She was different. She walked with hot coals under her feet and a needing lit deep within her soul. She waved her tattered black flag of solitude all over her town and disrespected like it was a religion.
She was Ophelia Munroe, rebel extraordinare.
She blew through town like hurricane Ophelia, tumbling over street corners with so much grace and confidence she looked like a swan gliding on water. Eyes closed, humming to the Ramones blasting over the one black bud that was shoved in her ear, the other dangling by her swinging hand.
Ophelia was too cool for that stupid one horse town, with it's one record store and fifty churches. How the hell did that work out, anyway? She didn't go to church, but she still believed in God- or at least a higher being that kept bringing her in enough money to buy those Rolling Stones albums at the end of every payday.
School was relative to her, a prison made out of classrooms and bad food. A prison where your inmates weren't just Ex-Cons with shivs and a love for hatred, but even worse, preps and jocks armed with footballs and withering looks that could melt iron.
She hated school as much as she hated her house, these feelings of course, driven by pure teenage angst and moodiness, but guilt as well.
Some days, she would come home to find her father looking with longing eyes at a childhood photograph or an old plaster hand print, and she knew he was pining for the old Ophelia. The Ophelia of days long washed away by years and months, the little girl who used to be before she stitched that tattered flag out of faded hopes, dreams and desires, holding it above her like a trophy. he wanted that daughter back- the one that would chase dragonfly's in the garden and help her mother in the kitchen. But that Ophelia had long since been pulled out into open sea by the incoming tide, gasping for a breath she knew would never come and all the while waving that tattered flag about as if it were going to save her life.
The day she was eighteen, she walked away saying that she'd never come back, but would call on Christmas. Her mother gave a knowing smile and sent her only child off to see the world (Or at least view it from the pages of her college text books) knowing from experience that she would arrive back on their doorstep come Christmas time with her tattered flag lowered and the coals under her feet subdued.
And Ophelia did, moral and spirit intact for the most part, and two gifts wrapped in tissue and twine tucked under her arm. That night, she had her first decent meal in ages, talking with her parents about everything that had come to happen that year over a plate of turkey and mashed potatoes. For a moment, they forgot that the tatted banner, the symbol of her rebellion was even there, it was just them and good food.
But when she left, she raised that flag high above her head and re-lit those coals, stepping out of her old home with as much moxie as she had had at age 16, her mother knew Ophelia would never grow out of this stage of being. It was her being, the sarcasm and the nonchalant attitude, in fact, she saw a little bit of herself in her daughter, walking in those thick winter boots with the single bud tucked in her ear and hands shoved in the pockets of her pea jacket. A navy blue scarf wrapped around her neck and a beanie shoved over her pin-straight golden locks, dissipating into the winter horizon.
And every year, Ophelia would come home to the town that had suffocated her so much, if only to reminisce, or place her flush palm over that of her third grade plaster hand print to see how much it had grown. After college, she brought her husband, and 3 years after that her son. One year after that, her daughter. All of her children, Ophelia's parents could see, did not have the flags, but simply the materials to make them and the spirit to wave them high above their heads in a triumph that would only be rivaled by that of their mother.
Yes, Ophelia had been a rebel in every sense of the word. Making out behind CD racks and stealing things that she never really needed. But she knew that she had not always been like that, there was once a time before that tattered flag, but the memory was lost to her, sinking somewhere in a sea of hot coals and longing for something better.
Author notes
Daisuke is taking over Zero.
salve amica, tu es puella. My favorite flower is the Tiger Lily and my favorite color is crimson.
A contest entry
- Watev!! by asthray.heart.
1100 points, ended June 20, 2007, 56 entries
Honorable mention
• next story in this contest, remove from contest - Write Me a Story by Stegofreak.
445 points, ended September 2, 2007, 65 entries
• next story in this contest, remove from contest - Totally You by sly fox.
350 points, ended July 30, 2007, 13 entries
• next story in this contest, remove from contest - Options (Changed) by Phantasmix.
100 points, ended August 9, 2007, 16 entries
• next story in this contest, remove from contest - Wise beyond your years? by Bitter Irony.
100 points, ended October 21, 2007, 26 entries
• next story in this contest, remove from contest - Whichcraft November Contest by whichcraft.
380 points, ended November 23, 2007, 9 entries
• next story in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
1 - 16 of 16
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This was in another contest of mine I believe. So I'll be removing this.
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This is a good character type story but it is written in an essay style. You told the reader everything without giving them a chance to reflect and absorb the character. I could have read this in a magazine as an article instead of a fictional story.
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I enjoyed the descriptions in this story and the messages it held. I think people can relate to this in one way or another =)
Good job and thanks for entering ym contest! -
This is one of the best pieces I’ve read on storywrite. I loved how it told, not only its own story, but implied many, many more. Your character descriptions too are excellent and you really get a feeling of what kind of person Ophelia is.
Oddly enough I got the feeling that Ophelia was someone I knew personally. I wanted to see what happened and waited with bated breath. Well written. -
great write! i really enjoyed reading it.
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Good write. Great plot, Good characters. Keep up the work.
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Very nice- although the language was a little too nice, in places... but that's possibly just a question of personal taste.
Only one problem- the first time you say she walked out you say Ophelia was 18- then later you say she left when she was 16. Is this a typo or am I mis-reading something?
Jolly good story though- well done!beginning: 3, language: 5, plot: 3, ending: 3, dialog: 3, characters: 4.
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It was saying that when she left home, she left acting just like her normal sixteen year old self.
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She blew through town like hurricane Ophelia, tumbling over street corners with so much grace and confidence she looked like a swan gliding on water.
....Nice touch. Like that line
Ophelia was too cool for that stupid one horse town, with it's one record store and fifty churches. How the hell did that work out, anyway
That was a great touch
Okay. This was crazy. I loved it.
The writing, to me, as awesome. I was quick commenting on the beginning here, and there were so many parts I wanted to say 'Whoa! Great part! Awesome sentence!' ...You know?
For me, this was a fantastixc read. I think that the writing was superb, as well as the plot.
I loved that too. Yur descriptions were great.
I'm in one of my critisize moods, but I can't find anytjhing to critisize. I don't know if that's good or bad
ANyway, this was a great read. Terrific job, whoever you are
xoxo
Tay
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This was good, I like the Rebel Extrodinaire.
Thanks for entering and goodluck.
Lady Madeline.
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I loved this. Loved the storyline, loved the music choice. This was a really great story. Kept you wanting more. Wanting to know what happens to her. Awesome job here. Good luck in the contests. Keep on writing. God Bless!
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I liked this story, especially the band references. The Stones are awesome. So are the Ramones.
You describe your characters well and keep me wanting to find out what's happening.
A few layout problems but not putting too many ideas within the same spot easily fixes that.
I really like the name Ophelia, definitely original. Just like the character. I enjoyed reading this. -
awesome
this was excellent. it would make my old writing teacher step back and say 'my eyes are unworthy to read this' I absolutely loved this! you, my friend, are a writer.
(like we didn't already know that) -
I really like the tone of voice you use in this piece to describe Ophelia. I'd like to see more. Honestly, you could probably slow it down and make the story even longer. Give Ophelia even more development.
Excellent use of language as your prose flows smoothly.
Nicely done! -
This is spiffy-awesome and one of the best characterizations I've read in a long time. It made me quite happy with the language plays and the tone of the narration. Wonderful wonderful wonderful, and I'll refrain from continuing to drool on the keyboard.
Great write.
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welll............i think this is......well its....its ................um.......superb of course!!!
i really liked the beginning, its very interesting, sorta giggly-like!! hm........the ending is the best part, its sorta touching even......
the descriptions are nice......they're clear and its gud vocabulary usage........
the language, though not ordinary-story-type is gud, its diff from what i've seeen but i like it alot!!!
nehooo.......this was a gud read....
CHEERS!!!beginning: 5, language: 5, plot: 5, ending: 5, dialog: 5, characters: 5.
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