The Librarian's Revenge ©

The Librarian's Revenge ©

An Odyssey Into The Wonderful World Of Words

This community is dedicated to C.W. Hewett's epic masterpiece

Untitled & Unfinished no. 2

Alicia BeavisPosted by Alicia B. 24 Apr, 2009 10:13AM

Very descriptive

Her dark blue eyes slowly turned to the crooked window, as the wind whistled past on a dark winter’s night. She couldn't sleep; she closed her eyes only to daydream. This often happened to her. Insomnia. She always had that same dream, she dreamed of him. A tall, slender man with jet black hair and glowing green eyes. He was young, her age she guessed but he never spoke; only looked at her. He had a kind face and he was always sitting in that same old chair. A rustic, wooden chair covered by a thin blue blanket, like the sort your grandma might make for you. The room was of a fair proportion, in a simple square shape, with plain white walls and thick wooden floorboards. There was a dim light emanating from a small candle placed on the window sill, illuminating the left side of his face. His skin was so pale it was almost translucent, emphasising the green in his mesmerizing eyes and the black in his thick hair even more. He often smiled to her, a slight curve spreading across his thin red lips and a slight glimmer appearing in his eyes. Just at that moment that same smile spread across her lips.

She arose to the sound of rain pounding down onto the roof. She must have drifted off to sleep in the midst of her waking dream; she was refreshed despite the apparent lack of rest, and pulled the brown, heavy blankets off her smooth, sweating skin. Her feet gently pressed against the soft matting as she walked over to the window. She often looked out the window in the morning. She knew she was waiting for something, she often thought about what it was but she couldn't find the answer. At that moment the thought was banished from her mind as her mum's wavering voice met her ears.

She reluctantly left the window and began to clamber down the stairs. As she descended, she contemplated the view she had been admiring through the window. It had looked to her as if the world was covered with a thick blanket of snow; there were dots of green spread around the vast, empty space that surrounded her village. She couldn't wait for spring, when the snow would finally melt as if it was the world cleansing itself for another year of life. Spring would be when colour came back to the world, and most of all spring was when winter was gone. She couldn't bear the coldness of the bitter snow and the chill that always hung in the air. The thoughts abated as she felt the warmth of the fire. She sat down in a large rocking chair; it was swaying loudly despite the weight of her meagre body, creaking. She was short, with long brown, winding hair. Her skin was honey-coloured and soft to the touch; her beauty was far more extraordinary than anything anyone in the village had ever seen. She was quite the opposite to her mother, though they were both short her mother was more on the heavy side of things, with short, black hair and bright brown eyes that looked as though they could see right through you. Her skin light in colour and her hands made rough by endless years of hard work. Her mother rushed through into the room where she was sitting, and handed her a bowl of stew, with two thick slices of bread on the side. The bowl was very old, chipped with age and discoloured with the food stains of generations gone by. She slowly and graciously ate the soup, every now and again tearing a small piece of bread off. The soup tasted thick and every now and again a small chunk of chicken broke the salty taste that lingered in her mouth. When she was finished she strolled through to the kitchen and left the bowl on the side for her mother to clear up. She rushed to the bathroom, slowly peeling the clothes from her body; she shivered as her snow-like skin descended into a pit of warmth. The iron bath securing her body into place.

She had a long day, filled with all the bitterness of winter and the tough work she did at school. By the end of the day her mind was racing with numbers, letters and pictures. She wished she could break free, free from this world and the people in it she hated with a passion. There were always girls picking on her because they all knew she was more beautiful, more desired and most of all because they knew she would be more successful. Then there were their mothers, just as envious as them. She thought about this, as well as her bossy teachers as she drifted into her waking dream, then into a deep, relaxing sleep.