Post by Narcissa on Feb 26, 2006 16:38:47 GMT -5
There was a boy sitting on the bench, if you could call it a bench. It was, in fact, the cracked lid of an ancient tomb. Its surface was smooth, worn down by the weather over centuries. No one knew how old it was. Moss grew like an elderly, torn cushion over the tomb’s lid. There was a crack at the bottom through which a child so inclined could put their hand through . The hole was too small for anyone to reach in past their elbow and the lid was far too heavy to lift. Stories abounded about what was inside, ranging from a vampire to a portal and, according to one legend, the tomb contained absolutely nothing and was there for show. Nonsense, of course. None of the legends had quite gotten it right. But the boy knew exactly what was inside, and he was the only one alive who knew.
The boy, if you could call him a boy, was about sixteen or seventeen. His blond hair hung over his eyes. It didn’t make him look rougish or daring or scruffily sexy. It just hung there. His eyes were obscured, so there’s no point in describing them, really. He wore normal clothes, a bit worn, but nothing out of the ordinary for the day and age. His clean-shaven face was nothing special. It didn’t exactly incite swoons in passerby, but he was a sight better looking than many of them. He was neither strikingly handsome nor woefully ugly. You might call his face cute, but that implies cuddliness. He wasn’t the cuddly type. As mentioned before, his eyes were completely obscured by his shaggy hair, but those walking by got the distinct impression that he was looking at something. Watching for something. Waiting for something.
The right term, perhaps, for this figure is not ‘boy,’ but young man. He is definitely a man, in multiple senses of the word. He is also fairly young. He is a year or two into the beginning of his prime. This young man, then, exudes a certain arrogance, a certain intelligence, of a slightly different quality than the human beings trudging by. It is not the arrogance of the kind that irritates, but neither is it the arrogance that intimidates. Call it confidence. He knows what he has to do, and he knows he can do it. He will do it. In fact, he’s quite looking forward to it.
There was a girl coming down the path. Young lady, really. The path stretched from the gates of the graveyard to somewhere deep in the woods in the center of the cemetery. The path and its destination were also the stuff of legend. Some insisted a witch in a cottage with legs lived at the end, while others swore that a cursed knight guarded treasure. Others said it went to the other side of the gravyard, where the really old stones were, where it was always gray and the wind sounded strange, and you were never quite sure if the path would still be there if you turned roud too quickly. They were all wrong, obviously. The young lady was the only one alive who knew exactly what lay at the end of the path. And what lay to the side, and what lay above and below. She knew what was off the path and, most importantly, what was on it.
The young lady was year or two younger than the young man she was heading towards. She, too, had blond hair that hung down over her eyes, although of course it was a different length than the young man’s. Her eyes, though completely obscured, were trained on him. She was dressed in normal clothes for the day and age, a bit worn, but you know teenagers. Her face was nothing special, neither pretty nor plain. You might call her cute but there was something off about her. Her features, individually, were quite pretty, and her face was fairly good looking, but when you added them together, something didn’t quite fit right. She was smiling. It wasn’t malicious or cruel or sadistic, but it worried the people passing by the cemetery. It didn’t really matter to her; she’d always been considered a bit odd. Then again, the young lady had found that she would not have met many vital allies otherwise. Like the young man ahead of her, for example.
The young man’s face broke into a feral-looking grin as the young lady approached, though he still facing the street. He called out a greeting, which the young lady returned. She strolled up to him and sat on the bench next to him. They had a short, whispered conversation which passerby only caught snatches of. Later, one man would declare that they were talking of running off together. A woman swore they were breaking up. Another woman insisted that they were discussing whether to go to his place or hers. None of these people were right, but neither were they completely wrong. It is true that the young man and the young lady were talking about the act of running away. It is also true that they mentioned breaking something up. They also discussed their places. But how it was said and what was meant was a lot more complicated than a simple romance.
not sure where to go from there... i have a couple alternate endings.......what do you all think of the beginning though??
The boy, if you could call him a boy, was about sixteen or seventeen. His blond hair hung over his eyes. It didn’t make him look rougish or daring or scruffily sexy. It just hung there. His eyes were obscured, so there’s no point in describing them, really. He wore normal clothes, a bit worn, but nothing out of the ordinary for the day and age. His clean-shaven face was nothing special. It didn’t exactly incite swoons in passerby, but he was a sight better looking than many of them. He was neither strikingly handsome nor woefully ugly. You might call his face cute, but that implies cuddliness. He wasn’t the cuddly type. As mentioned before, his eyes were completely obscured by his shaggy hair, but those walking by got the distinct impression that he was looking at something. Watching for something. Waiting for something.
The right term, perhaps, for this figure is not ‘boy,’ but young man. He is definitely a man, in multiple senses of the word. He is also fairly young. He is a year or two into the beginning of his prime. This young man, then, exudes a certain arrogance, a certain intelligence, of a slightly different quality than the human beings trudging by. It is not the arrogance of the kind that irritates, but neither is it the arrogance that intimidates. Call it confidence. He knows what he has to do, and he knows he can do it. He will do it. In fact, he’s quite looking forward to it.
There was a girl coming down the path. Young lady, really. The path stretched from the gates of the graveyard to somewhere deep in the woods in the center of the cemetery. The path and its destination were also the stuff of legend. Some insisted a witch in a cottage with legs lived at the end, while others swore that a cursed knight guarded treasure. Others said it went to the other side of the gravyard, where the really old stones were, where it was always gray and the wind sounded strange, and you were never quite sure if the path would still be there if you turned roud too quickly. They were all wrong, obviously. The young lady was the only one alive who knew exactly what lay at the end of the path. And what lay to the side, and what lay above and below. She knew what was off the path and, most importantly, what was on it.
The young lady was year or two younger than the young man she was heading towards. She, too, had blond hair that hung down over her eyes, although of course it was a different length than the young man’s. Her eyes, though completely obscured, were trained on him. She was dressed in normal clothes for the day and age, a bit worn, but you know teenagers. Her face was nothing special, neither pretty nor plain. You might call her cute but there was something off about her. Her features, individually, were quite pretty, and her face was fairly good looking, but when you added them together, something didn’t quite fit right. She was smiling. It wasn’t malicious or cruel or sadistic, but it worried the people passing by the cemetery. It didn’t really matter to her; she’d always been considered a bit odd. Then again, the young lady had found that she would not have met many vital allies otherwise. Like the young man ahead of her, for example.
The young man’s face broke into a feral-looking grin as the young lady approached, though he still facing the street. He called out a greeting, which the young lady returned. She strolled up to him and sat on the bench next to him. They had a short, whispered conversation which passerby only caught snatches of. Later, one man would declare that they were talking of running off together. A woman swore they were breaking up. Another woman insisted that they were discussing whether to go to his place or hers. None of these people were right, but neither were they completely wrong. It is true that the young man and the young lady were talking about the act of running away. It is also true that they mentioned breaking something up. They also discussed their places. But how it was said and what was meant was a lot more complicated than a simple romance.
not sure where to go from there... i have a couple alternate endings.......what do you all think of the beginning though??