Monday, 15 February 2010
09:56:22 PM (GMT)
I tend to tl;dr my own work after about three times.
Please tell me if you see any mistakes.
Once upon a time, there was a little girl who lived in a kingdom far away, who
lived in happiness and joy with her friend.
Actually, that sentence is inaccurate. It is true, in fact, that there was a
little girl once, and she was only alive once upon a time, and she lived in a kingdom
only of make-believe. It is true that she lived far away from us for the short six
years she had to lived after escaping London, and it is true that she lived with her
best friend. It is not true, however, that she was happy, that she lived in this
fairytale mindset the brain is programmed to believe. In truth, if I had decided to
remove the 'happiness and joy', the only untrue parts of that sentence, I do believe
your brain would have come to the immediate decision that she was, regardless.
She was not happy in her last moments of death. And she certainly didn't fit the
criteria for the openning sentence at all, not until her days were counting down like
a clock, tick tock, tick tock.
No, this story does not begin with dislike of the little girl known as Lindie,
not from anyone at all, and this story does not begin in the torn-apart land of
Scenery, nor does it begin with Lindie knowing her best friend at all. Of course, as
everything, that was subject to change.
"Do you know this girl?"
If dust had a smell, the tavern was overrun with it, the musty scent filling
the air and the cloaked man's nostrils. He held out a newspaper clipping, headlined
'Lindie Thorn Wins Bronze Medal'; underneath the headline was a faded picture of a
smiling girl, with no particularly unique features other than perhaps the freckles
that speckled her face.
The muscular man squinted, and, although he was quite tipsy and the chances of
him making out the girl's face was slim, somehow he miraculously did.
"Lindie Thorn!" he roared, his voice filling the room. "She's one of my
regulars, you know. Pretty damn good at fucking."
The cloaked man didn't flinch; though the girl was probably of drinking age,
she knew the man had been drinking. No, Lindie wasn't a regular here. Nor did she
ever have intercourse with any of the patrons. "Where does she live?"
"You act like I'm a bloody stalker!" The man said, his voice slurring.
"Where does the girl live?" The cloaked figure repeated, sternly.
The bartender pointed to a house, right across from the tavern they stood in,
and the man excused himself out.
"Hello, I'm here to see Lindie."
The woman at the door seemed not at all frightened, quickly disappearing. The
blond girl appeared as a bomb went off, followed by gunshots. The man took her by the
arm, and though she refused to go and screamed, the gunshots drowned out her voice,
useless cries for help and pleas for him to let her go.
Two other children were taken from there homes that day, the locations found in
similar ways and the kidnappings carefully timed with the gunshots and bombs. One by
the name of James, the other by the name of Ana.
Lindie woke up in sheets of silk, her head resting on the downs of geese. The
light flooded the room, turning every inch of the new environment into a
fairytale-like room. When realization set in, she sat up quickly, only to realize her
back had been hurt and her shoulders were aching.
" Come on," said a female voice, and a thin figure danced across the room.
Though her vision was blurred, Lindie could make out the small figure picking up
things in different shades of tans and browns. These things were thrown on the
blanket she was under, and it took Lindie a moment to figure out that these things
were clothes. "Wake up, now. You really can't be sleeping, not at this time of
When Lindie tried to stand, blood rushed to her head. She steadied herself on
the stand next to the bed. "I really don't mean to be rude," she said carefully, "but
can I go home?" She felt the fear come into her veins, the tears to her eyes. When
the figure noticed this, she threw her arms around the small girl.
"Oh, darling. You're alright, don't cry. We don't want to hurt you, really. Just
get dressed and come downstairs." And with that, the figure left the room.
Getting dressed was the easy part, though she debated where to put her other
clothes. Getting downstairs was another thing altogether, for as soon as Lindie
opened the wooden door she realized how large the building was. It was unlike a
house, though there were plenty of rooms she assumed people were sleeping in. She
went down several corridors, her bare feet cold against the wood floors. The light
flooded in through open windows at some point, through a hall that seemed to be at
least eight feet in the air. At the end of this hall there was a long stairway, and
though there were several doors she encountered on her way down, she did not stop
until the last one.
She turned the brass knob and exited into a grassy plain. Or, it would have been
a plain, if it was not for the fences and boards with painted rings, red and white
alternating, and stuffed dummies made of flour sacks.
She made her way across the grass, coming to two people; a girl around her age
and a boy that seemed a bit older. The girl was laughing obnoxiously, the boy
grinning as if he'd told some joke she'd found funny. Lindie approached the two, a
polite smile on her face. "Excuse me, could either of you tell me where I'm supposed
to go?" The girl stopped laughing, gave her a sour look as if Lindie had just ruined
a moment that was important to her.
The boy did not have the same reaction, his smile might have even grown more
wide. "You're Lindie Thorn, right? Yeah, Cane told us you were out for a few days.
I'm James," he put out a hand, which she shook. "This is Allison, she's Cane's
daughter." Allison tried to force a smile, but her eyes showed that she had immediate
distaste for Lindie.
Last edited: 15 February 2010