and near things they got the soup down.

“I’m sorry,” she said when it was gone.  She lay back against the pillows eyelids heavy.  “You were probably hoping I was fatter.”

“What?” he said, flabbergasted.

“I’m a paltry meal.  All bones.  No flesh.  You’ll have to wait to eat me.  Until I fatten up.”

Ah.  Of course that was what she’d think.  No doubt her father had put the thought in her mind, fool that he was.

“I don’t intend to eat you.”

She frowned, eyes almost closed.  “But she said… I thought…”

“I may be a beast, but I don’t eat people.  If you were a deer, it would be different.”  He attempted a smile.

She was breathing evenly, near sleep.  But she muttered, “Then why…”

“Why are you here?”  He watched as the last bit of resistance fled and she fell asleep.

“Because I am lonely.”

***

 

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No Redemption

In a word without redemption
I seek to hide my pain
I scream into the silence
I fight, but all in vain

I owned the world once, long ago
A thief came in the night
And in this way, I lost my way
I’m trapped outside the light

(not sure of the date, but I wrote this from the POV of a character in a novel I wrote when I was in my last years of high school and first years of college)

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Poem of a Pen

My pen is an extension of my hand
this poem is about the meaning of life
I write, when I can, words of beauty
I just wanted to make sure you knew
I want to write words of truth
not everyone might get it
the ink flows steadily
after all, not everyone is as enlightened as I
Sometimes blue
or as smart
Sometimes black
so I thought I’d clarify
And, every once in awhile, purple
hope you got it.

(I’d guess this was written either in high school or college as a reaction to someone explaining to me what their (or a) poem meant)

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I Am Woman

I am woman
as I have been for centuries
Sitting quietly, I wait for my turn to speak
only to be laughed at, ridiculed and
dismissed when I do.

I am tired of waiting
I will be heard
And if you laugh too long and too loud
You will miss the truth
In what I am saying.

spring 1999

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Untitled

A season of passing
I pretend not to care
And era is ending
and I’m not even there.
It was part of my life
no matter what I deny
a part I have left
but I’m part of a lie.

They hurt me
it hurts me
I hurt me
I’m hurt

I hate them
I hate it
I hate me
I’m hurt

The show is now over
and I’m moving on
now just in my heart
will I hear the song

The bells have stopped ringing
I pretend not to care
a huge chunk of my life
now I’m not even there

They hurt me
it hurt me
I hurt me
I’m hurt

I hate them
I hate it
I hate me
I’m hurt

That life is now over
and a new one’s begun
It’s time for the song
that’s my heart to be sung

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Three poems

I really need to remember to queue up posts so I post when I say I will, even when I’m busy. But, since I didn’t here’s the poems for April 8, 9, and 10th.

I

I go through my day

in a sea of solitude

I am alone

as I want to be alone

Loneliness rarely touches me

for I am a creature

who belongs to herself

Yet…

sometimes, as I make my way

an island in a sea of people

I long for one to reach out

touch me

know I’m there

and appreciate that fact.

(fall/winter 1999)

Jumping at Shadows

Once on a moonbeam I sat

  alone, cold, alone

I reached for the stars and gained

nothing

I grabbed for a comet’s tail and got

nothing

Then, I tried jumping at shadows and

there you were

My childhood friend all grown up

arms open wide

Waiting for me on our warm

sunbeam

(1993; this was written about Luke Skywalker from the POV of my OC.  I was in eight grade.)

The Edge of the World

All logic aside

it’s like you are standing at

the edge of the world

The air smells of

stinging salt

And a breeze

messes your hair

Behind you lies

“Real Life”

Before you

eternity..

It stretched out there

noisy, beautiful, mysterious

And although you know

logiclly

SOMETHING must lie out there

Logic fails and you face it

feeling as if you are at

the edge of the world

(sometime in the 2000s)

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Emancipation of She

At a young age she learns the futility
of speaking out loud.
No one will notice
no one will care unless
He repeats her
claiming the thought for his own.

So she sits in the corner and watches
almost too afraid to dream
dreams, she has realized, rarely come true
Happy Endings do not exist
And she has ceased to dream of The Prince

What is a woman? she often wonders
is it the constant ache she feels
is it the enforced silences and the
false smiles
do her thoughts–
her Dreams–
really not matter
or have people just Forgotten they matter

And did she ever really want The Prince?
Not that she doesn’t want a companion
a friend
a lover, but
does she want The Prince?

The Prince is romantic and dashing
He implies danger and rescue
does she need to be rescued?
yes, she’s shy and timid but
won’t The Prince, with his overwhelming presence
just silence her anyway?

Silent and reserved.
Alone, but herself
she waits for rescue yet
is afraid to be rescued
and something is building inside her
something loud, and big, and scary

It builds with every put down
It builds with every insult
It grows louder every time
He
belittles her
dismisses her
Until the Something will not
be ignored.

It becomes deafening.

And she hears
And she knows
And she understands that
her emancipation must start from within
it won’t count if she doesn’t
Save herself.
the first step is the hardest
she must open her mouth and
She must

Scream

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Two on a theme

Another two poems since I missed yesterday. Both poems were written sometimes in college.

Goddess

Sometimes I feel like a
goddess
Sleek and sophisticated and
sexy

And sometimes I feel like a
warrior
Rough and confident and
passionate

Sometimes I feel like a
woman
Mature and beautiful and
strong

And sometimes I feel like a
child
Happy and messy and
wild

Rarely I feel like
Kelly
I don’t know what she’s to
be

Always I feel like
someone
creative and imaginative and
me

(spring 1999; the goddess/warrior thing popped up a lot during these years.)

Fallen Angel

I am a crowd all by myself
Too busy with all
those very different parts of
me
To sometimes deal with
salesmen selling lies
women with made up eyes
and guys who walk around the mall
Angels waiting for the fall

I’ve already fallen
I can’t be saved
both all innocence
and none at all
trusting and not
confident and scared
passion filled and passion less
Too complex for even me

It’s why I am one
me alone
I am too many, too different, too strange
for another to want to take
a chance
And it’s okay
most of the time
except when my lonely soul
demands
what no one wishes to
give

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I Wish

That I could be wild
That I could be free
That I might drink deep of life
That I could live for then
That I could live for now
That I could live for always and forever
That I could die
That I did not worry
That I could care
That I could love
That I could rely on them
That I could rely only on me
That I could be
That I could live
That I could gain
That I could lose
That I could have
That I could keep
That I could fly on fantasy
That I might be grounded
That I was visible
That I could not be seen
That I was nowhere
That I was everywhere
That I could die
That I could live
That I could be
That I was me.

I wish…

(I wrote this maybe in 1997 or 1998.)

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One Chance

After only one chance
they say you have failed,
when you know there are more chances to come.
After only one chance
they say to get out
instead of cheering you on.
They don’t understand the feelings inside
and the way you have to hang on.
And you know if you try,
you can prove it too
all you need is more time.
But they throw you out
and give some excuse
for not letting you succeed
And you know all the time
they are guilty of
giving you only
one chance.

(fall 1993; I suspect this was written after failing my first biology test. I later passed the class, but it was a shocking time)

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