Week Nine Writing

We were asked to plan out a story for this week, which I did in my working (see other post from this week), but I also had a go at writing a little bit of my story idea out to help me develop my ideas in a natural way.

When we first bought the new house, Ellery was determined to ingratiate herself wherever possible into the community. As the new primary school teacher, she got to know all the village children in no time, and her warm heart and beautiful smile made her a firm favourite instantly.

The older members of the community proved slightly more difficult; they were naturally wary of city folk moving into the village and had decided not to trust us before they even met us. I was predisposed to believe we couldn’t change that opinion, but then again, I didn’t particularly mind whether they liked us or not.

But even they couldn’t resist Ellery’s magic. Within a few weeks, she had joined every parish society she could and had done several rounds of the village until everyone knew her, knew where she lived, and knew that she was always available to help out if anyone should need her.

And they needed her a lot in the following months. I personally preferred it when the grateful villagers sent over parcels of sweet treats instead of labouring us with their presence for hours on end to express their gratitude, but Ellery was delighted by it all.

One day as we were walking through the old churchyard, Ellery stopped short with a gasp, dropping to her knees. I instantly copied her action, thinking she was unwell, before I noticed what she was looking at.

A speck of pale stone had caught her attention, almost completely hidden beneath a dark green blanket of ivy and weeds. She gently pulled them to the side and brushed off the dust which had accumulated upon the inscription: Isabella, my precious, 1919

The statue depicted a small child, sat on the ground with her knees bunched up beneath her, her pleated skirt spread about her like a puddle of water. The child’s head was bent down towards the tiny hands folded in her lap, a soft smile on her smooth face, and the delicate wing of an angel extended from one of her slender shoulder blades. Clearly the other wing had been broken off over time, a stump of stone all that remained of it.

“It’s a child, Daniel.” Ellery said, turning her face to mine with tears in her eyes. “Only a little girl, poor thing.”

“Spanish Influenza probably.” I remarked pragmatically, the doctor within me surfacing. “It took a lot of them around that time.”

As I looked back to Ellery, I saw she was crying softly. Wrapping my arm around her shoulders and bringing her close to my chest, I attempted to comfort her with soothing sounds. “Darling, it’s only a memorial.”

“I know that.” She sat up from me, wiping her face with the back of her hands. “It’s just too tragic. Too sad for words. A little life… taken too quickly… and now there’s no one to look after this place. No one to keep it beautiful.”

I smiled softly, taking her hand in mine, and her eyes flicked up to me. “We could, if you’d like?”

Her eyes flicked up to me. “Do you mean it?”

“Well, it wouldn’t take much. And I’m sure no one in the village would object to us working

on it. With a little time and effort, little Isabella’s memorial will look as good as new.”

Ellery beamed. “Yes, oh yes, I’d love that.”

Over the next two weeks, Ellery and I were both consumed with other things and didn’t have time to think of Isabella’s memorial. Honestly, although I had meant to make the effort initially, the matter had slipped my mind altogether. I hadn’t thought it important enough to divert me.

I was lying in bed one evening, reading my book (or at least attempting to, but I’ll confess the war with sleep was not one I was winning), my reading glasses dropping slowly down the bridge of my nose, when I noticed Ellery hovering in the doorway of our bedroom.

Setting my book and glasses to one side, I observed the way she was leaning against the doorpost in a way which stuck her hips out, and how she was glancing down and stroking her belly.

“Are you alright?” I asked.

“Perfectly so.” She continued to stroke her belly, smiling to herself as if at some private joke. “More so than I have right to be.”

“You’re not?” I sat up, catching on to the intention behind the movement.

“I am.” Ellery looked up to me and smiled. “It’s been a few weeks now, but I wanted to be sure.”

I was speechless for a few seconds. It was true that we had been trying, but it had been so long… I realised in that moment that a secret part of my subconscious had given up hope. I had stopped thinking it was ever going to happen for us.

“Daniel? Please say something.” I heard the worry in Ellery’s voice dimly as she crossed the room and sat on the bed beside me. “Come on. Please.”

Taking her hands in mine, I smiled, rubbing circles in her palms with my thumbs. “I… I’m so happy. Baby, I don’t… I don’t know what to say.”

Ellery laughed then, relief at my reaction evidently flooding through her as silent tears of joy glided softly down her cheeks.

Write a quest story, remembering the key elements to a quest: the hero/heroine journeys to a far-off place, gains something valuable, and returns.

Include a first line and/or opening paragraph that intrigues the reader, lures them in, makes them want more.

[I’ve never tried to write a quest story before, and this is a very rough draft.]

Truth is often a matter of perception. People tell themselves lies to make things easier to live with and with time, they believe those lies are the truth. Whether they are simple embellishments of the pure truth, or completely fictional stories, if they’re told with conviction, they become the remembered truth.

I can’t confess to being completely truthful myself. In fact, I’ve always had an impressive ability when it comes to lying; it’s as natural to me as it is to breathe. I had been brought up in a web of lies, giving me plenty of time to practice my craft. I lie to save myself trouble. I lie to save people hurt.

And sometimes I lie simply because I can.

But with those dark black eyes piercing through me, I can’t summon up a lie to save my life. Somehow, I know that no matter what I say, he will know it’s a lie.

I swallow, looking behind me as I back closer and closer to the edge. My palms sweat as he continues to advance, a look of vicious and violent hunger in his eyes. Like he can’t wait to reach out and rip me to pieces.

What are my options? To die with a lie on my lips, knowing that it would give them at least a short head start? Or to tell the truth and condemn them by protecting myself?