The Writer-Part 1: The Poet

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The Writer

By Corax Corvus

Part 1: The Poet

And he jumped

He leapt

Straight off the edge

Just to feel what it meant to fear death

And as he fell down

And came close to the ground

It felt like…

"It felt like…” The girl covered her eyes with her hand and sighed. “What did it feel like? Is there a word? I don’t know the word. I need a word. Someone give me a word.” I looked up at the girl. She sat with her legs crossed in a low branch of the tree that my friends and I ate lunch under every day. Dark hair hung in front of her face as she sat in her concentrating position, hands covering her eyes. It was the middle of the school year, and she had never sat here before. I didn’t even think she had even talked to us before.

“Uh, sorry,” I said to her uncomfortably. “What is your name again?”

“Valerie,” she told me without looking up from her notebook. “Does anyone have a word?”

Kim, one of my friends, looked up at her with a puzzled expression. “I thought your name was Jane.”

The girl took her hand off her eyes, but her head remained rested on her palm. “I’m trying Valerie today,” she said casually, as if she was telling us she was trying out a new hairstyle.

“Wait, so you name is not Jane?” Kim asked, obviously still confused.

“Jane was my name three days ago. Today it’s Valerie,” she said as she flipped through her notebook. “Really, does anyone have a good word for this? Has anyone fallen from a great height? What did it feel like?” She continued to search through her notebook.

“Okay, so you’re real name isn’t Valerie either?” Kim continued to question.

“Her name is Elizabeth,” my other friend, Wendy, interrupted loudly. “I heard the teacher call her that.”

The girl stopped flipping through her notebook, but her hand remained frozen in the air. For a second she sat completely still. Then her eyes drifted over to my friend, followed by only the slightest rotation of her head. “Well that was quite rude,” she said softly. “Introducing someone who isn’t ready to be introduced.”

“I’m being rude? All I did was tell them your name!” Wendy said defensively.

The girl’s deep green eyes fixed on Wendy, but it was a blank stare, almost like she was looking past her. “Maybe that’s what you though you did, but Elizabeth is my middle name. Teachers have a hard time remembering one name, let alone many. I let they believe my name is Elizabeth for simplicity reasons.” Wendy stared at the girl poisonously. After a moment of silence that felt too long, the girl blinked. Her eyes became softer, uninterested. “But you may call me Elizabeth.” She looked away, and the strange tension in the air immediately dispersed. I looked around at my friends, they were sharing a look that said: What’s with this girl?

Then suddenly, the girl, whose name was obviously not Elizabeth, looked straight at me. “Mirabelle,” she said.

I was surprised. I didn’t think she knew my name. “Most people call me Miri…” I replied awkwardly.

“That’s nice,” she said quickly, then went on, “Do you have a word for me?”

“A…a word?” She stared at me impatiently. “Oh!” I remembered, “For your poem.” I thought blankly for a few seconds. “No, no I don’t think I’ve ever fallen from anything tall before,” I told her. She sighed, disappointed. I felt bad. “Sorry,” I said guiltily.

“No, it’s fine. I didn’t expect you to,” she said, hopelessly. “So no one has ever fallen from anything high up?” We shook our heads. She sighed again. “I still need a word,”

“Maybe you can ask someone else?” Kim suggested, probably hinting for her to leave.

“No, I’ll just find one myself,” She said, totally dismissing the idea. “You should continue with your lunch.” The girl climbed to the other side of the tree, away from us. My friends took her advice. Turning away from her, they huddled together, and started whispering about what just happened.

“Oh my god, what is her problem?” Wendy asked me, still bewildered.

“I don’t…I don’t know,” I murmured, not really focused the conversation. I was watching the girl climb the tree. It looked like she was climbing to the top. She was halfway there, and almost ten feet off the ground. Wendy followed my gaze.

“You know, you can get a detention for that!” Wendy shouted up at her.

“It’s fine, I’ll only be up here for a moment,” she yelled back. The girl was now near the top of the tree, twenty feet off the ground. She climbed to the edge of the branch, and let go. Just like that.

My stomach dropped, and I instinctively ran towards her as she fell. By the time I got to the other side of the tree, she had already landed. I stood above her, eyes wide with shock. She had landed on her back, which was better than her stomach, but it was still a long drop. What worried me most was that her eyes were closed. My hands and legs were shaking. I looked behind me, at my friends. None of them had moved. They just watched. We just stared at each other, my mouth agape. I was frozen for what seemed like an hour. I didn’t want to turn around for fear I would be looking at a broken body, or worse, a corpse.

“Mirabelle,” she coughed. My head whipped around towards her. Thank god, she was alive. I mentally scolded myself for being so scared. Of course she’s alive, it wasn’t that far of a drop. The question is, is she hurt? Her eyes remained closed as she spoke. “Would you be kind enough to pick up my notebook, please?” she asked.

“S…sure,” I said still a bit shaky. “Are you okay?” I asked as I picked up her notebook from the grass.

“Oh, I’m splendid,” Her eyes were still closed, but now she was smiling, a broad, white smile. “Now would you please please open to the page marked with a pencil,” I followed her orders, almost mindlessly. I didn’t really know what was happening. “Erase ‘to fear death’ and replace it with ‘to be dropped’.”

I did this, and asked, “Are you sure you’re okay? Do you want to sit up?”

“I would,” she sighed in a strangely tranquil way, “but I’m a bit dull and forgot to breathe out when I hit the ground, so as a result I’m going to lay here incapacitated for a few minutes and catch my breath. Do you see the last line where I left off?”

I nodded, but remembered her eyes were still closed. “Yeah,” I said.

“Write in ‘the world had stopped’.”

“Okay,” I murmured when I finished. I realized my friends were standing behind me. For how long, I had no idea.

“If you would please read the last stanza…” she requested in almost a business-like tone.

So I did:

“‘And he jumped

He leapt

Straight off the edge

Just to feel what it meant to be dropped

And as he fell down

And came close to the ground

It felt like the world had stopped.’”

“Brilliant,” she said. “I’ll add a few more stanzas, then it will be complete.” Her eyes had opened, and she was attempting to get up.

“Here, I’ll help,” I offered, moving in to support her.

“Do NOT,” she snapped. I backed off. She shook her head, as if shaking something off, and her voice softened, “Thank you for the offer, but I know how to sit up.” She got to her feet in a painfully slow fashion. I handed the notebook to her. “What is your last name, Mirabelle?”

“Um, Evans?” I told her uncertainly. She stared at me blankly for a moment, like she didn’t hear me. “Evans,” I said more confidently. “Mirabelle Evans.”

She held out her hand. I shook it. “Mirabelle Evans, my name is Fantyss Elizabeth Eidolon. Pleasure to meet you.” Fantyss let go of my hand, turned to my friends, and nodded slightly in their direction. Then she turned and walked away, twirling a pencil between her fingers. I had a feeling that would not be my last encounter with the girl whose name was Fantyss.