"The Fortelling"

Hello everyone. I'm posting a short story I wrote for my Creative Writing class. It's sort of a prequel to a story that I wrote years ago. For class, the objective was to write a fictional piece that was no longer than two pages. Now, one thing you have to understand about me is that I cannot write short stories. They are the bane of my existence (along with ethical papers, argumentation, and spam). But then something occurred to me: who said this had to be a completely pulled-something-out-of-my-hat story? Why couldn't it be a build-off of something I had already written. A prequel. Or a sequel, depending which way you leaned. It was so much fun getting back into this mindset, into this world. Without further adieu, I present to you "The Foretelling."

Lord Ivan and Lady Larissa passed through the large, decaying archway as his ancestors had done before him, the reasons the same for every one of them: they sought to discover their child’s destiny. A child’s destiny was a precarious thing. While some believed a person was free to choose their own path, those of the old families knew the truth: the future had already been written, and there were only three beings who could decipher it.

            The Fates.

            Lady Larissa clutched her daughter closer to her chest, the chill seeping into the marrow of her bones. Lord Ivan placed an arm protectively around her shoulders. Tattered grey drapes sewn into the very stone, the frigid floor seeming to have been taken from a mountain, the ceiling that towered like a cathedral to a point too high to be seen. Markings etched into the walls spoke of a time long passed, where great kings and perhaps even gods dwelled in this shrine of a room. Battle scenes and paintings bleak with age, scripts that had once spoken of great names and quests now lost to time.

            They stood almost in the middle of the room now, in front of a round marble platform with three steps, waiting for them to appear. The baby, awaking from her sleep, gave a shrill whine and the sound reverberated off the walls like an animal call.

            “Shh,” Lady Larissa cooed. “It’s all right, my love, my dearest. My sweet Giovanna.”

            Giovanna wailed and Lord Ivan and Lady Larissa shrank away from the sound.

            “Keep her silent!” Lord Ivan hissed. Another cry and Lord Ivan yanked the blanket away from the baby’s face. “Hush, now! Hush! You’ll wake the dead!”

            “Good evening, Lord Ivan,” came three voices from above. Lord Ivan and Lady Larissa looked up to see three hooded figures standing on the platform. The one in the middle was tallest by a head. The hood of her cloak concealed her features, but she was lean and Lord Ivan imagined she would have an angular nose and sallow cheeks. To her right, the other figure was short and rounded, her height barely reaching the waist of her sisters. The third one, to the left of the middle, had an unremarkable frame, and had it not been for her hood, she probably would have looked like a scullery maid.

            The three figures stood in exactly the same manner –backs straight, hoods drawn, hands hidden within the opposite’s sleeve.

            “We anticipated your return,” said the Fate in the middle. Lord Ivan remembered from his and Lady Larissa’s first visit that this was the eldest sister, the First Fate. Her voice was harsh and raspy, as if someone had stretched her throat.

            “We wish –” began Lady Larissa.

            “To know the destiny of your child,” finished the shortest Fate, the Second. Her voice was cold and grimy and frog-like, as if she were speaking around a cough. “We know.”

            “Will you accept her?” asked Lord Ivan. Though the Fates were rumored to be all-knowing, they were not required to share their knowledge with anyone, not even the gods.

            The Fates were silent for a long time, seeming to contemplate the request. Finally the third and final Fate answered in a voice like sunshine, “Bring her to the altar.”

            With a wave of her hand, a podium appeared from a twirl of white smoke, the same white as the platform. On it was a basin. Lady Larissa ascended the platform and placed Giovanna in the basin, withdrawing her hand slowly as the baby held on with a firm grip. Giovanna screamed and Lady Larissa, joining Lord Ivan, clutched her husband’s arm for strength. He rubbed her arm comfortingly, never taking his eyes off his daughter.

            The Fates surrounded the altar, gazing at the screaming child as if looking into a pool of stars. At precisely the same moment, the Fates each grasped each other’s hands until they made an unbroken circle around the altar. Lord Ivan heard chanting, though he could see no mouths moving, for the faces were still cast in shadow. But he perceived a change in the air, a crack of heat as if lightning had shot through the room. The chanting grew louder. Lord Ivan held Lady Larissa as they watched, uselessly, from beyond the platform as the three mysterious Fates dug into the churning froth of the world’s existence and located Giovanna’s destiny, like a thread in a tapestry. The basin glowed a vibrant, angry red and suddenly Lord Ivan saw the First Fate holding a knife above Giovanna, the tip impossibly sharp. All in a moment the chanting ceased and the Fate brought the knife viciously down. Lady Larissa screamed. The metal sang against the stone, filling the room like a single chime of a church bell.

            Lord Ivan jerked to retrieve his daughter, but something stopped him, some subconscious knowledge that assured him his daughter was alive.

            The Third Fate picked up Giovanna and placed her gently, so gently into Lady Larissa’s eager arms. Lord Ivan’s eyes searched hungrily over his daughter for the knife wound, but all her saw was the tiniest scratch on her arm, barely more than a hairsbreadth. Lord Ivan looked up at the Fates, but they were all concentrating on something inside the basin. A warm orange glow emanated from the basin, and Lord Ivan could almost perceive one of the Fate’s facial features.

            “She has fire in her blood,” said the Second Fate. “Fire that will breathe and consume her very core until she possesses the strength and essence of a dragon.”

            “And she will be brave,” continued the Third Fate. “As your general, she will lead your army into many battles and triumph over enemies both foreign and domestic. Not a single foe will cross her path that she will not conquer.”

            Lord Ivan gazed at Giovanna, who wriggled in her mother’s arms like a worm. Her eyes, the color of rich mahogany, seemed to gaze at her surroundings in wonder, as if she understood the significance of this sacred place.

            A general, Lord Ivan thought. A woman… my daughter… a general. He tried to imagine her grown up, those sharp, clever eyes looking into the face of an enemy and taking a life. He could not imagine something so innocent becoming something as cold and battle-hardened as, well, him.

            “But innocent, she will not be,” said the First Fate, as if she had heard his thoughts. “The child shall grow amongst those she would call her own, but just as the fire which courses through her blood and her fingers will one day lay waste to entire lands, her heart shall be as dead as the worst of these. She will fall into the hands of Hades and intertwine her fate with his, but it will be by her doing that your legacy shall continue.”

            The orange glow receded and the Fates dropped their hands. Silence like a storm overturned the room, heavy and foreboding. The Fates turned in synchronization toward Lord Ivan and Lady Larissa, their hands once again hidden within their sleeves.

            “Is this it then?” Lord Ivan demanded. “Is this to be my daughter’s fate?”

            “Ivan,” Lady Larissa said, but he brushed her off.

            “Born to raise my family up but doomed to die with her life intertwined with Hades’?” Lord Ivan took a step to advance upon the platform, but an invisible force held him back. He glowered at the faceless fortunetellers. “So long as I live, I will not allow a single member of my family to die the way you have said. You have foretold falsely today. The life of my daughter shall not be like that of a sheep led to slaughter.” Without another word, Lord Ivan turned on his heel, and he and Lady Larissa left the Fates, his sacrilegious words ringing behind him like a thousand thousand ghosts.

The Historian

My brother has very weird taste in T.V. shows. That is to say, then, that everyone has weird taste in T.V. shows lately, seeing as he likes pretty much everything on except reality T.V. One of his favorite new shows is FOX's Sleepy Hollow. I wish I had seen this show from the beginning because it does look very interesting, but I poked my head in while my brother was watching an episode and it was very... different. I was having trouble following the plotline, but that's the risk you take when you jump right into a series without watching the previous ones. Still, it looks good and I still want to see it from the beginning. Maybe then the headless soldiers and trunkful of crossbows will make sense.
After all the hype I've heard about this show, I did some rudimentary research on Sleepy Hollow's leading man, Tom Mison. What I found was a brief but inspiring little quote at the end of his biography on IMDB.
"I've always been a history buff. It was one of the few subjects at school that really, really caught me. I think you'll find a lot of actors will be interested in history because it sparks your imagination so much. When you enter a period of history, your imagination just goes wild in creating the world, which is really what acting is."
This quote stuck out to my, I think because it made me realize... all actors were historians, in some sense of the word. And somehow, that made me see some actors differently. It's not like they were just playing pretend; they were delving into the time period, fleshing it out, bringing it back to us in the liveliest way possible, through acting.
Since then, I've been imagining different actors and wrapping the word "historian" around their profile, just to see how it fits. And I just kept repeating to myself...
This guy's a historian.

(Tom Mison, picture courtesy of http://justjared.com )

She's a historian.

(Adelaide Kane as Mary on The CW's Reign)

She's a historian.

(Picture of Emmy Rossum, courtesy of http://fanpop.com )

And this guy just can't seem to keep himself out of period dramas, so you know he's got a few research essays up his sleeve.

(Picture of Tom Hiddleston courtesy of http://marvel-movies-wikia.com )

It does make me view these people, and others, in a different light. Not that I thought they were puppets or something, but it's fascinating that so many actors, as Mr. Mison points out, are probably history buffs just like him.

-Grace

Excerpt from "Cinderella and Sebastian"

For your enjoyment, here is a short paragraph from my story (working title) Cinderella and Sebastian. Let me know what you think!


The bark dug into Sebastian's back as he pressed himself against a tree, listening to the travelers’ conversation. "Aye, an' he hired the bloke to kill the Caliph, he did," said the one with gravel in his voice. One of them spit. "He's a trai'or to his blood, he is," added the other. Sebastian's heart plummeted and he squeezed his eyes shut. Banished and yet wanted at the same time, he thought with no amusement. But when he opened his eyes he saw a girl standing there, her eyes like saucers as she took in his attire, his weapons. Without thinking, Sebastian tackled her to the ground and muffled her cries with a hand. He drew his dagger and held it to her throat. The girl's eyes, too shocked for tears, did not blink. Seb listened until he could no longer hear the travelers. Still keeping the dagger aloft, he held a finger to his lips. The girl nodded and he drew his hand away. "Forget my face," he said, and stole deeper into the woods.


-Grace

Celebrity Look Alikes: Dina Meyer VS Erin Richards

This will probably be my last Celebrity Look Alikes post for a while. I really want to refocus my blog on the writing aspect, as I set out to do in the beginning. So, I hope you enjoy this post before the meme goes on a hiatus.
Our candidates today are the lovely Dina Meyer and Erin Richards.

(Dina Meyer picture from the Heroes for Hire website, http://heroesforhire.us)

 

(Erin Richards at the premier of The Quiet Ones)

You've probably seen Meyer in numerous roles including Johnny Mnemonic, Starship Troopers, ABC's Castle, and CBS's NCIS. Richards, on the other hand, has most recently been seen on FOX's new series Gotham as Barbara Kean, although you may also have seen her in The Quiet Ones, Open Grave, and the BBC's Merlin. These women both have some intense stares, ethereal baby blues, and luscious textured locks. Clearly there's a secret to keeping your face acne-free. (Side note: Acne doesn't end when you're seventeen! This is something they don't tell you: you get it the rest of your life!) Their chins are also slightly pointed, and they both have arched eyebrows and nude-colored lips. The biggest contrast is their hair. I wonder what Miss Richards would look like with auburn hair. I find it interesting that Richards plays a character named Barbara on Gotham, which centers around the fictitious city from the DC universe before the pseudo name Batman came to be. Dina Meyer starred in Birds of Prey (2002-2003) as Barbara Gordon, aka Batgirl aka Oracle. Do I see a character parallel here? Granted, Gotham has only aired one episode (Mondays at 8/7c on FOX) but it has already been hinted that Barbara Kean has a shady past with another character on the show. I wonder if it has anything to do with computer hacking. If so, that would be a great set-up if she were eventually to become Oracle. Although that would mean Oracle would be much older than Bruce Wayne once he and she connected.
Ahem.
Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this little post. Once again, I hope to post more writing-based posts in the future. Stay tuned!

-Grace

Celebrity Look Alikes: Nicolas Giraud VS Kit Harington

This seems to be the only thing I'm good for these days. What can I say? Between writing and college, my methods of detoxing are pretty slim. So I find quite a few people who share certain resemblances.
On that note, here are two more that I think you'll find rather interesting. Say hello to Nicolas Giraud and Kit Harington.

(Above, French actor Nicolas Giraud from the movie The Extraordinary Adventures of Adele Blanc-Sec)

 

(Above, actor Kit Harington showing off his Jon Snow figurine; known for HBO's television series Game of Thrones)

 

 

I first saw Mr. Giraud while watching The Extraordinary Adventures of Adele Blanc-Sec, a French film that kind of reminded me of the movie The Grand Budapest Hotel. Both films are extremely entertaining. They contain elements you certainly won't find in your typical comedy sketch.

You might recognize Mr. Harington for his role as Jon Snow on HBO's mega-hit series Game of Thrones.

Both men have incredibly dark features: black curly hair, dark eyes, and a generous growth of hair around the jawline. They may not be twins, but I think they could even play brothers.

That's all I have for now. I promise to get make to more writerly stuff soon. Believe me, the wheels have been turning. If our bodies could indicate the kind of workouts our minds got on a daily basis, there would be no need for gyms.

Have a wonderful week.

 

-Grace

Check Out My New Toolbar

You may have noticed the righteous new toolbar that displayed when you came today. Isn't it lovely? Now you can share my grammatical mistakes all over the web! I've been swamped with homework lately, especially Basics to Web Design. I'm learning all about HTML and accessible web pages -where there's alternative texts for images and multimedia. It's all very interesting. As I've been reading through, I've been thinking, "I can totally use that in my blog." Anyway, just wanted to give you an update about the new toolbar. There's some really faded text above it that says "Tell Your Friends!" I hope to tweak it so that it's a little more visible.
Later.

-Grace

Sight, Sound, Smell, Taste, Touch

For my Creative Writing class, we were instructed to describe the scene in the picture below using each of the five senses at least once. For your enjoyment, the surfer.

Daniel stands before the churning green waves like a sentry, an avenging angel of the sea. Another wave crashes and dissolves at his ankles. He digs his toes into the sharp sand, mostly crushed sea shells, remembering the last time he was here. Because last time, Layla had been with him, and her wide, eager smile had shone brighter than the sun.
Daniel squints back tears as soft water mist brushes into his eyes.
One more wave, Danny. Please? He can hear her musical voice now as another wave builds far in the distance. Perfect surfing weather, as it had been that day. Just one more wave.
Water crashes at his feet, nearer, stronger, gaining breath and attitude after a resting period. The seagulls caw overhead, the sound lulling and familiar as a salty breeze cools Daniel's face.
He couldn't save her. His heart turns over in his chest at the thought he had punished himself with for the last three years.
It must have been near here, he thought, gazing out to where the sky met the water and down along the coast. Water far in the distance rolled in anticipation. Daniel remembered showing off for Layla as she paddled out a little farther. They were always competing against each other even though she was five years his junior. Daniel remembered cresting a great wave when, out of nowhere, Layla sipped alongside him. He had been so caught off guard that he turned his board hard and the end had caught Layla in the head. He fell into the water like a fish thrown back after a catch, and when he emerged sputtering, his board had washed into the shallow water... and so had Layla. Facedown, yellow hair splayed in every direction, she didn't heave or even twitch.
Danny had rushed to her and hauled her onto the beach, checking to see if she was still breathing.
"Layla?" he said. touching her forehead. "Layla?" He pressed his fingers under her jaw, searching for a pulse. People had started gathering, their murmurs swarming around him, but he paid them no mind. Daniel pressed his ear to Layla's chest and counted to four before he started CPR. Fifteen compresses, tilt, pinch, two breaths. Again, again, again....
Another wave crashed, washing away Daniel's nightmare. He took a deep, cleansing breath, tasting the energy in the air. He waded farther out, the anxiousness of the water mounting with his own rising adrenaline. Daniel picked up his board and went farther out, faster this time, and then slapped it onto the water, sliding easily onto his belly. Paddling out, he glanced down out of habit at the ribbony blue letters painted near the top of his surfboard. Layla, they read.
Come on, Layla. Let's do one more wave.

The photo is by G. Baden of Corbis Images. I think it's called Contemplating the Surf.

-Grace