Sweater Panda
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- Posted: Thu, 22 Jan 2015 23:41:19 +0000
I wrote this little blurb when I was bored, and I got a really great story idea from it. I haven't decided if I want to use this for the first chapter or a prologue or something along the lines of that. I would also like some opinions on the writing itself and what I could do to improve it. I would really appreciate it!
In a town far away, there stood a lone boy, about twelve years of age. He wore a forest green cloak that was in tatters, and he was crouched low to the ground. The boy was alone and always had been. Every household that had ever welcomed him had crumbled due to a series of terrible events. The heads of those households either got rid of him before he could cause any more tragedy or crumbled because they kept him present. Tears streamed down the boys cheeks and splashed on the soil beneath him. He was at the site of his mother's grave. She had died giving birth to him.
The boy's sobs turned into a loud wail. His small, pale hands clutched at his dirtied cloak. His chest heaved with sobs. "It's all my fault." The boy screamed to no one in particular. His first victim had been his mother, fighting for her life while bestowing the boy his own. Then, his father was thrown from a horse and killed on the way to his house from the graveyard where they had buried his wife. The boy had been with him then but by some strange miracle, had escaped unscathed. The boy was shipped off to a foster home and was taken care of. He made two friends there. Shortly afterwards, those two caught an illness and died. The others avoided him in fear of losing their lives. the foster home then burnt down, and the boy had been taken into a poor family with many children. He lived there for a year, but there had always been violence. The father beat three of his children to death, and the wife fled with the others, leaving only the father and the boy. The father then fell into a deep depression and committed suicide.
The houses that the boy had taken refuge in after that had all ended in similar ways. Doom clung to the small, frail boy like a leach. However, no matter how hard the boy tried, he couldn't bring himself to end his life. He had tried countless times, but whenever he finally gathered the resolve to do so, someone would be introduced into his life and save him temporarily. Twelve years of the repeated ordeal had brought about an introvert. He hardly ever talked at length, and he had trouble making friends. The boy had no interests save one. He sang or hummed wherever he was. Some of his previous adoptive parents had become annoyed by it and would constantly scold him for it. However, their efforts were in vain. The boy had a way with music and could play any instrument flawlessly, having had no lessons.
The boy was surprised when a pale, well-groomed hand stroked the boy's dirt-streaked, greasy, black hair. He looked up with his azure eyes and was only able to make out that there was a woman with long, green hair that went all the way down to her feet. The boy couldn't see her eyes or much of her face because it was hidden by a navy blue cloak. The stranger was very tall, even taller than the average man, and had to crouch very low to reach the boy. She spoke in a smooth voice with a certain iciness to it. "Well, what have we here?"
The boy remained speechless for a few moments, having no clue what to say. She hadn't asked for a name or what he was doing here. Should he tell her? Maybe she would have some sympathy and care for him. The boy was about to tell the woman but stopped. He didn't want to be the one to bring her to ruin. "I am nothing but a boy. Just a boy." He whispered and adverted his gaze from the woman. He wasn't very good at talking to others. The boy just followed orders and did as he was told.
The woman chuckled and brought her other hand to cover her mouth, She continued to stroke the boy's hair as she spoke in her icy voice. "A boy, hm? What makes thou say that? Thou dost not remind me of a normal boy." The woman cocked her head slightly and waited for a reply. When the boy did not give any indication that he had one, she spoke again. "Dost my manner of speaking make it hard for thee to understand what I say?"
The boy looked back at the woman and shook his head. He brushed her hand away and backed away from her. He realized that she had been just inches away from him and wondered how she had slipped that close without him noticing. She was like a giant shadow, silent when she walked and menacing when she talked.
"What is thy name? Surely, thou must have a name. If not, I shall give thou one." The boy noticed for the first time that she had a sneer on her face. Her teeth were the whitest the boy had ever seen, and the dark red of her lipstick reminded the boy of a red rose blooming late in the springtime.
At last, the boy spoke and stuttered a little as he did so. His voice came out very hushed as if anything more than a whisper would shatter the woman's presence. "My name is Oliver. I have had many last names throughout my life, but I have been told that my given name is Oliver Wynston." It was the most words Oliver had spoken in a row in two years, since he had been taken into his utmost favorite family.
The woman drew back once the boy had backed away from her. She twirled a piece of green hair around her finger and contemplated what the boy had said. "Ah, many names. How dreadful! 'Tis the cause of an identity crisis, indeed!" She belted out laughter and clutched her stomach. After many moments, the laughter ceased, and the woman held up a hand. "Please, forgive me! 'Twas very unladylike of me to do that just now." Oliver only stared at her in bewilderment.
"Well Oliver, what art thou going to do? Thou hast not even thought to question me and my arbitrary existence. Thou art quite the strange child indeed, if I may say so. The truly hilarious aspect of it is that thou dost not have the slightest idea of who thou truly art." A shiver ran down Oliver's spine listening to the strange woman talk. A sudden gust blew around him and almost ripped his cloak from his body. The woman's hair and cloak where whipped around violently, but she didn't seem to pay any mind to it. The trees at the edge of the clearing where the graveyard was almost snapped right in half like matches. The woman's laughter picked up with the wind. She moved in closer to Oliver and held his face in her hands. "What dost thou truly desire? I am just dying to know!"
At her statement, Oliver thought for a few moments. He knew next to nothing about what he wanted or what he liked. He wanted his mother back desperately, but he knew that there was no way to bring her back. There was one thing that kept nagging at his mind. It was the annoying voice that always tried talking him into suicide. Oliver listened to the voice. "I wish to disappear from this world. I don't want to bring anyone else tragedy. I'm sick of it." He said firmly.
The woman said nothing, and Oliver began to wonder if she could hear him over the violent gust. He opened his mouth to speak again but closed it, however, when the woman flew back from him. "Thou wishes to disappear? Thou absolutely cannot! He will never allow it! Please, that is not what thou truly desires. Thou art listening to 'her' again, no?"
At the mention of the voice, Oliver gasped. How could she possibly know about the voice that was always ordering him around and continuously trying to take over his body. The voice was female and very tempting, but Oliver had always had enough will to not give in to her sweet words and offers. "'Her'? How do you know about-" Oliver tired to say but was cut off by the woman.
"I apologize for confusing thee. However, I wish to know what thy desire is. Thy desire, not that vile creature's." Her words were sharp and frightened Oliver, who got the feeling that the woman was someone he didn't want to mess with under any circumstances.
"My true desire? I guess I want someone who I can befriend and be around without killing them or hurting them in any way." Oliver looked at the ground shyly. It was indeed what he wished for all of his life since his other two friends had died so suddenly. He missed the companionship and warmth they brought. They had made him smile and laugh. Oliver missed his friends almost as much as his parents. Oliver knew it was impossible never to hurt them, but he wanted to be as best of a friend as he could.
The woman seemed shocked by his answer. "A friend whom thou will never hurt? 'Tis impossible never to hurt anyone, so I shall compromise with thee and provide thou with a friend who will be able to be around thou and not perish. Shall that suffice?" She asked, extending her hand for a shake to indicate that the deal was sealed. The woman then spoke again. "I had thought that thou would ask for thy mother back. However, thou art rather smart. No one can perfect necromancy."
Oliver grabbed her hand and shook firmly. The wind got even more violent and roared fiercely like a large crowd of a thousand lions. There was a bright purple glow around the two as their hands made contact. Before the boy was blown away, he called out to the woman. "Wait! I still never learned your name!"
The woman smiled and waved farewell. She didn't shout, but for some reason, Oliver could hear her voice clear as day. "My name? Well, they call me Genesis." That was the last thing he remembered before blacking out.
In a town far away, there stood a lone boy, about twelve years of age. He wore a forest green cloak that was in tatters, and he was crouched low to the ground. The boy was alone and always had been. Every household that had ever welcomed him had crumbled due to a series of terrible events. The heads of those households either got rid of him before he could cause any more tragedy or crumbled because they kept him present. Tears streamed down the boys cheeks and splashed on the soil beneath him. He was at the site of his mother's grave. She had died giving birth to him.
The boy's sobs turned into a loud wail. His small, pale hands clutched at his dirtied cloak. His chest heaved with sobs. "It's all my fault." The boy screamed to no one in particular. His first victim had been his mother, fighting for her life while bestowing the boy his own. Then, his father was thrown from a horse and killed on the way to his house from the graveyard where they had buried his wife. The boy had been with him then but by some strange miracle, had escaped unscathed. The boy was shipped off to a foster home and was taken care of. He made two friends there. Shortly afterwards, those two caught an illness and died. The others avoided him in fear of losing their lives. the foster home then burnt down, and the boy had been taken into a poor family with many children. He lived there for a year, but there had always been violence. The father beat three of his children to death, and the wife fled with the others, leaving only the father and the boy. The father then fell into a deep depression and committed suicide.
The houses that the boy had taken refuge in after that had all ended in similar ways. Doom clung to the small, frail boy like a leach. However, no matter how hard the boy tried, he couldn't bring himself to end his life. He had tried countless times, but whenever he finally gathered the resolve to do so, someone would be introduced into his life and save him temporarily. Twelve years of the repeated ordeal had brought about an introvert. He hardly ever talked at length, and he had trouble making friends. The boy had no interests save one. He sang or hummed wherever he was. Some of his previous adoptive parents had become annoyed by it and would constantly scold him for it. However, their efforts were in vain. The boy had a way with music and could play any instrument flawlessly, having had no lessons.
The boy was surprised when a pale, well-groomed hand stroked the boy's dirt-streaked, greasy, black hair. He looked up with his azure eyes and was only able to make out that there was a woman with long, green hair that went all the way down to her feet. The boy couldn't see her eyes or much of her face because it was hidden by a navy blue cloak. The stranger was very tall, even taller than the average man, and had to crouch very low to reach the boy. She spoke in a smooth voice with a certain iciness to it. "Well, what have we here?"
The boy remained speechless for a few moments, having no clue what to say. She hadn't asked for a name or what he was doing here. Should he tell her? Maybe she would have some sympathy and care for him. The boy was about to tell the woman but stopped. He didn't want to be the one to bring her to ruin. "I am nothing but a boy. Just a boy." He whispered and adverted his gaze from the woman. He wasn't very good at talking to others. The boy just followed orders and did as he was told.
The woman chuckled and brought her other hand to cover her mouth, She continued to stroke the boy's hair as she spoke in her icy voice. "A boy, hm? What makes thou say that? Thou dost not remind me of a normal boy." The woman cocked her head slightly and waited for a reply. When the boy did not give any indication that he had one, she spoke again. "Dost my manner of speaking make it hard for thee to understand what I say?"
The boy looked back at the woman and shook his head. He brushed her hand away and backed away from her. He realized that she had been just inches away from him and wondered how she had slipped that close without him noticing. She was like a giant shadow, silent when she walked and menacing when she talked.
"What is thy name? Surely, thou must have a name. If not, I shall give thou one." The boy noticed for the first time that she had a sneer on her face. Her teeth were the whitest the boy had ever seen, and the dark red of her lipstick reminded the boy of a red rose blooming late in the springtime.
At last, the boy spoke and stuttered a little as he did so. His voice came out very hushed as if anything more than a whisper would shatter the woman's presence. "My name is Oliver. I have had many last names throughout my life, but I have been told that my given name is Oliver Wynston." It was the most words Oliver had spoken in a row in two years, since he had been taken into his utmost favorite family.
The woman drew back once the boy had backed away from her. She twirled a piece of green hair around her finger and contemplated what the boy had said. "Ah, many names. How dreadful! 'Tis the cause of an identity crisis, indeed!" She belted out laughter and clutched her stomach. After many moments, the laughter ceased, and the woman held up a hand. "Please, forgive me! 'Twas very unladylike of me to do that just now." Oliver only stared at her in bewilderment.
"Well Oliver, what art thou going to do? Thou hast not even thought to question me and my arbitrary existence. Thou art quite the strange child indeed, if I may say so. The truly hilarious aspect of it is that thou dost not have the slightest idea of who thou truly art." A shiver ran down Oliver's spine listening to the strange woman talk. A sudden gust blew around him and almost ripped his cloak from his body. The woman's hair and cloak where whipped around violently, but she didn't seem to pay any mind to it. The trees at the edge of the clearing where the graveyard was almost snapped right in half like matches. The woman's laughter picked up with the wind. She moved in closer to Oliver and held his face in her hands. "What dost thou truly desire? I am just dying to know!"
At her statement, Oliver thought for a few moments. He knew next to nothing about what he wanted or what he liked. He wanted his mother back desperately, but he knew that there was no way to bring her back. There was one thing that kept nagging at his mind. It was the annoying voice that always tried talking him into suicide. Oliver listened to the voice. "I wish to disappear from this world. I don't want to bring anyone else tragedy. I'm sick of it." He said firmly.
The woman said nothing, and Oliver began to wonder if she could hear him over the violent gust. He opened his mouth to speak again but closed it, however, when the woman flew back from him. "Thou wishes to disappear? Thou absolutely cannot! He will never allow it! Please, that is not what thou truly desires. Thou art listening to 'her' again, no?"
At the mention of the voice, Oliver gasped. How could she possibly know about the voice that was always ordering him around and continuously trying to take over his body. The voice was female and very tempting, but Oliver had always had enough will to not give in to her sweet words and offers. "'Her'? How do you know about-" Oliver tired to say but was cut off by the woman.
"I apologize for confusing thee. However, I wish to know what thy desire is. Thy desire, not that vile creature's." Her words were sharp and frightened Oliver, who got the feeling that the woman was someone he didn't want to mess with under any circumstances.
"My true desire? I guess I want someone who I can befriend and be around without killing them or hurting them in any way." Oliver looked at the ground shyly. It was indeed what he wished for all of his life since his other two friends had died so suddenly. He missed the companionship and warmth they brought. They had made him smile and laugh. Oliver missed his friends almost as much as his parents. Oliver knew it was impossible never to hurt them, but he wanted to be as best of a friend as he could.
The woman seemed shocked by his answer. "A friend whom thou will never hurt? 'Tis impossible never to hurt anyone, so I shall compromise with thee and provide thou with a friend who will be able to be around thou and not perish. Shall that suffice?" She asked, extending her hand for a shake to indicate that the deal was sealed. The woman then spoke again. "I had thought that thou would ask for thy mother back. However, thou art rather smart. No one can perfect necromancy."
Oliver grabbed her hand and shook firmly. The wind got even more violent and roared fiercely like a large crowd of a thousand lions. There was a bright purple glow around the two as their hands made contact. Before the boy was blown away, he called out to the woman. "Wait! I still never learned your name!"
The woman smiled and waved farewell. She didn't shout, but for some reason, Oliver could hear her voice clear as day. "My name? Well, they call me Genesis." That was the last thing he remembered before blacking out.
