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peacockharpy to blame thank for this. I just dug it out of my archives, where it has resided since approximately 1987, and now I inflict it on share it with you all because I know some of you really like my writing and I am cruel that way such a generous person.
So now, in the spirit of Operation Teenage Angst Fest, I offer this fragment of immortal prose, from an unfinished urban fantasy story, for yourtorment enjoyment:
* * *
"Arian!"
She whirled, the crystal sputtering in her hand, to see a figure clawing its way through the swirling mists toward her, ripping the air aside with stiffened hands, tearing a ragged path out of nothingness into her reality. At last it stumbled through the final layer of fog, panting, and straightened up with difficulty to look at her.
A tall boy, nearly a man, with a long-legged, lanky body dressed in faded jeans and an old navy sweatshirt. His hands, the hands that had torn the mists apart to reach her, were large and fine-boned. He had broad shoulders, though his build was slight. And his face--the mouth was boyishly soft, but the nose was long and aristocratic, and his melancholy eyes were dark and deep, very deep. In its own unique way, it was a handsome face, with the close-cropped waves of earth-brown hair falling around it. And it was familiar... [Ten points to anybody who recognizes this overly lavish description of the actor who was (one of) my big teeny crush(es). -- Ed.]
A wave of blinding hatred swept over her then, and her fist tightened on the crystal.
Andrew.
I hate you I hate you I hate you...
"Arian," said the voice, young but deep, and growing deeper with a sorrow she could not begin to understand. "Arian, you don't have to do this."
"Don't I?" she taunted, tasting her loathing of him like bile in her throat. "You don't know the first thing about it, boy."
I hate you I hate you...
"Maybe I don't," he said softly. "I've never really understood you, Arian. Maybe no one has."
"That's right!" she cried savagely, feeling the crystal's cruel light humming through her bones, filling her skin. "Nobody understands. Nobody's ever listened to me. Nobody's ever even tried."
"No," he said. "No, that's not true. James listened. I listened."
"You never heard!"
"No," he repeated. "You never spoke." [Say what??? - Ed.]
"Lies!"
Oh, how I hate you...
"Why do you hate me, Arian?"
She stopped. The question, unexpected, made her frown; her grip on the crystal relaxed unconsciously. "Why? What kind of question is that?"
"A completely legitimate one. I've never known why you hated me. I just knew it was true. I think it's high time you explained."
That arrogance again. That hated self-confidence that believed itself right in everything it did and said. "You dare to command me?" she demanded, outraged. "I hold the fate of this world in my hand! I hold your life!"
Her hand clenched around the crystal, squeezing the pulsing sphere, cutting off its light. The mists, purple and scarlet-streaked in the force of her rage, swirled madly, roiling, and beneath their feet the unseen ground shuddered violently, like a child left alone in the cold and dark. And as the earth rocked, Andrew stumbled and fell on hands and knees.
"Yes!" she cried. "Cringe before me! Bow down and never rise again! In your world I was nothing, but here I rule!" [Excuse me while I claw my eyeballs out -- Ed.]
"Nothing?" he whispered hoarsely, getting back to his feet with difficulty. "You thought yourself nothing?"
"You thought me nothing, you arrogant boy. I saw you looking down on me, smirking, despising me. I felt your cold eyes on the back of my neck a thousand times, cringed beneath the weight of your hateful stare. Every word you gave me was a mockery. I was nothing to you and I knew it. But look at me now and know your folly, for here I am a goddess!"
There was an incredible weariness in Andrew's eyes as they met hers. Very softly he said: "You were always a goddess to me." [*retching noise* -- Ed.]
"What?"
Hate you...
He spread his palms wide in a gesture of helplessness and resignation. "Are you so blind as that? Did you truly think that all those years I have hated you as you have hated me? Never, Arian.
"I love you."
* * *
Yes, there is more -- about a page and a half. I can't decide whether it's just as awful as the first part, or even more awful. Anyway, if for some strange reason you want to read the rest, let me know and I'll e-mail it to you, or post it here if there are enough requests. But I really doubt that many of you are masochists.
peacockharpy to So now, in the spirit of Operation Teenage Angst Fest, I offer this fragment of immortal prose, from an unfinished urban fantasy story, for your
* * *
"Arian!"
She whirled, the crystal sputtering in her hand, to see a figure clawing its way through the swirling mists toward her, ripping the air aside with stiffened hands, tearing a ragged path out of nothingness into her reality. At last it stumbled through the final layer of fog, panting, and straightened up with difficulty to look at her.
A tall boy, nearly a man, with a long-legged, lanky body dressed in faded jeans and an old navy sweatshirt. His hands, the hands that had torn the mists apart to reach her, were large and fine-boned. He had broad shoulders, though his build was slight. And his face--the mouth was boyishly soft, but the nose was long and aristocratic, and his melancholy eyes were dark and deep, very deep. In its own unique way, it was a handsome face, with the close-cropped waves of earth-brown hair falling around it. And it was familiar... [Ten points to anybody who recognizes this overly lavish description of the actor who was (one of) my big teeny crush(es). -- Ed.]
A wave of blinding hatred swept over her then, and her fist tightened on the crystal.
Andrew.
I hate you I hate you I hate you...
"Arian," said the voice, young but deep, and growing deeper with a sorrow she could not begin to understand. "Arian, you don't have to do this."
"Don't I?" she taunted, tasting her loathing of him like bile in her throat. "You don't know the first thing about it, boy."
I hate you I hate you...
"Maybe I don't," he said softly. "I've never really understood you, Arian. Maybe no one has."
"That's right!" she cried savagely, feeling the crystal's cruel light humming through her bones, filling her skin. "Nobody understands. Nobody's ever listened to me. Nobody's ever even tried."
"No," he said. "No, that's not true. James listened. I listened."
"You never heard!"
"No," he repeated. "You never spoke." [Say what??? - Ed.]
"Lies!"
Oh, how I hate you...
"Why do you hate me, Arian?"
She stopped. The question, unexpected, made her frown; her grip on the crystal relaxed unconsciously. "Why? What kind of question is that?"
"A completely legitimate one. I've never known why you hated me. I just knew it was true. I think it's high time you explained."
That arrogance again. That hated self-confidence that believed itself right in everything it did and said. "You dare to command me?" she demanded, outraged. "I hold the fate of this world in my hand! I hold your life!"
Her hand clenched around the crystal, squeezing the pulsing sphere, cutting off its light. The mists, purple and scarlet-streaked in the force of her rage, swirled madly, roiling, and beneath their feet the unseen ground shuddered violently, like a child left alone in the cold and dark. And as the earth rocked, Andrew stumbled and fell on hands and knees.
"Yes!" she cried. "Cringe before me! Bow down and never rise again! In your world I was nothing, but here I rule!" [Excuse me while I claw my eyeballs out -- Ed.]
"Nothing?" he whispered hoarsely, getting back to his feet with difficulty. "You thought yourself nothing?"
"You thought me nothing, you arrogant boy. I saw you looking down on me, smirking, despising me. I felt your cold eyes on the back of my neck a thousand times, cringed beneath the weight of your hateful stare. Every word you gave me was a mockery. I was nothing to you and I knew it. But look at me now and know your folly, for here I am a goddess!"
There was an incredible weariness in Andrew's eyes as they met hers. Very softly he said: "You were always a goddess to me." [*retching noise* -- Ed.]
"What?"
Hate you...
He spread his palms wide in a gesture of helplessness and resignation. "Are you so blind as that? Did you truly think that all those years I have hated you as you have hated me? Never, Arian.
"I love you."
* * *
Yes, there is more -- about a page and a half. I can't decide whether it's just as awful as the first part, or even more awful. Anyway, if for some strange reason you want to read the rest, let me know and I'll e-mail it to you, or post it here if there are enough requests. But I really doubt that many of you are masochists.
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no subject
Date: 2003-03-31 05:38 pm (UTC)If I remember correctly, mine was about a futuristic dystopian society where it was illegal to be a Christian. However, the main character (long red hair, brilliant, etc.) somehow, along with her boyfriend and best friend, had become Christians, but when they were found out, the main character was the only one who didn't renounce her faith. So she ended up being exiled in the desert along with another guy, who happened to be the cousin of her boyfriend and also his biggest rival. Add to this them meeting a group of outcast teens, a plan to eliminate Christianity, people acting as double agents, and the long-lost heir to the country's throne (who is recognizable due to the shape of her ears), and you have my novel. And all that was in 30 pages.
The really scary thing was how cool my friends and I thought it was.
Re:
Date: 2003-03-31 06:13 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-03-31 06:31 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-03-31 07:07 pm (UTC)My guess for the actor: Michael Praed? *racks brain to remember 1986 actors*
My grand writing project during my teen years was a 200-page hand-written epic tale of how I got to meet Duran Duran and marry Simon le Bon. Yes, I was committing both Real Person fanfic AND Mary Sue-age without knowing what I was doing. I even had my main character (me) go blind. And started writing in subplots for my friends to meet their favorite musicians, actors, etc. -- subplots that eventually took over the story, such as it was.
Later, in fits of embarassment that someone might actually find the thing, I burned it. Or what I had of it. I think there are still pages floating around out there. I hope they have long since gone to the trash heap.
However, I did unearth and send two "poems" *gack* to the Angst Fest.
no subject
Date: 2003-04-01 07:33 am (UTC)Well, you get five points anyway, because Praed was one of my lesser teeny crushes and I did have a few Robin of Sherwood pics taped to my wall. He was too old even then to fit "Andrew's" description, so no, it wasn't him -- but the person in question was also a British actor who became (briefly) famous for playing a well-known fictional character. And that's the last hint you'll get out of me. :)
a 200-page hand-written epic tale of how I got to meet Duran Duran and marry Simon le Bon.
You win. I can't compete on that level. All I did was write myself and all my friends into a fantasy story along with every fictional and TV character I happened to like at the time. Oh, and did I mention that we all had mutant super powers?
no subject
Date: 2003-04-01 08:33 am (UTC)And I think you are very brave. :) I had one go at a fantasy novel when I was about 12 (with pop song chapter heading quotes *grimaces*), but in my teen years it was all gritty psychological realism. Set in theatres. *snort*
Erica
no subject
Date: 2003-04-01 10:00 am (UTC)But who would want to? I convinced myself at the time that I'd be able to change the names of the real people and publish it.
All together now: BWAAAAAhahahahahahaha!
And what was your cool mutant superpower?
Re:
Date: 2003-04-01 05:01 pm (UTC)I think I was a pyrokinetic, though I don't remember the story clearly enough to be sure...
Re:
Date: 2003-04-01 05:08 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-04-01 01:00 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-04-01 12:56 pm (UTC)Still, you wrote better at seventeen than I did. The educational system in Canada must be better than in the US (Shock-er!)
Re:
Date: 2003-04-01 05:08 pm (UTC)Man, I wish I hadn't trashed all my pre-sixteen juvenilia...
no subject
Date: 2003-04-01 01:00 pm (UTC)Dude. It's proto-Margot! ;)
Now *my* great teenage epic is still in-progress so I'm not allowed to complain about it (although it does have lots of characters doing things for very tenuous reasons and plenty of "You never listened. I listened; you never spoke" type dialogue), but I did write a 16-page typed epic in 6th grade about my auburn-haired diplomat Star Trek RPG-based Mary Sue going back in time to meet me, my best friend Erica, and other people I knew, saving the world and reuniting with her old flame in the process. There were sequels. Lots of sequels. I even got someone to beta read the thing, poor person, and was quite shocked at some of his comments...
Natasha
http://butterbug.blogspot.com
Re:
Date: 2003-04-01 05:11 pm (UTC);)
no subject
Date: 2003-04-01 06:22 pm (UTC)And... Nicholas Rowe?
E.H.S.
Re:
Date: 2003-04-01 07:33 pm (UTC)Erica, you slay me.
Yes, it was Nicholas Rowe. If it hadn't been him, it would have been Peter Davison, but I was too busy trying to work him into my first novel to spare him for short story work...
no subject
Date: 2003-04-02 11:50 am (UTC)But thank you, really. I'm glad you think my Great Teenage Epic is cool, even if this does lead to homocidal tendencies :)
Natasha
http://butterbug.blogspot.com