I wrote this a few months ago, then abandoned it because I sort of got to a place where I wasn't sure what to write next and felt stuck. Anyways, here is the first chapter... tell me what you think!..............
Excitement quivered like a trembling bird inside her chest and danced, tingling, out of her fingertips. Her hands hovered undecided above the keys. The hint of a smile played across her parted lips as an irresistible feeling of power rippled beneath her skin. It was her choice alone, the words. She chuckled softly; and slowly, but without hesitance, began to type.
Chapter 1: The Beginning
“It was a pity. That it should begin in fear.”
Strange how warm it was. She rolled it back and forth between her fingers. A rapidly increasing sense of foreboding was growing inside of her. The tiny object seemed to have warmth of its own. It was disturbingly perfect. The smoothness of it, the light, even, cherry stain. She was afraid of it. And almost more so of that fact. It was a tiny thing, insignificant. And yet...
That was part of the fear. It seemed so…so unimportant that it could not possibly be.
In the half-light of evening, it could have been anything. A small pebble. A bead. Other unimportant things. But it was not. Oddly enough, it was nothing more than a pit. The red stained seed of a cherry.
She felt foolish sitting there, staring at it. Even thinking about it. It meant nothing to her. If fear hadn’t restrained her, she could’ve laughed. Laughed at the silliness of it all.
But she didn’t. She licked her dry lips and shivered. It was not cold.
Tattered shadows lingered, hovering in the corners of the room. They watched her casually, sly, half smiles painted across their empty faces. They did not feel fear as she felt it. They did not feel sorrow. Nor joy or love for that matter. They were vacant of any senses or emotion. Mere reflections. A glimpse of something so similar- yet then again so different- caught around a corner. Like hope. Or the past. Later, that was what she felt the most. A past of shadowy memories that she couldn’t quite grasp. They were memories of herself, someone so similar- yet then again… so different.
She pressed the seed between her thumb and forefinger and held it up to catch what little light there was. Later, she would realize that this was the beginning. The beginning. Of a mystery. Of a story. She felt a twinge of dread. It was a pity. That it should begin in fear.
* * *
The orphan trudged wearily along the deserted road. A backpack dangled loosely from her shoulders. Her school uniform looked at least two sizes too big, but it was clean, and had been ironed. Her feet were bare. Yes, she was poor, but this wasn’t the reason. Her shoes had, in fact, been stolen, and now served as decoration for the telephone wire, dangling at least forty feet above the school yard.
A thin, precious, wisp of a cool breeze blew short brown locks into the orphan’s eyes. She bushed them away casually. Her eyes were golden.
She did not whistle as she walked. In fact, she made almost no sound at all. Probably because she was so used to going silent and unseen; she was good at being invisible. Other things the orphan was good at: lying (though she did not know it yet) and stealing (which she did not yet know either).
It was hot. The sun practically burnt a hole in the sky as the fiery chariot pulled it forward with agonizing slowness. The orphan was tired. She cursed under her breath at the heat and shot a fierce look at the sky. If only it would rain. But her wish went ignored, and the sky remained free of a single cloud.
In the distance, she could hear the spraying of a sprinkler, and the pattering noise it made as it fell across something solid, the roof of a shed perhaps. She thought with longing of the coldness and the harsh water that would sting across her back should she seek it out. It was almost worth getting in trouble for. But no, she chided herself; she was too old for such things. Besides, it would just give the others something extra to tease her about if she were caught. It was definitely not worth it. But still… She licked her dry lips. And before she knew it, she had crossed the road, abandoned her backpack in the dirt at the edge, and was sprinting across the lush field toward the little black spicket, spraying out water that was, to her, like gold to a beggar. She could have whooped for joy if she wasn’t so afraid of getting caught. Instead she stood in front of it, arms outstretched, face smiling with closed eyes up at the sky. She laughed and thought with a dangerous thrill of excitement of the scolding she would receive when she reached home.
Satisfied, and thoroughly drenched, she returned to her abandoned backpack. As she slung it across her back, a tiny movement caught the corner of her eye. She raised her head. Sitting on the grass across the road, was an old woman. She breathed a sigh of relief.
The woman raised a bony hand and beckoned her forward. The tiniest little seed of fear stirred inside the orphan’s chest, but what could that frail old lady do to hurt her? She crossed the road and bowed lightly.
The woman did not respond. Her head was bowed, and the girl could not see her face.
“Can I help you?” She questioned nervously. Still the woman spoke not a word.
Frowning, the orphan turned to leave. Then she drew a sharp intake of breath. Glancing down, a bony, blue veined hand had entwined itself around her wrist. The girl turned to face her once more.
The old woman’s head remained bowed, but she released her grip on the girl and slowly closed her own hand into a fist. The orphan watched with a mixture of curiosity and fear balled up in the pit of her stomach.
One by one, the old woman opened her frail fingers, trembling with old age. The orphan gasped. Upon the withered palm was a red cherry pit still dripping with juice.
“You’re a magician!” she spoke softly. Her golden eyes glinted with wonder.
The old woman reached for her hand again and the orphan allowed her to take it. Slowly, shaking, the woman balled it into a fist and clasped it inside her own. A moment later she released it and slowly opened the girl’s fingers, one by one. Upon the palm of the young hand was the red pit of a cherry, still dripping with cherry juice. The orphan gasped in surprise. She stared in astonishment at her own palm. A shadow flitted across her back. She looked up.
“Oh my God.” She whispered. Standing beside them was a tree.
A cherry tree.
“You…how…I – I don’t understand!” she stuttered.
Slowly, oh so slowly, the old woman lifted her head. And the orphan screamed.
The magician had no face.
Sobbing with horror the girl dragged herself away and stumbled into the road. When she looked back, the tree was still there, but the woman had vanished. She screamed again. The sky split open and drowned the earth in rain.
.
