Post by Catherine on Feb 19, 2007 23:37:38 GMT -5
This is a story on which I haven't been working for very long, but I would like to get it published, if I can, in our school's literary magazine, and the submission date for that is wednesday. So basically this is a very bad case of procrastionation, and as this is the first time I'm sharing my work with non-writers or trying to get published, even on such a very small scale, I need all the help I can get. I'll keep updating this as I write more. Any and all comments are more than welcome and thanks so much!!!
Princesa Castilla of Spain awoke suddenly, and her eyes fell upon the silver pool of moonlight glistening and dancing on the black marble floor. After a moment, she arose silently from the bed and padded barefoot across the floor to the window. She stood, staring misty-eyed up at the full moon, crisp and clear in the cold night air. The stars glittered distantly, regal Lords and Ladies frozen in the midst of an everlasting and stately dance. The black velvet of the night and the pale shadows of the castaño trees in the garden below were flooded with silver moonlight. Castilla drank in the vision with a quiet and sleepy awe.
But it was with the aid of all that moonlight that she spotted the dark shape passing inconspicuously between the tree trunks. She stared at it for a moment, with thoughts unsure, not quite coming to any realization about it, as she was still sleep-dazed.
The figure turned towards her, and she thought she saw him take something from beneath his cloak and cast it through her window to the floor behind her. The last thing she remembered before she blacked out was the sight of those eyes, clearly visible despite the dark and distance, piercing her through with their stare.
Castilla stared blankly out the frosted car window at the bleak grey office buildings as the passed by her. After a few seconds nearly free of thought, she realized that the radio was on, softly playing some ‘oldies’ American song. Her mother had turned it on just a moment ago, breaking Castilla out of her reverie. It was only when she reached this thought that Castilla even realized she had been day-dreaming at all.
Not that she ever thought of it as that. A day-dream was something like a story one made up for one’s pleasure, a picture one painted loosely to pass the time. This, this was so much more like the original sort of dream, one of the vivid reoccurring sort which is dreamt deep in the night and is never remembered immediately upon waking up, if at all. It was an ongoing saga, of sorts, which had been happening to her (more than she had been making it up) even when they still lived in Spain.
Castilla and her mother, Marisela Veran, had moved from Segovia, Spain, to Columbus, Ohio, when Castilla was nine. From there they had moved to Kansas City, then to Springfield, and finally to Baltimore on Castilla’s fifteenth birthday, just a few weeks ago. Not around her birthday, on it. Needless to say, she did not get much of a celebration that year. Marisela had tried to make up for it, but she had been too distracted to do a very good job of it.
At first, Castilla had tried to look upon these moves as exciting, as opportunities to start anew and meet new people and see new places. At first, it had worked. At first, Castilla had been happy in Columbus. At first, she had not missed Spain.
Much.
By the time they started packing for Springfield, Castilla had simply grown weary. Weary of moving, yes, but also weary of America, of missing her friends in Segovia, of missing the magnificent castles and aqueducts and the little corner stands every morning, of missing Spain.
Now, in Baltimore, Castilla was no longer weary. She was bitter. Her mother had yet to give Castilla a good reason for leaving their entire life in Spain and never staying put since. Castilla had had enough of being uprooted every year or two for no reason from the life into which she had only just settled. Marisela was just being restless, and she was dragging Castilla along as she crossed the country as her whim demanded.
Princesa Castilla awoke to a pounding headache and a distant grey ceiling, full of cracks and blurry in her eyes. Through the pain, Castilla thought she saw among the cracks the vague outline of a bird soaring through the shadowy plaster. As she stared at it, memories of some long-forgotten legend of her childhood came flooding back to her. She blinked, and both the memory and the bird were gone. But she was certain it had been there.
Her thoughts were cut off when a smooth and impatient voice with just a hint of a smile resounded suddenly through her throbbing head.
“You’re awake,” it boomed unnecessarily.
“Obviously,” she replied coolly. Her head was spinning and she was nearly in tears as she tried to recall what had happened to her and to figure out where she was now, but she was determined not to let him see her desperation. She sat up as he opened the curtains, and she finally got a good look at her captor.
He was tall and elegant, dressed in clothing like nothing Castilla had ever seen before: rich and flowing, but neat and suave. He did not appear to be Spanish. Castilla could not quite tell where he was from; perhaps as far as India or even China. His manner was gentleman-like, polite and charming, but as Castilla looked deeper into his face, she thought that maybe that was just at this moment. There was something behind his eyes that told Castilla this was someone not to be crossed, a moody man with an unreasonable and sudden fury.
“You’ll be wondering why you’re here,” he said matter-of-factly. “Quite frankly, you’re here for the ransom. But as long as you’re here, you can also make yourself useful about the place. It needs quite a lot of cleaning up.”
“You had better not be expecting money any time soon, as my parents are abroad. At any rate, it doesn’t look as if you’re in any dire need of it.”
“It may very well be that I do not intend to use it for myself at all. But what I do with the money is not of your concern. Go down the hall and to the left and find some breakfast. After that, you had better get to work cleaning. You have a lot to do.”
Castilla Veran was not at all happy to be walking into the school building. She had been going to this school for barely a month and already she hated it. But then, at this point she was hating everything, so that wasn’t saying much.
The jostling crowd funneling towards the double doors pushed Castilla off the sidewalk into a snowdrift. She looked up from where she sat, and briefly caught a glimpse of the window to the cafeteria, partially frosted with ice. The clear space in the middle vaguely resembled a huge bird, gliding smoothly through the glacial glass. But Castilla’s attention was stolen when a girl she barely knew called out her name from just down the path, pronouncing it wrongly.
“Castilla!! Are you all right??”
Castilla got up with the girl’s aid and found that she was soaked through and her ankle was smarting.
“Yeah, I guess I’m fine, but I think I…” But the girl was already walking away, laughing with her friends.
Castilla silently chided herself for expecting anything more.
Princesa Castilla of Spain awoke suddenly, and her eyes fell upon the silver pool of moonlight glistening and dancing on the black marble floor. After a moment, she arose silently from the bed and padded barefoot across the floor to the window. She stood, staring misty-eyed up at the full moon, crisp and clear in the cold night air. The stars glittered distantly, regal Lords and Ladies frozen in the midst of an everlasting and stately dance. The black velvet of the night and the pale shadows of the castaño trees in the garden below were flooded with silver moonlight. Castilla drank in the vision with a quiet and sleepy awe.
But it was with the aid of all that moonlight that she spotted the dark shape passing inconspicuously between the tree trunks. She stared at it for a moment, with thoughts unsure, not quite coming to any realization about it, as she was still sleep-dazed.
The figure turned towards her, and she thought she saw him take something from beneath his cloak and cast it through her window to the floor behind her. The last thing she remembered before she blacked out was the sight of those eyes, clearly visible despite the dark and distance, piercing her through with their stare.
Castilla stared blankly out the frosted car window at the bleak grey office buildings as the passed by her. After a few seconds nearly free of thought, she realized that the radio was on, softly playing some ‘oldies’ American song. Her mother had turned it on just a moment ago, breaking Castilla out of her reverie. It was only when she reached this thought that Castilla even realized she had been day-dreaming at all.
Not that she ever thought of it as that. A day-dream was something like a story one made up for one’s pleasure, a picture one painted loosely to pass the time. This, this was so much more like the original sort of dream, one of the vivid reoccurring sort which is dreamt deep in the night and is never remembered immediately upon waking up, if at all. It was an ongoing saga, of sorts, which had been happening to her (more than she had been making it up) even when they still lived in Spain.
Castilla and her mother, Marisela Veran, had moved from Segovia, Spain, to Columbus, Ohio, when Castilla was nine. From there they had moved to Kansas City, then to Springfield, and finally to Baltimore on Castilla’s fifteenth birthday, just a few weeks ago. Not around her birthday, on it. Needless to say, she did not get much of a celebration that year. Marisela had tried to make up for it, but she had been too distracted to do a very good job of it.
At first, Castilla had tried to look upon these moves as exciting, as opportunities to start anew and meet new people and see new places. At first, it had worked. At first, Castilla had been happy in Columbus. At first, she had not missed Spain.
Much.
By the time they started packing for Springfield, Castilla had simply grown weary. Weary of moving, yes, but also weary of America, of missing her friends in Segovia, of missing the magnificent castles and aqueducts and the little corner stands every morning, of missing Spain.
Now, in Baltimore, Castilla was no longer weary. She was bitter. Her mother had yet to give Castilla a good reason for leaving their entire life in Spain and never staying put since. Castilla had had enough of being uprooted every year or two for no reason from the life into which she had only just settled. Marisela was just being restless, and she was dragging Castilla along as she crossed the country as her whim demanded.
Princesa Castilla awoke to a pounding headache and a distant grey ceiling, full of cracks and blurry in her eyes. Through the pain, Castilla thought she saw among the cracks the vague outline of a bird soaring through the shadowy plaster. As she stared at it, memories of some long-forgotten legend of her childhood came flooding back to her. She blinked, and both the memory and the bird were gone. But she was certain it had been there.
Her thoughts were cut off when a smooth and impatient voice with just a hint of a smile resounded suddenly through her throbbing head.
“You’re awake,” it boomed unnecessarily.
“Obviously,” she replied coolly. Her head was spinning and she was nearly in tears as she tried to recall what had happened to her and to figure out where she was now, but she was determined not to let him see her desperation. She sat up as he opened the curtains, and she finally got a good look at her captor.
He was tall and elegant, dressed in clothing like nothing Castilla had ever seen before: rich and flowing, but neat and suave. He did not appear to be Spanish. Castilla could not quite tell where he was from; perhaps as far as India or even China. His manner was gentleman-like, polite and charming, but as Castilla looked deeper into his face, she thought that maybe that was just at this moment. There was something behind his eyes that told Castilla this was someone not to be crossed, a moody man with an unreasonable and sudden fury.
“You’ll be wondering why you’re here,” he said matter-of-factly. “Quite frankly, you’re here for the ransom. But as long as you’re here, you can also make yourself useful about the place. It needs quite a lot of cleaning up.”
“You had better not be expecting money any time soon, as my parents are abroad. At any rate, it doesn’t look as if you’re in any dire need of it.”
“It may very well be that I do not intend to use it for myself at all. But what I do with the money is not of your concern. Go down the hall and to the left and find some breakfast. After that, you had better get to work cleaning. You have a lot to do.”
Castilla Veran was not at all happy to be walking into the school building. She had been going to this school for barely a month and already she hated it. But then, at this point she was hating everything, so that wasn’t saying much.
The jostling crowd funneling towards the double doors pushed Castilla off the sidewalk into a snowdrift. She looked up from where she sat, and briefly caught a glimpse of the window to the cafeteria, partially frosted with ice. The clear space in the middle vaguely resembled a huge bird, gliding smoothly through the glacial glass. But Castilla’s attention was stolen when a girl she barely knew called out her name from just down the path, pronouncing it wrongly.
“Castilla!! Are you all right??”
Castilla got up with the girl’s aid and found that she was soaked through and her ankle was smarting.
“Yeah, I guess I’m fine, but I think I…” But the girl was already walking away, laughing with her friends.
Castilla silently chided herself for expecting anything more.
;D
