Fiction post for the week of 06/19
Jun. 27th, 2005 07:16 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
wordwhackerWell, I sure am getting behind myself! Here we are, technically the week of 06/26, and I haven't posted a piece for the week of 06/19 yet. Bother.
Seeing as how it's 7AM on my first night back to work (read: no sleep for me), I'm not exactly of a mind to write anything. So instead I think I'll repost a story I wrote two, maybe three years ago. I haven't edited it since then - this is still the first draft.
I was going for a fable-like feel, which is unlike everything I usually write. For that reason I always find this story somewhat refreshing to read. The language is so simple and broad and general and clear. Usually I struggle not to over-word. There are some things I'd like to tighten up and themes I'd like to expand on, and I think I need to tweak the overall writing style somewhat before I'll be happy with it. But for now, I present it to you in its original state.
The Wedding Bed (fable, 1,400 words, first draft)
In an age long past, before the slander of the countryside and tainting of the waters, a simple woman had a very simple wish. She wished that she could marry the man she had been doting on for long months, and share with him a simple bed in a simple house.
One of the Fates, at least, was smiling down on her. He too had a simple wish - to marry the simple woman who doted on him so, and share with her a simple bed in a simple house.
With the spring blossoms full, they married. Her dress, which had cost her every penny she owned, was made of silk that felt like milk on her skin. She held up the skirt as they walked, arm in arm, back to their simple house.
But even as they neared their home a guardsman approached, his face stern.
"You must come to battle at once," he said to the husband, "for war is upon us."
And so the husband now ran to their house, his wife trailing behind. With hardly a word he donned his best leather and sword, and made for the countryside, following the bellowing horn-calls of the King's army.
And he was gone.
For many long days the wife waited, alone in their simple house. She listened time and time again for news of the war on the streets. It seemed it had been forever before word came: the armies had clashed, for the first time of many, and many men had died.
The wife's heart froze. She had known how great a risk it was; at least, she had known in her mind. Now she knew in her heart. And they hadn't even yet shared their bed.
As the news spread through the town she saw other women - other wives - weeping. The mood that night was sombre and dark; lamps and candles were put out in silent respect for those passed, and those soon to be gone.
The wife did not weep.
The sword on the wall was not her husband's best sword; it was, however, his first. She hesitated only a moment before she lifted it from the wall, the weight of it slightly more than she would have wished. "You watched over my husband for many a year," she said. "Please - lend me your strength."
In the dark of night she sat, hemming the skirt of her wedding gown so that it would not trail on the ground. Then she donned it, pulling a woollen cloak about her shoulders to keep out the cold. One of her husband's long belts was now fashioned to fit her small waist, the heavy sword weighing down at her side. With a satchel of food and a skin of water, she set out into the night.
The battle was to the East, they said, and eastward she travelled for many days and nights. Though guided by the sun and the stars, she began to worry. Would she find them, traveling so blindly? Or would she simply walk eastward until the end of the earth?
The birds in the wood were laughing at her, their shrill whistles taunting. "What are you looking for eastward, traveller?" a raven called, fluttering onto a tree before her. "Far away is the sea, and between the sea and this wood is only land!"
"I am searching for a great battle," she said. "I would be ever grateful if you could lead me there."
There was a whispering of conversation among the feathered creatures. "We have heard whispers of this battle," the raven said, "but we will not lead you there."
"Is there any price you will take?" she asked, her hope fading. She had little money and little food, and no possessions to speak of. Unless. . .
The wife reached back, untying her long hair and letting it fall past her shoulders. The birds chattered excitedly to each other. The raven squawked once to quiet them. "If you give us your hair for our nests, I will lead you to the battle."
Without hesitation the wife unsheathed her husband's sword. She had never wielded it before, but it felt familiar in her hand. With a swift stroke she sliced her hair as short as she could, offering the length up to the birds that descended upon it and bore it away.
"Come," the raven said. "A battle awaits you."
Even by the raven's aid, it was many more days before they neared the battleground. "The wood ends here," he said. "I will take you no further. The battle is not far off." With that the raven left, and the wife once again ventured eastward and alone.
Before long a small town could be seen, crouching low in a valley. The wife's heart swelled - her supplies were gone and a night of rest indoors would do well for her weariness. But try as she might, she was turned away at every door. Who would take in such a wild looking woman, with unruly short hair, carrying a sword, and in a time of war?
She came at last to the house of an older man whose face softened at the sight of the wife. "Please," she said, "I have been turned away at every door. I need rest, at least, and supplies. Anything I can do to repay you, I will gladly do, and I will offer you what money I have."
The man frowned. "I am sorry, my lady," he said, "but all I can offer you is a place to sleep. We have little food ourselves." The man stopped as he saw what she was wearing, hidden under her cloak. "Is that a wedding gown, my lady?"
"It is," she said. "I am searching for my husband, who was sent to war."
The man's expression was grim, but he said nothing; he simply waved her in.
The man had a daughter, still only a child. He showed the wife to a place where she could sleep - and sleep she did. When she awoke, the man was sitting next to her.
"My lady," he said, "I would give everything I own if it would mean that my daughter could have a wedding dress as beautiful as yours when she marries."
The wife smiled. "I had hoped to wear it as I found my husband, but I will not reach him if my stomach devours me first."
"If you would part with it, my lady, I would give you a meal, and clothing of mine to wear. I would give you everything I own, down to the last grain of rice."
"A meal will do," the wife said.
Will a full stomach for the first time in many days, the wife set off again, donned in men's clothes. Finally, at the crest of a hill, she could see the battle in the distance. and the wake of men, slain, which littered the plains.
"And what have we here?" a voice from behind her questioned cruelly. She turned - a wounded soldier from the opposing army leered at her, gripping his sword. "They're sending boys off to die awfully young."
Before she could protest he had swung his sword at her - she leapt back, drawing her husband's sword and praying to the Fates that it would protect her. Their swords clashed once - twice - and he roughly cut her cheek. He laughed.
"Did I mess up your pretty face, boy?"
Gritting her teeth, the wife swung the sword with all of her might as the soldier stabbed at her again. She felt her sword meet with his flesh, drawing a red gash across his gut. With a grunt, the soldier fell over.
The wife only then noticed the piercing pain in her own side, and the stain that was seeping through her shirt.
She clutched at her wound and started across the prairie at a run. There were so many slain; she was afraid to look at their faces for fear of finding his among them. The pain in her side grew as she ran, but she paid it no mind.
All at once, the sword slipped out of her hand. As she scrambled to pick it up, she tripped - and suddenly she was staring down at her husband, laid on the ground. He was still taking shallow breaths. His eyes met hers, and a smile touched his lips.
They spoke no words as she lay on the ground with him, no longer holding her wound. For a long moment they laid there, together, her head rested on his chest as they finally shared a simple bed of trampled grass. And then they slipped away.
---
"Look, there," a soldier said, the battle now long over. "Their swords have the same crest."
"Do you suppose they were brothers?" another asked.
"I suppose they were," the first said. He knelt down next to the husband and the wife, shaking his head. "So young."
"Do not mourn for them, though," the second said, kneeling down beside him.
"Mourn for the wives they have left behind."
Seeing as how it's 7AM on my first night back to work (read: no sleep for me), I'm not exactly of a mind to write anything. So instead I think I'll repost a story I wrote two, maybe three years ago. I haven't edited it since then - this is still the first draft.
I was going for a fable-like feel, which is unlike everything I usually write. For that reason I always find this story somewhat refreshing to read. The language is so simple and broad and general and clear. Usually I struggle not to over-word. There are some things I'd like to tighten up and themes I'd like to expand on, and I think I need to tweak the overall writing style somewhat before I'll be happy with it. But for now, I present it to you in its original state.
The Wedding Bed (fable, 1,400 words, first draft)
In an age long past, before the slander of the countryside and tainting of the waters, a simple woman had a very simple wish. She wished that she could marry the man she had been doting on for long months, and share with him a simple bed in a simple house.
One of the Fates, at least, was smiling down on her. He too had a simple wish - to marry the simple woman who doted on him so, and share with her a simple bed in a simple house.
With the spring blossoms full, they married. Her dress, which had cost her every penny she owned, was made of silk that felt like milk on her skin. She held up the skirt as they walked, arm in arm, back to their simple house.
But even as they neared their home a guardsman approached, his face stern.
"You must come to battle at once," he said to the husband, "for war is upon us."
And so the husband now ran to their house, his wife trailing behind. With hardly a word he donned his best leather and sword, and made for the countryside, following the bellowing horn-calls of the King's army.
And he was gone.
For many long days the wife waited, alone in their simple house. She listened time and time again for news of the war on the streets. It seemed it had been forever before word came: the armies had clashed, for the first time of many, and many men had died.
The wife's heart froze. She had known how great a risk it was; at least, she had known in her mind. Now she knew in her heart. And they hadn't even yet shared their bed.
As the news spread through the town she saw other women - other wives - weeping. The mood that night was sombre and dark; lamps and candles were put out in silent respect for those passed, and those soon to be gone.
The wife did not weep.
The sword on the wall was not her husband's best sword; it was, however, his first. She hesitated only a moment before she lifted it from the wall, the weight of it slightly more than she would have wished. "You watched over my husband for many a year," she said. "Please - lend me your strength."
In the dark of night she sat, hemming the skirt of her wedding gown so that it would not trail on the ground. Then she donned it, pulling a woollen cloak about her shoulders to keep out the cold. One of her husband's long belts was now fashioned to fit her small waist, the heavy sword weighing down at her side. With a satchel of food and a skin of water, she set out into the night.
The battle was to the East, they said, and eastward she travelled for many days and nights. Though guided by the sun and the stars, she began to worry. Would she find them, traveling so blindly? Or would she simply walk eastward until the end of the earth?
The birds in the wood were laughing at her, their shrill whistles taunting. "What are you looking for eastward, traveller?" a raven called, fluttering onto a tree before her. "Far away is the sea, and between the sea and this wood is only land!"
"I am searching for a great battle," she said. "I would be ever grateful if you could lead me there."
There was a whispering of conversation among the feathered creatures. "We have heard whispers of this battle," the raven said, "but we will not lead you there."
"Is there any price you will take?" she asked, her hope fading. She had little money and little food, and no possessions to speak of. Unless. . .
The wife reached back, untying her long hair and letting it fall past her shoulders. The birds chattered excitedly to each other. The raven squawked once to quiet them. "If you give us your hair for our nests, I will lead you to the battle."
Without hesitation the wife unsheathed her husband's sword. She had never wielded it before, but it felt familiar in her hand. With a swift stroke she sliced her hair as short as she could, offering the length up to the birds that descended upon it and bore it away.
"Come," the raven said. "A battle awaits you."
Even by the raven's aid, it was many more days before they neared the battleground. "The wood ends here," he said. "I will take you no further. The battle is not far off." With that the raven left, and the wife once again ventured eastward and alone.
Before long a small town could be seen, crouching low in a valley. The wife's heart swelled - her supplies were gone and a night of rest indoors would do well for her weariness. But try as she might, she was turned away at every door. Who would take in such a wild looking woman, with unruly short hair, carrying a sword, and in a time of war?
She came at last to the house of an older man whose face softened at the sight of the wife. "Please," she said, "I have been turned away at every door. I need rest, at least, and supplies. Anything I can do to repay you, I will gladly do, and I will offer you what money I have."
The man frowned. "I am sorry, my lady," he said, "but all I can offer you is a place to sleep. We have little food ourselves." The man stopped as he saw what she was wearing, hidden under her cloak. "Is that a wedding gown, my lady?"
"It is," she said. "I am searching for my husband, who was sent to war."
The man's expression was grim, but he said nothing; he simply waved her in.
The man had a daughter, still only a child. He showed the wife to a place where she could sleep - and sleep she did. When she awoke, the man was sitting next to her.
"My lady," he said, "I would give everything I own if it would mean that my daughter could have a wedding dress as beautiful as yours when she marries."
The wife smiled. "I had hoped to wear it as I found my husband, but I will not reach him if my stomach devours me first."
"If you would part with it, my lady, I would give you a meal, and clothing of mine to wear. I would give you everything I own, down to the last grain of rice."
"A meal will do," the wife said.
Will a full stomach for the first time in many days, the wife set off again, donned in men's clothes. Finally, at the crest of a hill, she could see the battle in the distance. and the wake of men, slain, which littered the plains.
"And what have we here?" a voice from behind her questioned cruelly. She turned - a wounded soldier from the opposing army leered at her, gripping his sword. "They're sending boys off to die awfully young."
Before she could protest he had swung his sword at her - she leapt back, drawing her husband's sword and praying to the Fates that it would protect her. Their swords clashed once - twice - and he roughly cut her cheek. He laughed.
"Did I mess up your pretty face, boy?"
Gritting her teeth, the wife swung the sword with all of her might as the soldier stabbed at her again. She felt her sword meet with his flesh, drawing a red gash across his gut. With a grunt, the soldier fell over.
The wife only then noticed the piercing pain in her own side, and the stain that was seeping through her shirt.
She clutched at her wound and started across the prairie at a run. There were so many slain; she was afraid to look at their faces for fear of finding his among them. The pain in her side grew as she ran, but she paid it no mind.
All at once, the sword slipped out of her hand. As she scrambled to pick it up, she tripped - and suddenly she was staring down at her husband, laid on the ground. He was still taking shallow breaths. His eyes met hers, and a smile touched his lips.
They spoke no words as she lay on the ground with him, no longer holding her wound. For a long moment they laid there, together, her head rested on his chest as they finally shared a simple bed of trampled grass. And then they slipped away.
---
"Look, there," a soldier said, the battle now long over. "Their swords have the same crest."
"Do you suppose they were brothers?" another asked.
"I suppose they were," the first said. He knelt down next to the husband and the wife, shaking his head. "So young."
"Do not mourn for them, though," the second said, kneeling down beside him.
"Mourn for the wives they have left behind."
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no subject
Date: 2005-06-28 08:36 pm (UTC)The only flaw I can find with it is the dress being "silk that felt like milk. . ." That phrase, in my mind, didn't read right. It may be the rhyming, or it may be something else entirely, but it just didn't sound proper in my head. . .maybe I'm just weird.
One other thing. Perhaps you could add a section with a third sacrifice before she gets to the battlefield. Usually fables/biblical stories center on three trials/sacrifices/questions etc. before being resolved. Of course, losing her life may have been the third sacrifice, in which case, ignore this entire paragraph.
no subject
Date: 2005-06-29 02:36 am (UTC)And you know, I agree about the need for a third sacrifice. I've always felt like the story was a bit hollow somehow, but I couldn't put my finger on it. That was probably it. If I crack this one open again I'll have to see if I can't come up with a third "sacrifice" to round things out.
Anyway, thanks again! I was out of the loop yesterday, but once I get in gear again I'm going to paw through the stories you have posted and start reading them.