But, without further ado....here is the first two pages of my first challenge story. I will post more as I finish making changes. Right now, the story is only 6 pages, so it's a pretty short one.
Dancing with Ghosts
Quinn Hay
Charlotte had never known Death. Never in her life had she had the opportunity to stare in Death’s face with his sunken eyes and stinking breath and feel the repercussions of his acquaintance. Never had he smiled cruelly upon her and crooked his finger at her beckoning her forward. She knew that before too long she wouldn’t be able to escape Death. It was inevitable that she would meet him. Many people much younger than her had met him and survived to tell the tale. Charlotte lived life quietly, holding her breath so as not to draw his attention. She was certain he was saving her for devastation. She was positive that she had been far too lucky in her life and knew death was breathing down her neck, waiting.
She considered herself lucky that no one she ever knew and loved had died. Sure, she had grandparents that had their own rendezvous with death, but she was so young when they died and never really knew them, having only seen them a handful of times. She knew that eventually death would catch up to her and she knew he would make up for lost time.
Fearing Death, she began a sort of ritual as her way of showing death that she was not afraid. It started as a sort of sick curiosity, which grew into an obsession, which grew into a superstition. She now believed that her ritual would fend off Death; keep him safely at bay away from her and her loved ones.
Charlotte was a grave walker. She walked among the graves of the cemetery as if welcoming Death and embracing him, making Death no more than a pleasant walk in the park with a friend. She counted the headstones and read them, studied them. She would press a smooth sheet of paper on to the headstone and rub a piece of charcoal across the surface. She would stare at the rubbing in melancholy silence and make up the story of the person buried six feet beneath the very spot she sat. She felt that in this way, she had figured out the secret of life and death. She was getting to know hundreds of people who had died; surely there was a limit to how many deaths a person can know. She imagined she must be getting closer to reaching her maximum.
Every week, once a week, Charlotte roamed through Sleepy Hollow Cemetery. It was her favorite cemetery and she loved that it was called Sleepy Hollow, as if you didn’t die, you just curled up for a long hibernation. She would walk the gravel trails and study the graves as she passed. Mourning over the lives she never knew. She would pause for a moment near the small pond and watch the two swans swim languidly in circles. She ran her finger of the plaque on the fence. Swan Pond donated by the families of Robert and Katherine Harper, May they rest in peace. She would walk in the shadow of the big oak tree and stare up at the bright sunlight reaching through its bright green leaves. Then she would be off to befriend yet another one of the dead.
It was on one of these ritualistic walks that she came across the little girl that would soon change her life. She almost missed her at first, dressed in white; the little girl could have been a ghost. It was an overcast and dreary morning when Charlotte first encountered the little girl. Charlotte was bent over a headstone carefully rubbing the charcoal across the surface of the paper as the words slowly appeared.
Ingrid Elisabeth Jacobs
June 7, 1920-August 4, 1928
Beloved daughter and sister
Charlotte was thinking of the tragic demise of Miss Ingrid Jacobs, only eight years old. She had fallen into a well saving her younger brother from a similar fate. The brother had survived and her family had considered poor Ingrid to be a hero. She will forever go down in family history as a saint and savior. Charlotte was just thinking about the grandchildren of Ingrid’s brother, who would owe their lives to Ingrid when a flash of bright white caught her eye, she looked up and there she was.
The little girl was dressed in a long white flowing dress. Her strawberry blonde hair glowed in the sunlight as she danced pirouettes around the tombstones, as if oblivious of the sadness and loss surrounding her. She was an angel dancing in the city of the dead. Over and over she spun as her dress twirled around her and she smiled and laughed. Charlotte watched her until her cell phone chimed, notifying her that it was time to go.
Quinn Hay
Charlotte had never known Death. Never in her life had she had the opportunity to stare in Death’s face with his sunken eyes and stinking breath and feel the repercussions of his acquaintance. Never had he smiled cruelly upon her and crooked his finger at her beckoning her forward. She knew that before too long she wouldn’t be able to escape Death. It was inevitable that she would meet him. Many people much younger than her had met him and survived to tell the tale. Charlotte lived life quietly, holding her breath so as not to draw his attention. She was certain he was saving her for devastation. She was positive that she had been far too lucky in her life and knew death was breathing down her neck, waiting.
She considered herself lucky that no one she ever knew and loved had died. Sure, she had grandparents that had their own rendezvous with death, but she was so young when they died and never really knew them, having only seen them a handful of times. She knew that eventually death would catch up to her and she knew he would make up for lost time.
Fearing Death, she began a sort of ritual as her way of showing death that she was not afraid. It started as a sort of sick curiosity, which grew into an obsession, which grew into a superstition. She now believed that her ritual would fend off Death; keep him safely at bay away from her and her loved ones.
Charlotte was a grave walker. She walked among the graves of the cemetery as if welcoming Death and embracing him, making Death no more than a pleasant walk in the park with a friend. She counted the headstones and read them, studied them. She would press a smooth sheet of paper on to the headstone and rub a piece of charcoal across the surface. She would stare at the rubbing in melancholy silence and make up the story of the person buried six feet beneath the very spot she sat. She felt that in this way, she had figured out the secret of life and death. She was getting to know hundreds of people who had died; surely there was a limit to how many deaths a person can know. She imagined she must be getting closer to reaching her maximum.
Every week, once a week, Charlotte roamed through Sleepy Hollow Cemetery. It was her favorite cemetery and she loved that it was called Sleepy Hollow, as if you didn’t die, you just curled up for a long hibernation. She would walk the gravel trails and study the graves as she passed. Mourning over the lives she never knew. She would pause for a moment near the small pond and watch the two swans swim languidly in circles. She ran her finger of the plaque on the fence. Swan Pond donated by the families of Robert and Katherine Harper, May they rest in peace. She would walk in the shadow of the big oak tree and stare up at the bright sunlight reaching through its bright green leaves. Then she would be off to befriend yet another one of the dead.
It was on one of these ritualistic walks that she came across the little girl that would soon change her life. She almost missed her at first, dressed in white; the little girl could have been a ghost. It was an overcast and dreary morning when Charlotte first encountered the little girl. Charlotte was bent over a headstone carefully rubbing the charcoal across the surface of the paper as the words slowly appeared.
Ingrid Elisabeth Jacobs
June 7, 1920-August 4, 1928
Beloved daughter and sister
Charlotte was thinking of the tragic demise of Miss Ingrid Jacobs, only eight years old. She had fallen into a well saving her younger brother from a similar fate. The brother had survived and her family had considered poor Ingrid to be a hero. She will forever go down in family history as a saint and savior. Charlotte was just thinking about the grandchildren of Ingrid’s brother, who would owe their lives to Ingrid when a flash of bright white caught her eye, she looked up and there she was.
The little girl was dressed in a long white flowing dress. Her strawberry blonde hair glowed in the sunlight as she danced pirouettes around the tombstones, as if oblivious of the sadness and loss surrounding her. She was an angel dancing in the city of the dead. Over and over she spun as her dress twirled around her and she smiled and laughed. Charlotte watched her until her cell phone chimed, notifying her that it was time to go.
I can't wait to see the changes that you've decided to make. I love the story so far, it's really good and I'm interested to know what happens next. It starts off a little too descriptive for my tastes, but that's okay. Now I kind of want to go dance in a cemetery to see what I can find......
ReplyDeleteCan't wait for the next part!
ReplyDelete