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 Posted: Thu Apr 26, 2007 3:25 pm
The beginning of a short story I'm kinda-sorta-sometimes-writing.
Once upon a time, there was a boy who was known as the birdcage boy. There were many popular stories about how he had become to be called this, but none were very close to being accurate, at all.
Some stories started by stating that he had been abandoned by his parents in front of the nearest aviatory. "No, no, no," disagreed others. "He was abandoned on the front porch of the most famous bird watcher in the history of forever." Of course these stories do carry an ounce of truth; the small baby boy did come to be in the care of the famous Bartelby Bird Museum curator, who was, in fact, possibly the most famous bird watcher on the west coast.
It all started on a gloomy, grey day, as most stories of this nature do start off, and as can be expected, it was raining. On this day, a small, black, wet car drove up the main driveway of Dr. Bernard Bartelby's estate. The car passed through the large iron gate in front, the same one that was decorated with the ravens that looked, in the correct lighting, as if they were actually following you with their metal eyes. The car passed the huge hedges that looked like they would never stop, not even for the stars they looked to surpass. The car passed through the gardens where a many little girls would have killed to have a tea party in, if there had been a spot of better weather, of course. Indeed, the small, wet, black car seemed to drive on and on, but finally, it reached an end to the driveway.
In front of them then, as the young couple got out of their car, was quite possibly the largest house, if it could even be called that, that they had ever laid eyes on. It looked like it even went farther up than the hedges they had passed an eternity ago, and that was saying something.
They slowly and sadly made their way up the entirely huge wooden door. For a long, long time they stood in front of it, just looking at it, and then looking at the small shivering bundle that lay in the woman's arms. Finally, as one small tear trailed down his wife's cheek, the man reached up with one last gulp, and pounded on the door with the knocker. It seemed fitting that the knocker was in the shape of two birds, as it were everything here, even in the garden, seemed to have to do with birds.
Before they could think "My great-uncle is a rather large baboon," the door swung inwards to reveal a small woman in a fairly ratty gown.
"You're here about the child, eh?" she asked, already knowing the answer by the look on her beautifully morose face.
"Y-yes, but could we just-?" stammered the mother of the child.
"I'm sorry, the master wants him as soon as possible." she said and it was very clear that she was, in fact, quite sorry.
The first woman nodded a reluctant consent, but kissed the baby boy's forehead one more time and whispered, "Goodbye, Edmund," as she handed him over to the woman inside the cold building.
"I am sorry dear," said the woman as she watched Edmund's parents drive away with a sigh. "I suppose the doctor will be wantin' to see you, don't you think? Oh you are a very handsome little man, aren't you? Oh..."
She made her way slowly up to the very top floor of the relatively large estate, and finally met a door with a doorknob in the peculiar shape of a rather frightening looking bird.
"Dr. Bartleby," she started, "the baby boy is here now. Do you want to see-"
"Go away, Winifred. How many times do I have to tell you that what I am doing here is private and you are not to disturb me, unless the cook has caught the plague? Do you understand me, Winifred?" said a deep rumbling voice from the other side of the door.
"Yes, yes, of course, sir. My apologies, sir, my apologies." stuttered Winifred as she backed away from the door, performing curious little bows that looked quite awkward while holding a small child.
She then hurried away clutching the small Edmund to her chest. Winifred took the still-shivering baby boy to an extremely tall tower where his new nursery was to be and placed him in a small wooden crib.
“Oh,” she cooed, “if only-“
“Winifred!” came the call of her master from many floors below.
Winifred took one last look at the baby for the night and hurried off to see what Mr. Bartleby wanted. After all, he thought that his own comfort was indeed a more pressing matter than that of the infant’s, and Mr. Bartleby was none too forgiving.
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Posted: Thu Apr 26, 2007 5:41 pm
I dun' have time to read it tonight.
I'll read it in the morn though!
Promise.
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Posted: Thu Apr 26, 2007 5:57 pm
Haha okay.
Sounds cool, yo.
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Posted: Fri Apr 27, 2007 10:09 am
Wow.
That was really good.
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Posted: Fri Apr 27, 2007 2:44 pm
Thank you.
blaugh
Do you have any advice/criticism or anything?
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Posted: Sat Apr 28, 2007 12:50 pm
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Posted: Sat Apr 28, 2007 2:40 pm
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Posted: Sat Apr 28, 2007 3:37 pm
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Posted: Mon May 07, 2007 7:49 pm
and you say I write better than you, psshhh.
rofl pirate domokun heart biggrin ninja
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