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NaNoWriMo 2017!
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NaNoWriMo 2017!
NaNoWriMo 2017!
Alright, alright. I know that way too many of these threads are going up lately, but I couldn't resist. Please feel free to critique it. The novel is called Shards of Miracles, and don't worry, it gets better after the first three-or-thereabouts chapters. So, here we go!
Chapter One: Bransworth
Emilia Caroline Bransworth was dying.
Not the kind of slow, dramatic death you see in books, nor the fast, painful death that you see in movies, but slowly, truly dying. Pining away of leukemia, and she knew it.
She had tried to tell her uncle, tried to tell her teacher, tried even to tell a few of her peers at school, but nobody-not a single person!- had taken her seriously.
And now it was too late.
Emilia laid back on her pillow, staring up at the ceiling, which was covered in a mural of tiny stars. Her mother had painted that mural. Her amazing mother, who would no doubt have listened to her only daughter when she, on her last time at the doctor's office, got a prescription with the words "emergency medical procedures necessary" written on it in large, red letters.
_______________________________________________
On her first day of sixth grade, Emilia had worn a shirt the same shade of red as those letters. Her mother had helped her pick it out, saying that she should stand out from the crowd, because it would be a "red letter day".
It wasn't a "red- letter day".
Unless "red- letter day" means, "the most terrible experience of one's entire life".
She had cried, on her mother's shoulder, as soon as she got home. And she had been comforted.
Her mother had said, "Emi, you're your own person. Never let what others say get you down- you'll start believing that all the lies about you are true. You, Emilia, are a miracle, and you know that. And I know that. And your father knew that." Mrs. Bransworth sniffled, once, and her voice became softer and more choked up. "If those idiots at school don't know that, that shouldn't bother you. They don't know you like I know you."
And then, Emilia's mother was gone.
__________________________________________________________
Emilia turned over on her bed, wanting to hide the tears that came so naturally to this one memory. Her mother had died that day, in a car crash on the way home from going to the theater to see what had then been their favorite movie. Strangely enough, Emilia had never wanted anything to do with THE CATPOCALYPSE! ever since that day.
____________________________________________________
Emilia's first day of school might have been made so horrific because of Amara Rostill. When Emilia walked up the front steps of M.S. 1338 for the first time, Amara came right up(after first whispering some apparently funny secret to her small band of the "popular girls")and asked to be friends. Of course, she wanted a friend. And of course, Emi accepted(because who wouldn't have, put in that position on the first day of school?). And then, of course, Amara turned on her and made it a personal goal to get rid of her, or at least make her life completely miserable. And, of course, she succeeded, because what sixth-grade girl isn't going to listen to the most "popular" girl in school, over a new kid, whom no one is really close to? And so, of course, she had had no friends for that day. Or the next, or the next, or up until January, when she had had to start staying home.
________________________________________________
The back screen door of the Bransworth/Myrcen household slammed shut. Into Emilia's room strode her uncle, Desmond Myrcen.
"Get up. I need you to go to the bakery."
"No. Can't you see I'm sick?"
"Get. Up. NOW."
Emilia begrudgingly got up, at this remark, and walked out the door. The bakery was two blocks away, and already she was drawn to the delicious scent of baking bread. When she arrived, however, instinct told her not to go in.
But of course, she did anyway.
As soon as she got inside, Emilia realized that she should have trusted her instinct after all. For who was sitting at the front counter but Amara Rostill and her group of minions. Emilia edged along the back wall, praying that they wouldn't notice her. Ten more feet to the counter. Five more. Three. Two-
Amara glanced in Emilia's direction, then did a double take and looked again.
"What are you doing here?" asked Amara, as if she were staring at a heap of last year's slimy garbage.
"Just the same thing you are," answered Emilia indifferently, staring the other right in the eye.
Amara wrinkled her nose. "I don't believe that you're really as sick as everyone says you are, Emilia Bransworth."
Emilia was coming very close to losing her temper now. "You wouldn't know anyway, Amara Rostill," she answered with a toss of her head, imitating Amara's snobbish voice.
That was sure to quiet Amara, and it worked. As Emilia bought her two loaves of bread, Amara only glared at the back of her head and was silent. When Emilia left the bakery, Amara stared balefully at the door for five long minutes after she had gone.
Out on the street, Emilia was amazed at how she had managed to keep her temper. Under ordinary circumstances, that would have involved a lot of screaming at Amara. But this was no time to ponder.
She hurried home before anyone could see that she was outside.
~
I know it's horrible quality plus depressing, but as I said, it gets better. Thank you for dealing with me!
submitted by elementgirl18917, age 11
(November 15, 2017 - 8:25 pm)
(November 15, 2017 - 8:25 pm)
I think it’s pretty good. Way better than what I’m writing.
(November 15, 2017 - 9:41 pm)
(November 16, 2017 - 5:58 pm)
(November 16, 2017 - 5:59 pm)
There's a huge plot gap between that chapter and this (which is about to get even more depressing! But then better!)
Chapter Two: Father
OCTOBER 22, 20//- Emilia Caroline Bransworth (May 8, 20//- October 21, 20//), aged 12, passed away of leukemia last night. Her only living relative, uncle Desmond Myrcen, was unavailable for comment.
_________________________________________________
Amara stared at the newspaper in shock. Seriously? Just yesterday she had talked to Emilia, and now this. She quickly pulled out her phone and texted her friend Mia:
AMARA: OMG srsly, did u c the news article about Emilia?
MIA: wha?
AMARA: Emilia. Bransworth. SHES DEAD.
MIA: Noooo, thts not possible. the weird kid u hated?
AMARA: yeah her
MIA: i dont think so
AMARA: no srsly she is. look @ the paper
MIA: OMG ths isnt true
AMARA: Ikr?
Amara shut off her phone and sprawled on her bed.
This couldn't be true.
And yet, it was.
____________________________________________
Darkness.
Pitch black darkness, too- well, dark- to describe. Emilia couldn't tell if she were alive or dead. The darkness was just too much for her. She felt as if she were floating away.
And then a pinprick of light shone through the blackness.
An eerie, bluish light.
Slowly, more pinpricks appeared. One pink, the next a blurry orange. Swirling, multicolored lights. They were strangely beautiful and otherworldly, unlike anything Emilia had ever seen in all her life.
And then, her vision sharpened. Tiny, moving lights swirled all around her.
They looked magical.
One of the lights landed on her hand, and Emilia could see that it was a glowing butterfly. She was surrounded by floating clouds and swirling butterflies. Emilia pinched her arm, to make sure she wasn't dreaming. It left a small but unmistakable black and blue bruise.
This was most certainly not a dream.
"Where am I?" Emilia wondered aloud.
The butterflies swirled around her, and then toward a small wooden door that seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. Emilia, still stunned from her arrival, decided to follow them.
They emerged into the most beautiful, clear moonlight Emilia had ever seen. Clouds drifted around them. The butterflies had managed to pin one down and were flying to Emilia, who stepped onto it, cautiously. Immediately, the butterflies jolted away. Emilia looked down, and saw the ground far, far below her. She slowly realized the inevitable.
"I'm in the sky."
Those words that Emilia Bransworth uttered at that second were completely true. She was in the sky, undoubtedly.
Maybe Emilia, at that moment, wouldn't have been so excited had she known just how many times she'd be in the sky in the very near future.
___________________________________________
The butterflies flew for a very long time, pulling Emilia's cloud along behind them. It felt like hours to Emilia, whose fear of heights kept her from looking down again. They finally stopped at another wooden door, this one much larger. Standing aimlessly around her, Emilia could see, were several other people, with dreamy, lost expressions on their faces, clouds of butterflies swirling around them, and their hair floating upwards, as though their own gravity had been reversed. When her own cloud of butterflies started to drift towards the door, Emilia followed bemusedly. They were obviously trying to show her something, but what?
____________________________________________
The inside of the building looked much like the one Emilia had woken up in. Same stained-glass dome, same clouds of butterflies, same stone walls and ornately carved wooden door. Except for one thing. There were two figures sitting in the middle of the room. The woman's smiling face turned toward Emilia.
It was the face of her mother.
And next to her, the unmistakable figure of Emilia's father.
(November 18, 2017 - 6:12 am)
I know that my twisted picturing of something like heaven is messed up, but maybe everyone sees it differently. Or maybe Emilia is crazy.
Mpe, no way out of it. It's me who's crazy. :P
(November 18, 2017 - 6:15 am)
(November 18, 2017 - 6:16 am)
Top!
(November 18, 2017 - 8:09 pm)
Awesome sausome! Your writing is beautiful!
(November 18, 2017 - 10:32 pm)
Thanks! :D
(November 19, 2017 - 6:30 am)
I really love this story EG. It's much better than what I could do! I will definitely keep reading.
(November 19, 2017 - 2:04 am)
Wow. This is incredible! And so sad! You're an amazing writer!!! I was sucked in from the first chapter.
(November 19, 2017 - 7:48 am)
I love this, elementgirl! The idea is super intriguing, and you've really drawn me in— I can't wait to see what happens next! I would be interested in seeing more chapters from Amara's viewpoint, maybe dealing with guilt or what she thought of Emilia.
(November 19, 2017 - 9:59 am)
Yes. There is sort of a chapter from Amara's viewpoint later. *coughcoughneartheclimaxcoughcough*
(November 19, 2017 - 8:05 pm)
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
(November 20, 2017 - 6:59 am)
And now comes the interesting part.
~
Chapter Three: Adabelle
~
Emilia took a step closer to her parents, too much in shock to utter more than two words.
"You're dead."
Emilia's mother smiled.
"So are you."
"I... am?"
Emilia stared in shock. This couldn't be true.
No, it had to be. Nothing else could explain this world, this world of butterflies, clouds, and stained-glass domes, a world of opposite gravity and wooden doors.
Or maybe she was just hallucinating.
Emilia's father had turned to her in the time it had taken to process this.
"Hello, Emi."
"Hi, Dad."
Her father had died very enigmatically when Emilia was seven years old, so she didn't really remember him, except for some minor details.
He had liked peppermints.
Rummaging in her pocket (the pocket that her friends, when she had still had them, called 'the magic pocket', for its ability to hold so much seemingly random, unimportant junk), Emilia found a small packet with two peppermints inside. She handed the packet to her father, who smiled at her.
"Emi," said he, after putting one of the mints in his mouth. "Your mother and I have been talking, and we thought it would be best to grant you a wish."
"You can do that?" asked Emilia, who was all but unable to hide her surprise.
This time it was her mother that answered. "We can. Each of us can only grant one wish, though, and I've already used mine. Your father, however, can still grant you his."
"Okay."
"So, what do you wish for?" asked her father.
Emi didn't even have to stop and think.
"I wish to live again."
Her father nodded. "I should be able to do that. Do you mind if it's not your normal life as Emilia that you go back to?"
"Yes- I mean, no, I don't mind. That would be perfect."
_______________________________________________
Cold.
It must be winter, thought Emilia. Why else would it be this cold?
She looked down and saw a threadbare blanket covering her legs. Was she only imagining that she was taller?
Then it all came back to her. The butterflies, the sky, her deceased parents.
Just to make sure, she pulled a lock of hair up to her face.
Blond and curly.
It was so different from Emilia's mousy brown bob that she almost laughed aloud.
She looked around her, to see other girls, in similar cots, with tattered blankets thrown over them. Where on Earth was she?
And when?
The girl in the next bed opened her eyes. Emilia, seizing the chance, decided to ask her some questions. Judging by the light outside, it was approaching the dawn hour.
"Excuse me, but what's the year?" asked Emilia.
The girl in the next bed rolled her eyes as if exasperated by Emilia's ignorance. One thought crossed the latter's mind: Amara.
"1876," answered the girl, with another Amara-esque eye roll.
"And where are we?"
"Remsept Orphanage. London. England. Stop asking such stupid questions, new girl."
"Wait, what's your name?" Emilia was too overcome with curiosity to find out if this girl was actually a reincarnation of Amara to 'stop asking such stupid questions'.
"Victoria Moorestead. And that was the most idiotic question of all."
Emilia (or, whoever she now was) laid back in her bed, half expecting the crazy dream to be over and there to be stars, painted onto the ceiling. But she saw no stars, in the dusky new daylight. All she saw was peeling white paint and a few small spiders.
The clang of metal on metal startled Emilia almost out of her bed. She looked up and saw a cross-looking matron banging two saucepans together.
"Get up! It's nearly half past six. I would like you to meet Adabelle Woodsen. She came here last night."
At this, the woman pointed directly at Emilia.
"My name is not Adabelle Woodsen!" protested she. "It's Emilia Bransworth, and-"
"And I do not care what your name is! Start your chores." finished the woman, throwing a piece of paper at Emilia (or Adabelle?).
She looked at the work laid out for her, so much that it seemed impossible to do all in one day.
CHORE LIST 4 (7 people: 9 November 1876)
-Scrub the floor
-Clean the windows
-Wash clothes
-Make beds
-Cook supper
It was going to be a long day.
(November 20, 2017 - 7:02 am)