Someone mentioned I write (yes I do) and someone else said they'd like to see some, so....
an excerpt from a story I'm working on:
A Footstep Of Empathy
'They were once lost in an earthquake of dreadful proportions. The earth had roared, great buildings had toppled; the screams of the dying like the shrill calling of seabirds. A river had been swallowed, then, regurgitated by the land’s rolling convulsions, had swept through the fresh, still shaking ruins of wealthy neighbourhoods and stolen everything that indicated wealth, or destroyed it.
They remained lost while relief workers, some weeks later, had begun digging and shoring up fallen walls to keep the search for the dead safe for those that did the searching.
In time, the tumbled land was smoothed by the hands of Men. Over years, a new array of modern stylish houses and yards had appeared, in seeming defiance of the still talked of calamity, or in a display of foolish confidence that it could not, would not happen again.
They sat, leaning against each other, in a wooden box that had been encased in hard packed earth during the initial heave of the ground, and weathered the passing of years in a well preserved state. The darkness of their confinement pressed close while time passed. '
![[-]](https://gayspeak.com/images/duende_v3_local/collapse.png)
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Thanks Dennis! Here's a little more....where the last bit stopped, this chapter is next:
'The Voyeras were a struggling family, but had managed through the age old means of doing without to finally obtain a finer house than anything they had been used to. Their son had not made the move with them, but instead had gone in the opposite direction, to the coast where a university education waited.
Aurora had, then, the top floor of the house to herself. At 13, the idea of being far above the street and two staircases above her parents’ room held a delightful romantic melancholy for her. Windows, angling out of the roof in gables on all four sides, lent a panoramic view of all four directions. To the west was the new city. To the east a river, its destructive past long forgotten under canopies of bending, seemingly in contemplation, trees.
The north window framed a slow rise of mountain, its top brushed by sweepings of white. The south looked at a wild undeveloped open field, dotted by the odd hump of old stone or concrete foundation from the great quake, which had broken and worn them to the same roundishness as their geologically formed cousins.
Aurora stood before a full length mirror and looked at herself. What she saw was a child full with the budding promise of womanhood. Her surname described Spanish ancestry that was unapparent in the dark mahogany of her skin. Her face had an Ethiopian look, fine featured except for her lips, that gave away her
Mother’s ancestry of African American.
“Aunt Jemima lips.†she had once shrieked at her mother during an argument where Aurora had lamented being ugly. Her mother, horrified by the first evidence of self esteem issues from her daughter, had proudly stated that her looks were her heritage, the way God had made her and done so for a reason.
She picked up a beige towel from the bed and draped it over her head. She paced before the mirror, admiring her now terry cloth blond self. Her self esteem issues went deeper than her mother realized. Aurora wanted to be white. Most of her friends were, or were a light brown and sported eye colours as opposed to the depthless black seeming ones she regarded herself with. She had a secret jar of coins she was collecting to buy coloured contact lenses. She’d read avidly of a cream to fade her skin. Her fantasies and daydreams consisted of her being other than she physically was. Carefully, she’d kept these desires to herself, until the unfortunate fight with her mother.
Her friends all consisted of those she’d picked. The only black friends she had were cousins. Family that couldn’t be ignored. She’s tried that and been given a lecture by her father on the importance of family and the support they offered. He had no idea of her self loathing or the inner lamenting of being a, to her, unattractive minority.
Self conscious at times to the point of angry withdrawal, Aurora had spent the first few weeks of life in this new neighbourhood exploring the south reaches of the open fields. Once she’d found a doll’s hand reaching out of the ground from under a half buried slab of cement. Another time there was a bent spoon, and a piece of glass covered in blue swirls that may have been from a vase or bowl in a past life. Then there was the hollow place. This was far off from the house just before the field met the line of trees that made a dark shadowy wall of green, hiding the main road to the city. It was in a dip, a small dell, a dimple surrounded by low mounds. When she’d discovered it she’d imagined it filled with water and the perfect sized swimming pool it would have made.
She’d run down into it and crossing the floor of the dip, had felt a echoing thud under two of her steps.
Dirt was sandy and smooth as it piled between her toes as she slid barefoot back down the embankment.
Three steps back the way she’d come and there was a dull thud. Then another under her next step. She thought it could be part of an old wall. Aurora had read all about the catastrophe in school. Or a fallen door. She imagined a door, lying against the ground, opening to show only a blank wall of earth. Her imagination, fed a diet of horror movies on television, presented her with an image of a skeleton on the other side of the imagined door, frozen in the desperate rictus of its owner, trying to get out. She decided, with a delicious surge of goose bumps, to come back the next day with a shovel. '
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3rd part:
'That evening she found out her friends were having a party and that she couldn’t go. She was grounded over a comment about lips.
Frustrated, she ran up to her room, shouting about freedom of speech. The stairwell, two staircases in an open landing, echoed 13 year old outrage in a completely satisfying volume. She slammed her bedroom door for dramatic effect.
After an hour of idly staring at the TV, she began thinking about digging.
The morning found her up before nine and working on a bowl of cereal. She grabbed trail mix, a coke, two bags of chips and an apple and threw them into her knapsack. Mom and Dad were both working, and so she had the day to herself.
The garage yielded a spade shovel and a pick. She took both, staggering a little under the weight of the pick and unwieldiness of the shovel.
The day was clear with a light ripple of clouds, like sand dunes, on the horizon. It took half an hour to reach the hollow place and ten minutes to look at her lunch and open the coke. Then she dug.
It was slow work. She’d expected the task to be easy, as the hollow thuds made it seem like whatever-it-was was just below the surface. Instead it was a good foot or so down, and the last six inches were hard packed earth. She scraped away hard pan until she hit a flat and very hollow sounding surface of wood. A good deal of labour and sweat as the sun rose and the day heated uncovered the bottom of a box of some type. It was Aurora’s luck, or lack of, that it would be upside down. Two feet to a side, no side she uncovered had an opening or anything looking like a door or lid. She looked at her dirty fingernails. She sighed and dropped the shovel, deciding to have lunch early. Boy thin and angular, she was always eating to try and gain some curves, like Jolene, who she admired but was too shy to talk to.
The edge of the shovel caught under the angle of box and levered it up. Freed from the ground that held it, it flipped over and something tumbled noisily inside. Aurora dropped the shovel and dropped to her knees, brushing off the dirt from what was clearly the lid. There was a simple catch with a rod put through it, bent. The rod straightened easily and slid out. She lifted the lid and saw a pair of boots. Saw scarred leather in a dull brown. She lifted one up and dropped it disdainfully back in the box. All that for nothing. No treasure. She lifted the second one and it was different. Shiny black patent leather, clearly in a girl’s size. The boot was stylish, pointed toes with a raised heel that wasn’t a spike but close to it. She blinked in amazement then fished out the first one. Her jaw loosened. It was the same. Confusion filled her. She knew the first one had been old and worn. Hadn’t it? She brushed sweat from her forehead and chalked it up to heat. It must be 90 now and she was out of coke. She held both boots up and admired the detailing on them, and the small buckles embossed with tiny lettering. She couldn’t read them. Clearly they were another language, as most of the letters only vaguely resembled the ones she was used to. A small stab of excitement ran through her. In a moment the boots were in her knapsack and she picked up her father’s gardening tools, then headed back to the house, elation building in her as she wondered if the boots would fit. '
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A very descriptive writing style which captures your imagination to create your own version of it in your head, that's whats better about reading compared to watching the TV 
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Thanks Dennis. *feeling peculiarly shy suddenly*
Would you like a little more?
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Well, what the heck..here's the last bit, the rest is still in very rough draft:
' Before she made it home, she had to endure none other than Jolene and her very black boyfriend. They had been sauntering through the fields, between Aurora and her backyard, in two acres of wide open undulating meadow. She came over a slight rise and saw them. They saw her and waved her over. Aurora shrank into herself. Jolene was perfect; alabaster skin, seemingly poreless, her hair a wavy dark blonde that her eyebrows matched. Sky blue eyes resided over a straight and fine nose. Her lips made a perfect bow on top, a slightly sultry curve on the bottom. She was curved all over, the first ripeness of girl to woman upon her, and walked like she knew it. Aurora felt like a scarecrow. A gaunt black shadow on the day. Even the act of walking over became a stage fright effort. Jolene’s boyfriend Hal grinned at her,
“Nice outfit.” Aurora blinked down at herself and saw huge swatches of brown dirt all over her clothes.
“Farming?” asked Jolene, moving one hip out slightly in an overly contrived feminine pose, but that Aurora thought amazingly sophisticated. The weight of shovel and pick were numbly forgotten in the brief burst of mangled words she spilled out.
“Dad’s tools, I’m taking them back. I’ve got new stuff on the bed. Makeup…” and she dried up, bit her lip and stumbled away from them, blinded by her caustic perceptions of herself. The rest of the walk home was spent in emotional self-flagellation, the intensity of which only a teen is capable. The idea of missing a party where Jolene and Hal would be now seemed tolerable. Conflicted with the frustration and unfairness of being grounded against the broiling embarrassment she’d be feeling at a party where Jolene would be sure to talk about how dirty somebody got farming, Aurora began feeling sourly depressed. '
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The fact when you become obsessed with another and it takes over so much you begin to forget your self don't you ???
We are all our own best !
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Dennis89 Wrote:The fact when you become obsessed with another and it takes over so much you begin to forget your self don't you ???
We are all our own best !
You mean Aurora? Yep.
But here's a spoiler. Those boots are not merely boots. They are the Boots Of Empathy, and through them she's going to discover that Jolene feels inferior to Aurora..........and something marvelously powerful about herself.
So, while I look through my heart's window into Aurora's world and write down what I see, someone had asked for a children's story, so I'll put one up. Cheers!
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Alright, a children's story (that last one posted is 4th of a series of fairy tales for grown-ups)
This story is called...
The Magician’s Grandson Part 1
'Once, not too long ago, when your grandparents were little and learning to read, there was a magician. He was a handsome man (so said his mother) and was very good at performing magic. He became popular in all the largest towns and cities everywhere. Very soon he travelled about the world, his show drawing huge crowds. He pulled rabbits from his hat that danced in a row before changing into birds. He put his arm through hoops where it disappeared up to his elbow. Now and then he performed at hospitals or schools, and those shows he did for free, for he was, after all, a very kind magician.
While he had traveled the world he took vacations in very exotic places where he sought out other magicians. They would trade secrets with each other, learning new tricks to surprise people.
As time will, time passed, and one day the magician fell in love with a school teacher. They met on a safari in Egypt, married and together they performed a magic as old as the world. They had children.
When their children grew up, the eldest became married and before too long had children as well. Now the schoolteacher and the magician were grandparents. So far, no one else in the family had taken any interest in being a magician. Then, one very sad day, the magician’s wife passed away. He was all alone now, but his oldest son had bought a house with a suite upstairs and they invited him to live there. There were four, no, five children, he thought, unsure. He worried about his memory, and he hoped he would get all their names right. He did. Anne, Clive, Kit, and Hannah. And one more. One of the middle ones. Box! Baxter, he corrected himself.
His name was Baxter but everyone called him Box. He was much different from his older and younger brothers and sisters, even his cousins. They were all lively kids, full of fun and laughing and games. Box just liked watching TV all the time and eating chips, which wasn’t good for him. He was pale and a little chubby from being both indoors and eating too much. Box ate chips out of boxes instead of bags, because a box of chips had two bags in it, which gave him the feeling that he had more chips to eat than he really did. So his nickname stuck, poor Box.
When Mom and Dad took the family out, Box always said that there was something important on TV. His grandpa, the magician, who now lived upstairs, came downstairs on days like these to watch Box while the family was at the lake or at the movies. Box loved his grandpa. Grandpa could get Box’s attention away from television by doing magic. Box really liked this, because on TV anything was possible, but not at all real. TV had machines and computers and cameras to make anything happen. Grandpa had none of these things, but he could truly do magic. Box could easily watch a magician pull a rabbit out of a hat on television. But Grandpa could do it too, and then Box could pick up the rabbit and even give it a carrot from the fridge! One day Box surprised Grandpa, right down to his old toes. Box asked him how to do a magic trick. Times were splendid after that, with Grandpa doing much of the magic he thought he’d forgotten for Box. Box learned like a thirsty boy drinks water. It was constant fun, but often quiet fun as the TV was now turned off most of the time. Box was too busy to watch it.
Mom and Dad had noticed Box and Grandpa’s new friendship.
They began asking Grandpa to go out with them to the lake, which Grandpa felt too tired for, or to the movies, though they knew Grandpa preferred books or the opera. He always said no, and always thanked them for asking. But he did take them up on their offers when they went to parties or park picnics, because then Box usually decided he needed to go, too, which Mom and Dad had been secretly hoping would happen. Grandpa was a little worn out from all these outings but he knew it was good for Box. Poor Box. He learned so many tricks his head felt stuffed, but still couldn’t do any. Magic tricks are not easy to perform. There are parts that need to be done very quickly indeed. That’s why so many people say ‘the hand is quicker than the eye’. It has to be, if you are a magician. In Box’s case it sadly wasn’t. He was clumsy and even though Grandpa hugged him and told him not to worry, and that he would soon learn, Box secretly knew that his hands would never be that fast. He learned as much as he could anyway. Grandpa was both kind and patient. He encouraged Box, telling him to just wait and see. He said that one day Box would do a Real Magic Trick. So Box practiced.'
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And then...
'Now Box, being a little boy, didn’t know about all the goings on of a grown up world. Dad and Mom, who went to work each day, always just managed to get by. They lived in a constantly changing world, and one rainy Saturday morning, gathered the whole family together for a talk. The economy was cooling down, which confused the children. Not long ago, Mom and Dad had been just as worried because the economy had been heating up. They told the children they might have to move to a smaller house, where some brothers and sisters might even have to share rooms! Grandpa would only have a bedroom instead of his own suite upstairs. The car might have to be sold, as well as the computer. Box’s older brother and sister moaned. They were just now being allowed to use it without Mom or Dad to supervise. Feeling terrible, Dad and Mom went out to get everyone treats after all this bad news. The children sat in the living room, looking glum. Grandpa harrumphed his voice and went upstairs to make some calls. Box’s younger sisters began crying. Box felt sorry for them and thought a magic trick would help. But he couldn’t do any. Feeling sad, he wandered down the hall to his room, passing by Dad’s den on the way. Mom had left the computer on. The monitor displayed pictures of cakes and snacks. Mom had been looking up recipes. Box went in, though he knew he shouldn’t. He was not allowed to use the computer. He decided he would just look. He also knew Dad and Mom must have been very upset, to leave the computer running. He felt sorry for them, too. Box didn’t feel bad for himself. Grandpa would still be staying with them, and Grandpa was his best friend.
The pictures on the monitor were in full colour. The brownies in particular looked very, very tasty. Box’s mind was still thinking about magic tricks, like it usually did these days. He walked past the computer to the window and as he did he noticed something. When you looked at the computer monitor sideways, it looked a little like a tipped over hat. As a joke, he pretended it was. He made noises like a drum rolling, pulled up his sleeve, and still looking at the monitor like it was a hat, pretended to put his hand in to pull out a rabbit. Now everyone knows, Box’s hand would have stopped when he touched the screen on the monitor. Imagine his surprise when his hand went right in! He didn’t look, because Grandpa always said a magician never looks at what his hands are doing when he does a magic trick. He felt something and grabbed it. He pulled, and out came a tray of brownies. Now Box did look around at the monitor’s screen, his mouth hanging open and his eyes wide and wondering. The pictures of cookies and cakes were still there, but the picture of brownies was gone. Box looked at the warm, chocolaty smelling brownies on the tray. He carried them out of the den and back down the hall to the living room, a silly look on his face as he slowly realized he had just done a real magic trick! When he got to the living room, everyone jumped up and began helping themselves. Pretty soon no one was crying, just lip smacking, or finger licking. Box felt very happy. His older sister, who was also the oldest child at fifteen, suddenly put her brownie down on the tray and left the room. She called around the house for Mom. When she came back in the room she looked at Box and said,
“Mom and Dad are still out. Where did these come from? They’re still hot.” She pointed at the brownies. There were only two left. Everyone looked at Box. He blushed as red as tomatoes. He was finally able to do a magic trick and was proud of himself. He stood up and bowed as Grandpa had taught him. He then said,
“Follow me” in a mysterious sounding tone of voice that Grandpa had taught him as well. Now, children have two ways of dealing with rain and being indoors. They either get along and play together, or they fight and think of disagreeable things to say to each other. This was one of those times when they all got along. Besides, they were bored, now that they were full of brownies, and each decided to be part of a good audience.
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