Original Snippet: [MML] Stirrings of Awakening
In the end, I did finish revising that original snippet after I pulled myself from the internet and resisted reading DV12. To be honest, I enjoyed writing more than I would have enjoyed reading. Perhaps that's why I continue to make attempts to write my dry stories, despite the existence of genius writers out there. Not for the recognition. Not for anyone. For myself.
Besides, like the echoing phrases that ring in my head from time to time, I also get flashes of scenes that I absolutely have to write. This snippet involves one of those flashes, expanded ten-fold.
MML - Stirrings of Awakening
--
The boy - though sixteen, he was still very much a boy - stood by the side window and looked out into nothing. It was always nothing.
The boy himself was empty, he remaining as still and silent as a statue, almost unblinking in his mimicry while the hours passed. The green depths of his eyes were likewise void - nothing could penetrate them, nothing could be seen in them.
Outwardly, he looked normal enough. His mass of dark silk was brushed neatly to one side, as always. His parents took great pain to make him look the way he once was - the ordinary boy he had been a few short months ago.
Sometimes, when he was dressed and poised just so, his family could almost swear he was only thinking and that he was not this heart wrenching shell of a son that could live and move but could not think. So they cared for him. They took him home from the doctors who could not help, from the hospital that reminded them of his deficiency, and they treated him like the normal boy he wasn't. They brushed his teeth, fed him, dressed him, called him Elrik as if he would respond. And he always complied automatically because he was empty of everything but the motions of life that once ran through him. He was gone, but he was there, standing by the window and looking out into nothing.
His house was empty. His parents were at work and his brother at school. He was alone. His lack of willful movement, his unwavering stare - they had long learned he needed no one to watch him.
It was early afternoon but the brightness was dimmed by numerous clouds in the sky. There were no children out yet, none but a brown-skinned girl who was too old to be a child and too young to be anything older.
She was skipping along the sidewalk as a child would, her ponytail swishing merrily behind her. In hand was her patched knapsack where she might have carried her lunch, and on her back was a small bag brimming with craft materials.
Something bright fell out from said bag with a clunk that echoed along the quiet street. She spun agilely around and reached down to retrieve it, extending a lean leg behind her as she did. What she had dropped appeared to be a container of some sort, colored a primary school red.
As the girl straightened again and began to place the box into her bag, her slanting eyes caught sight of him. She paused and stared, laxly holding the item, completely forgetting to put it away.
A person staring at him was not unusual.
But this girl was.
She came forward, crossing the black street without pausing to check for passing cars, as she should have been taught. The girl didn't skip this time. Instead, she drew close with the smoothness of one gliding across water, her lock on him the line pulling her on. She did not loosen her gaze, did not look away for a single moment, even to ascertain her footing.
They stood then, face to face on opposite sides of the glass, both frozen in a mirror of each other. The darkly tanned girl could not stay still for very long, however.
With an uninhibited curiosity, she waved at him in an attempt to catch his attention. His eyes remained distant. Seeing his lack of reaction, she proceeded to do a variety of other things. She tapped on the glass. She made faces. She spoke to him. She told him her name: Lenora. But nothing would move the boy. He was untouchable.
At last the girl Lenora stilled once more into contemplation. That the boy was older was undoubted but that she was as young as she acted was not. There was a blossoming nature to her form that rendered her un-childlike but the way of her manner indicated her mentality was otherwise. The match of the two, mind and body, was not normal.
For a space of time she observed the boy intently. Then, silently, she remembered the little container in her hand. Opening it with sudden zeal, she took out something tiny. It flashed in the sunlight as she did, a spark of silver flame in her dainty hands.
The boy blinked.
Seeing him, the girl smiled in delight before her features were abruptly smoothed into solemnity. Wide-eyed, she offered the shining object to the pale boy but he could be induced to move no more.
The young one could not be discouraged. Somewhat decidedly, she carefully put the thing upon his windowsill so that he might have it. A moment or so later, with a serious sort of wave that did not suit her, she left.
The boy continued to rigidly stare out into the street long afterwards, until the children began to dot it with their play and chatter. Then, ever so slowly, his empty gaze was dragged down, down, to the object the unusual girl had left - a tiny, three-dimensional star. It shone in the late afternoon light and even after the sun had set, the folded paper star glittered in the moonlight.
When his family arrived, the boy looked no different. They took him from the window and he did not linger for one moment more than consciousness would have granted him. His parents assumed nothing had changed. They had not thought to follow his gaze, thinking it was fixed into the nothing.
His busy, busy brother Theo did spare him an extra glance that evening, perhaps sensing something different had happened that day. But other than that, his elder showed no other signs of attention. Theo did not care very much for his brother anymore. He had, once, when Elrik had been the center of action. When he was still unbound by the spell of trauma.
But he was silenced now and he was duly discarded. Theo took little interest in the useless.
The next day the girl of the star did not pass. The boy did not seem to notice. No change in his robotic behavior could indicate he was affected. He merely continued to stand by the side window, dressed all the way to his socks, and gazed unseeing.
Night came, then morning, and the day was the same as the one before. Yet, somehow, the boy's sight dropped once more, onto the windowsill that now mysteriously held two glowing stars - one silver and one gold. He stared at the pair, almost perceiving them.
The next day brought a new star, and the next, another. The girl never came into sight the entire time, despite the unblinking watch the boy kept the entire day, every day. The only proof that she had passed was each new star she left behind, like a gift from an darkling engkanto - a fairy.
At last, when more days had passed and the stars had begun to collect into a pile, the boy moved. He had been put to bed and his eyes closed, but as soon as his dutiful brother had left, his eyes snapped open. For many minutes that might have been hours, he stared into the dark where the answers lay. And then, a shadow passed.
Without fear or feeling, the boy got out of bed and descended soundlessly down the stairs. It was quite natural for him to move with explicit guidance but in the dark he had none, save for the glowing stars on the windowsill.
Upon reaching the bottom, he walked towards the window he stood by day after day, his footfalls further quieted by the carpet. The world itself was frozen in slumber just as he was frozen in daytime. But it wasn't daytime now.
Unseeing but seeing, the boy pushed aside the thin curtain, unveiling the pale light behind it and the world beyond.
She was there before him. Lenora.
Her nightgown was twirling in the breeze and loose black tendrils from her ponytail blew into her face. There was an ethereal light about her, preserving the honey-brown of her skin instead of allowing it to darken to the dimness of night.
Looking steadily, almost eerily at him, the girl extended her palm. In it sparkled a new star.
He did not look at it or react in any other way, as always. But his eyes - they were on her this time. They were on her but were blank of true perception.
She dropped the offering onto his expanding collection, her movements and expression devoid now of any childishness. Where in the night he found movement, she likewise found maturity.
Absolutely solemn, she put her hand upon the glass and called to him, though she spoke no words. He looked but did not answer.
She took leave of him with a slight bow of her head and vanished away into shadows, presumably back the way she had come. He was left gazing, still fixed on the same spot she had been standing in minutes before. An answer struggled to break free from his sealed lips but all he could do was part them and exhale. It carried on the edge of his breath, a whisper so fragile that it broke into nothing as soon as it was out.
Lenora.
She came every night after that, always at the same hour.
And every night he was waiting, always there to witness her arrival and her departure.
That was how it became between them.
That was how it remained until they woke.
--
Remember, partially stand alone.
I know I'm too wordy for my own good but I love it. Still, I know I may love it too much. Mayhaps the rare, kind person who reads the snippet could kindly point out where I get overly wordy?
Another strange thing I've discovered is that I don't like writing about ordinary things. Regular love stories, normal lives, ick. I like fantasy blended with reality. Magic. Supernatural. Mixed with the real world. That's my favorite genre. The story from which the snippet is from is actually in the magic theme. I have another story cooked up in my senior year of high school that incorporates a bit of the supernatural (much tweaked Philippine folklore). Shall post a snippet of that when I get around to revising a bit of it.
Besides, like the echoing phrases that ring in my head from time to time, I also get flashes of scenes that I absolutely have to write. This snippet involves one of those flashes, expanded ten-fold.
MML - Stirrings of Awakening
--
The boy - though sixteen, he was still very much a boy - stood by the side window and looked out into nothing. It was always nothing.
The boy himself was empty, he remaining as still and silent as a statue, almost unblinking in his mimicry while the hours passed. The green depths of his eyes were likewise void - nothing could penetrate them, nothing could be seen in them.
Outwardly, he looked normal enough. His mass of dark silk was brushed neatly to one side, as always. His parents took great pain to make him look the way he once was - the ordinary boy he had been a few short months ago.
Sometimes, when he was dressed and poised just so, his family could almost swear he was only thinking and that he was not this heart wrenching shell of a son that could live and move but could not think. So they cared for him. They took him home from the doctors who could not help, from the hospital that reminded them of his deficiency, and they treated him like the normal boy he wasn't. They brushed his teeth, fed him, dressed him, called him Elrik as if he would respond. And he always complied automatically because he was empty of everything but the motions of life that once ran through him. He was gone, but he was there, standing by the window and looking out into nothing.
His house was empty. His parents were at work and his brother at school. He was alone. His lack of willful movement, his unwavering stare - they had long learned he needed no one to watch him.
It was early afternoon but the brightness was dimmed by numerous clouds in the sky. There were no children out yet, none but a brown-skinned girl who was too old to be a child and too young to be anything older.
She was skipping along the sidewalk as a child would, her ponytail swishing merrily behind her. In hand was her patched knapsack where she might have carried her lunch, and on her back was a small bag brimming with craft materials.
Something bright fell out from said bag with a clunk that echoed along the quiet street. She spun agilely around and reached down to retrieve it, extending a lean leg behind her as she did. What she had dropped appeared to be a container of some sort, colored a primary school red.
As the girl straightened again and began to place the box into her bag, her slanting eyes caught sight of him. She paused and stared, laxly holding the item, completely forgetting to put it away.
A person staring at him was not unusual.
But this girl was.
She came forward, crossing the black street without pausing to check for passing cars, as she should have been taught. The girl didn't skip this time. Instead, she drew close with the smoothness of one gliding across water, her lock on him the line pulling her on. She did not loosen her gaze, did not look away for a single moment, even to ascertain her footing.
They stood then, face to face on opposite sides of the glass, both frozen in a mirror of each other. The darkly tanned girl could not stay still for very long, however.
With an uninhibited curiosity, she waved at him in an attempt to catch his attention. His eyes remained distant. Seeing his lack of reaction, she proceeded to do a variety of other things. She tapped on the glass. She made faces. She spoke to him. She told him her name: Lenora. But nothing would move the boy. He was untouchable.
At last the girl Lenora stilled once more into contemplation. That the boy was older was undoubted but that she was as young as she acted was not. There was a blossoming nature to her form that rendered her un-childlike but the way of her manner indicated her mentality was otherwise. The match of the two, mind and body, was not normal.
For a space of time she observed the boy intently. Then, silently, she remembered the little container in her hand. Opening it with sudden zeal, she took out something tiny. It flashed in the sunlight as she did, a spark of silver flame in her dainty hands.
The boy blinked.
Seeing him, the girl smiled in delight before her features were abruptly smoothed into solemnity. Wide-eyed, she offered the shining object to the pale boy but he could be induced to move no more.
The young one could not be discouraged. Somewhat decidedly, she carefully put the thing upon his windowsill so that he might have it. A moment or so later, with a serious sort of wave that did not suit her, she left.
The boy continued to rigidly stare out into the street long afterwards, until the children began to dot it with their play and chatter. Then, ever so slowly, his empty gaze was dragged down, down, to the object the unusual girl had left - a tiny, three-dimensional star. It shone in the late afternoon light and even after the sun had set, the folded paper star glittered in the moonlight.
When his family arrived, the boy looked no different. They took him from the window and he did not linger for one moment more than consciousness would have granted him. His parents assumed nothing had changed. They had not thought to follow his gaze, thinking it was fixed into the nothing.
His busy, busy brother Theo did spare him an extra glance that evening, perhaps sensing something different had happened that day. But other than that, his elder showed no other signs of attention. Theo did not care very much for his brother anymore. He had, once, when Elrik had been the center of action. When he was still unbound by the spell of trauma.
But he was silenced now and he was duly discarded. Theo took little interest in the useless.
The next day the girl of the star did not pass. The boy did not seem to notice. No change in his robotic behavior could indicate he was affected. He merely continued to stand by the side window, dressed all the way to his socks, and gazed unseeing.
Night came, then morning, and the day was the same as the one before. Yet, somehow, the boy's sight dropped once more, onto the windowsill that now mysteriously held two glowing stars - one silver and one gold. He stared at the pair, almost perceiving them.
The next day brought a new star, and the next, another. The girl never came into sight the entire time, despite the unblinking watch the boy kept the entire day, every day. The only proof that she had passed was each new star she left behind, like a gift from an darkling engkanto - a fairy.
At last, when more days had passed and the stars had begun to collect into a pile, the boy moved. He had been put to bed and his eyes closed, but as soon as his dutiful brother had left, his eyes snapped open. For many minutes that might have been hours, he stared into the dark where the answers lay. And then, a shadow passed.
Without fear or feeling, the boy got out of bed and descended soundlessly down the stairs. It was quite natural for him to move with explicit guidance but in the dark he had none, save for the glowing stars on the windowsill.
Upon reaching the bottom, he walked towards the window he stood by day after day, his footfalls further quieted by the carpet. The world itself was frozen in slumber just as he was frozen in daytime. But it wasn't daytime now.
Unseeing but seeing, the boy pushed aside the thin curtain, unveiling the pale light behind it and the world beyond.
She was there before him. Lenora.
Her nightgown was twirling in the breeze and loose black tendrils from her ponytail blew into her face. There was an ethereal light about her, preserving the honey-brown of her skin instead of allowing it to darken to the dimness of night.
Looking steadily, almost eerily at him, the girl extended her palm. In it sparkled a new star.
He did not look at it or react in any other way, as always. But his eyes - they were on her this time. They were on her but were blank of true perception.
She dropped the offering onto his expanding collection, her movements and expression devoid now of any childishness. Where in the night he found movement, she likewise found maturity.
Absolutely solemn, she put her hand upon the glass and called to him, though she spoke no words. He looked but did not answer.
She took leave of him with a slight bow of her head and vanished away into shadows, presumably back the way she had come. He was left gazing, still fixed on the same spot she had been standing in minutes before. An answer struggled to break free from his sealed lips but all he could do was part them and exhale. It carried on the edge of his breath, a whisper so fragile that it broke into nothing as soon as it was out.
Lenora.
She came every night after that, always at the same hour.
And every night he was waiting, always there to witness her arrival and her departure.
That was how it became between them.
That was how it remained until they woke.
--
Remember, partially stand alone.
I know I'm too wordy for my own good but I love it. Still, I know I may love it too much. Mayhaps the rare, kind person who reads the snippet could kindly point out where I get overly wordy?
Another strange thing I've discovered is that I don't like writing about ordinary things. Regular love stories, normal lives, ick. I like fantasy blended with reality. Magic. Supernatural. Mixed with the real world. That's my favorite genre. The story from which the snippet is from is actually in the magic theme. I have another story cooked up in my senior year of high school that incorporates a bit of the supernatural (much tweaked Philippine folklore). Shall post a snippet of that when I get around to revising a bit of it.