Prologue: My Story1
Nobody believed in much of anything. Angels, Demons, Werewolves, Vampires.... They were all just stories. Myths. Fairy tales. Used to scare children into playing nicely and obeying orders. But even the children grew older, and they no longer believed in anything "ridiculous." Nobody believed in us. Nobody. Not until sixteen, nearly seventeen, years ago.
Our races never really got along. For some reason, we just didn’t mix. Black and white, really, us werewolves and vampires. We can't stand each other; it's been that way since the dawn of time. Putting us together is like putting explosives in gasoline and throwing a match inside. The results and destructive, and nothing comes away undamaged. For this reason, humans have come to fear us the same way they fear explosives- they see us as dangerous. Walking bombs, really. They're scared of us and make us out to be evil, horrible creatures.
But we're not.
Werewolves, at least. Vampires are the evil ones in this scenario. They are the ones who kill and drink blood. They are the ones who steal and threaten and destroy. They are the ones that kidnap, torture, and hurt. Not us! We werewolves are peaceful, tolerant creatures. We don't mean any harm to humans, or any other race, for that matter. We even tried to avoid conflict with the vampires. That solution, however, was always unstable- and it completely collapsed nearly seventeen years ago.
My mother, Joanna Brinestone, had just given birth to me. I...
I....
I...
Hm. This isn't working.
Let me tell the story another way. The way my father told me. It's easier on my part....
"Your mother held you close. She cooed down at you, wrapped up in your pink blankets. I could see the love in her eyes as she stared down at you, kissing your cheeks and forehead, counting your toes and fingers. I was by her bedside, touching your face when she'd give me the chance. After a while, she looked up at me and I smiled. "What are we to name her, Jo?" I asked, gently taking her free hand. She looked down at you as she rocked you back and forth. She smiled and looked back up at me, saying, "Emily. Isn't that a beautiful name, Tom? Our little Emily." I smiled and nodded. Everything was placed so right, so perfectly. Everything...."
His face would sour at this point in the story, and as he continued, his voice became twisted with hatred.
"The door to the room opened, and I turned to see who it was. It was not one of the guards I had posted, but instead, a tall, slim man, clothed in all black, with deep, red eyes and long, coal black hair. I growled and stood, your mother holding you close. I snarled and asked him what he wanted. The... vampire," he hissed the word like it was a curse, "Chuckled and drew a dagger out as he said... "To destroy a prophecy while the time is golden." I glared and your mother held you closer. I said, "What prophecy?" The man laughed evilly and his eyes narrowed, "Acting like you don't know, Thomas!" I held firm and moved in front of your mother, telling him I had no idea what he was talking about. He laughed at this and recited a poem of some sort. I suppose it was his ridiculous 'prophecy'...."
At that point, I always got the feeling that my father was hiding things from me. His voice would become clipped, and his sentences short and brisk.
"We fought. At one point, he tricked me and headed for your mother and you," His voice would crack, but his face remained straight, "Your mother died protecting you. I got my scar while killing the vampire. But you survived, Emily. And that is all that matters."
I don't know the details of the fight that night. I probably never will. My father barely speaks about that night, or even my mother. The wounds are much too deep. I understand that. I also understand that my mother's death is, at least in some small way, my own fault. She died protecting me. I am at least part of the blame, if not all.
I found the old prophecy in my family's library, in an old book, on a high shelf. Sitting on the ladder, at nine years old, I read it. Everyday, I came to the library and read it, over and over again, until I had it completely memorized. It goes like this:2
"A war shalt rage,
'tween black and white.
Only true, young love,
shalt end this fight.
Werewolf princess,
essence of light,
and Vampire Prince,
one of the night.
Brought together,
by fate bound tight,
This love of each other,
will set the stars right."3
Even at the age of nine, I realized how important this poem was, and why my father had hidden it. Was I really the princess it talked about? Was I really supposed to love a prince? A Vampire prince?! I wasn't sure, but I prayed that it wasn't true. I prayed and prayed and prayed. But, over the years, I had come to see the truth and the awaiting doomsday of my fate. It was bound to happen, but I wasn't sure when or how or with who. I wasn't sure of my story, or how the ending would turn out.
But I know now.
Allow me to set the story to words and paragraphs and pages. Allow yourself to read on. Allow yourself to stay with me for a while.
This is my story.4
Author notes
This is my main story at the moment! It's my baby, if you will. I wrote an outline to the story in sixth grade, in a notebook that i'd kept in my closet. I rediscovered it once we moved, and i've been actually working on it since eighth grade. It's set in a 1950's, and I love my characters like children. Emily (the narrator) is a very complex character, I think, and I do love her so. She's very sweet and sensitive, but it can come off as bratty or melodramatic at times. (She's the essence of a female in that way. ^-^") I'll definitely post the rest; Please comment! Tell me what you like and what you don't! =]
(B the way, i'm working on getting a better title. I'm very fond toward "Mushroom People" at this point. It's 50's slang for people who come out at night to play. Fitting, right? =])
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Comments
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Shiro kiba
Very nice really got me going, the begining of it was melodramadic but it was very interesting -
I like the general idea of it. Because it's so short, use a bigger font size though. Also, you need to work on its flow because you use some flow-stopping things. I understand it's a narrative writing, but you shouldn't say things like "i understand that" and stuff. Instead, do something to show that you understand! Nod or something.
Another thing: It's more like a journal entry because of the sentences you used, such as "it goes like this" and "allow me to blah blah" because those are the things (no offense) fourth graders use when they don't know how to start or combine sentences and paragraphs. Instead of saying "it goes like this" do things like "I recite it to myself:" and stuff. Work on SHOWING us rather than TELLING us what's happening.
Also, it should be past tense. It's pretty good considering you're 14(tho i'm only 13)
Keep writing
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